#the living room hallway and most of the spare room are done now

[galaxywarp]

*emerges covered in blood* I vacuumed.

[hydrobunny]

i remember it all too well

tags: angst, post breakup, flashbacks, journalist reader, angst angst angst, it's all too well come on now

a/n: happy belated birthday sae itoshi

your world pauses the day sae itoshi is spotted with a new girlfriend.

the photos are blurry, paparazzi shots taken from at least one building over. it doesn't matter. you would know the curve of his arm around a waist in a thousand different lives.

you have to admit she fits him. even as your hands shake, you can't deny that they look happy- something the two of you weren’t so good at.

it doesn’t stop you from harboring too-many amounts of memories all the same.

you met him before he had joined the world of the superstars, but after he had already been something greater. (you think that if you had met him before everything, you two would’ve fared better.)

by the time you two had locked eyes, he was already changed. something inside of him had shifted, turning away from everyday life and facing immortal legacies instead. you had falsely believed you held a place in it.

you should’ve known better, right from the very first words he spoke to you.

“you’re not supposed to be here.”

you pause, looking up from your phone to face the voice.

cold eyes glare down at you, beautiful in color. the boy - because he can only be around your age, barely leaving the teenage years at most - they belong to is just as annoyingly beautiful. you think you should recognize him.

“excuse me?” you ask, offense rising. “i know where i’m supposed to be.”

his eyes only narrow. “is this another shitty tactic? i said i was done with interviews.”

“good for you, dude.” you roll your eyes, pushing past his shoulder. “why anyone would ever want to interview you, i have no idea.”

as you leave, you can feel his gaze on your back.

you blink, shaking yourself out of whatever that was. it's not good to linger on the past. (your therapist had told you that.)

still, she has also told you that one couldn't grow without recognizing what exactly they had to grow from.

perhaps that's why you find yourself rummaging in your bedside drawer for a deeply buried box, the ends of your fingers numb.

when you open it, you’re met with nothing but a handful of flimsy keepsakes. from fraying bracelets to notes to polaroids. all of them are snapshots of a relationship no longer yours, artifacts of what used to be your heart.

in each flashback, sae itoshi lingers.

the next time you met him, you had learned that he was supposedly a household name. (never in your household, though.)

the great hope of japan’s future -despite what he himself had to say about the country.

you’re a little embarrassed by what happened. still, you refuse to take all the blame.

“sae itoshi,” you blurt out. “you’re here.”

those stunning eyes flicker to you, and he actually pauses. recognition actually stops him.

“you’re the one who was lost,” he says, mildly. “not pretending to not know me this time?

you flush. “in my defense, i didn’t know you. i don't do the sports section.”

he raises an eyebrow. “then why am i still seeing you?”

before you can respond, your boss comes rushing through the hallway, sweat beading on his brow.

“itoshi-san!” he blusters, barely sparing you a glance. “we’re so glad you’re here! is the intern bothering you? your interview is in the next room over, so if you just want to follow me- we're so grateful you decided to give us your exclusive.”

something twitches on sae’s face. “intern?”

offense rears its head in your chest. “what-”

“i’ve changed my mind,” sae interrupts mildly. he turns to you, taking hold of one of the many pens lying on your desk.

ask you and your boss watch in bewilderment, he leans down and scrawls something on your notepad.

“she’ll get the exclusive,” he says, straightening back up. “when she isn't an intern anymore.”

and he turns and walks out of the building, leaving nothing but a string of numbers on a sticky note.

the same sticky note rips between your fingers. once you start, you can't stop yourself, until all you're left with is a pile of bright yellow scraps.

you move onto the next item. a wiry black wristband; one half of a forever missing set.

you had been dating sae itoshi for exactly one month. all of your friends still thought it was as some long-standing elaborate joke. at certain times, you couldn't believe it yourself either.

despite it all, despite every little memory you can pore over for hours at a time, you can’t pinpoint the exact moment when things changed.

it’s a strange truth, one you’ve struggled to come to terms with- but it's a truth. if someone were to ask you when your relationship with sae soured, you wouldn't be able to say.

perhaps it wasn't a singular moment. maybe it was a long time in the making, like how a banana slowly browns- until one day, it’s rotted.

either way, one form of heartbreak or another, the truth was this:

you and sae itoshi had ended.

[hinatiny]

late night comfort ੈ✩‧₊˚ kageyama tobio

kageyama has learned your home like the back of his hand; even at the latest and most exhausting of nights, he makes sure to appreciate that when he wants to see you.

w.c: 0.7k

kageyama is careful when he opens the door with the spare key, almost too careful — and rightfully so, because he enters an apartment more silent than death. it’s darker inside than it is outside despite the late night hours, although there’s a faint, dim light shining from somewhere deeper in your home. 

everything about his every move is thought and done in a calculated manner, as if he’s still on a court and internally illustrating how he should perform his next set. he’s not on a court though, he’s at your place and it’s because it’s so late and quiet that he acts carefully—slowly shuffling his windbreaker down his shoulders, stepping out of his shoes rather than kicking them off like he often does, dropping his duffle bag like it’s a ticking bomb ready to explode at any point. 

leaving the hallway, kageyama’s pace is sometimes interrupted by slightly longer steps so as to skip the parts of the wood he has memorized will otherwise creak. that’s just how often he’s been here, to the point where it’s become a muscle-memory kind of thing.

he invites himself to take a short trip around your place; heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, tracing over towards the balcony to make sure the door is locked, biting his tongue to suppress a strangled noise when he almost trips on a blanket you’ve forgotten on the floor, complaining in his mind as he folds and places it on its rightful place on the sofa’s arm.

his last task is turning off the small lamp standing on a drawer in your living room. after all, he knows that the sole reason you’ve left it on was for him to have some sort of guidance upon coming over.

kageyama feels mildly guilty about it, aware that it happens whenever your wait for his arrival takes longer than either of you had expected and you’ve decided to go to sleep first. you’ve reassured him that it’s alright countless of times, but that bad habit of his resurfaces every now and then.

nonetheless, it’s not long until he’s entering your bedroom. in the middle of blindly finding some of his extra clothes he has left in your closet, he glances back at your figure. only the contour of it can be made out, curled up underneath the covers and along with your deep breaths, the stillness of your body confirms that you’re asleep, no doubt. getting changed, kageyama can, for the first time today, take a deep, relaxed breath as he carefully lifts the blanket. he settles down next to you, cautious to not let the dip of his weight wake you up. 

it’s warm. not warm in the sense like he’s about to boil over, but warm in the sense like his soul is being embraced. it’s simply too comfortable, as if he’s also living here and he’s at home, when home really just is you. wherever you are, and one of the times he feels the most at home is when he gets to cloak his arm around you. when did physical contact become a thing? kageyama doesn’t remember, but for sure after meeting you. there’s something soothing to it, charming even, getting to hold you closer to himself.

had he been asked about it — although he probably wouldn’t, in no universe at all — he just might’ve described it like those days when a volleyball feels specifically shaped to fit in his hands. 

kageyama is briefly brought out of his comfort when he suddenly feels you shift. there’s a slight concern that he has accidentally woken you up, but you turn around in his hold only to greet him still fast asleep. with such little space parting you by now, he has to bite a chuckle away when your deep inhales actually are revealed to be subtle snoring.

at some point, it does start getting a bit warm after all. he can’t bring himself to care though, not when you curl into him impossibly closer and the tip of your nose grazes his in a feather-light touch. instead, he merely tucks your head under his chin, soon falling asleep in a peace he wouldn’t find anywhere else.

[cassiefromhell]

Unexpected (pt. 1)

Edit: Part Two

Fanbase: acotar

Eris x Reader x Azriel

Summary: On the eve of your long-awaited mating ceremony to the High Lord of the Autumn Court, a guest from the Night Court turns your world upside-down.

Warnings: none

Today is the day. 

Today, we greet guests from all across Prythian. High Lords (and the new Lady) and their wives, children, and entourage. They’ll see my mate and I as a couple for the very first time.

Such a wide and royal array of guests wouldn’t be typical of a normal mating ceremony — however I was marrying the High Lord of the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra, and he had invited everyone he knew or had heard of at all.

Meeting Eris was a dream come true, and I still feel like I’m floating all the time. Maybe one day I’ll wake up from this dream.

I’ve lived in the Autumn Court my entire life, the daughter of High Lord Beron’s general. I grew up wealthy, but my father didn’t spoil me — he taught me how to kill, how to strategize, and how to wield a blade. I became an assassin for the throne, killing off any who even whispered of a threat against the High Lord.

But my father died in the Hybern War, and months later I received a job to kill Beron himself; coming from his own son. I hesitated for a long while, but eventually did it, knowing of his cruelty. When I brought Eris his father’s head, I laid eyes on him for the very first time, and our bond clicked into place instantly.

That was six months ago, and I feel like I’ve known him all my life. 

I find myself in our bedroom, wringing my hands in an attempt to dispel my nerves. My hair is done up in a halo around my head, and I’m wearing the second most elegant dress I own — the first place winner in that category is hanging in my closet for tomorrow.

Eris saunters in, his eyes catching on me immediately. He blows out a low whistle, leaning against the door frame. “You look beautiful, little flame.”

I gaze up at him, offering a sheepish smile as a way of greeting. “You look incredible.” 

It isn’t a lie, and I find my eyes trailing over him. His rouge hair is tied back into a ponytail, and he dons a black uniform, complementing the muscles at his biceps and abdomen. He’s as beautiful as ever — my mate.

I find his scars beautiful, too. He must have come back from the war against Hybern with plenty of them, but they just add to his handsomeness.

Eris steps forward, offering me his hands. I take them gingerly, blushing when he touches his lips to my neck. “I could just strip you right here and ravish you forever.”

I laugh, and he pulls me up to my feet. I give his shoulder a gentle shove. “Don’t you get started now.”

He simply grins at me and makes a lip-zipping motion, offering his arm. I take it, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. Reaching up, I adjust the crown sitting on his head, straightening it.

And now we walk down the palace hallway, approaching our guests.

Eris rubs my hand gently, pressing a kiss to my pointed ear. I lean against his warmth, just as we reach the double doors leading to the ballroom.

“Are you ready, my love?” He murmurs, raising his hand in preparation to push open the doors with a wave of magic.

“As ready as I can be,” I laugh nervously, glancing up to the red-headed High Lord by my side. 

With one final whisper in my ear, “I’ll be right here, just signal if you need me,” he blows the doors wide open,

A hush falls over the crowded hall as we enter, my gown sweeping behind me. It’s so perfectly my color, and I know I must be glowing at my mate’s side.

I feel a sort of tugging in that moment, and I spare a glance to Eris, trying to figure out if he’s tugging on the half-formed mating bond.

But he just squeezes my hand, and we stride down the center of the room, the crowd parting for us as we approach the dais.

I can feel all of the different tendrils of Fae magic filling the air — reaching out, coiling at my feet, trying to feel me out. There are plenty of the reddish-brown Autumn Court type, but mixed in are ribbons of icy, chilling blue, glittering gold, cloud-like white, warm cobalt, and the ones that stand out the most, six snakes of black. I sort out the widest one of that kind, the one that has that royal, starry shimmer to it, and stomp on it. A low chuckle comes from the other side of the room — Rhys is an old friend. 

We step up onto the dais, Eris slipping a hand around my waist to make sure I don’t trip. We turn in unison, looking out on the crowd.

“Thank you all, for coming to celebrate the bond between my mate and I,” Erie’s voice booms out across the crowd, and we’re met with a mix of applause and enthusiastic ‘whoop!’s — people love a good mating bond, especially when it’s a High Lord.

“We ask that you have fun tonight, and please do come and say hello, or we’ll find you ourselves and say hello for you,” he adds with a wink. “Enjoy the festivities.”

At those words, the party resumes, and Eris grins at me.

“You always have been good at throwing parties,” I beam up at him, kissing his cheek gently. “Thank you.”

“Come, love,” he guides me down off of the dais (we never stay on it for long, Eris finds it rather elitist) and sweeps me towards the banquet table.

“Did you make sure there’s those little colorful—“

He interrupts me by holding a macaron in front of my mouth, precisely what I was asking for. I take it happily, munching on my favorite treat.

“How could I forget? They’re your favorite, and they’ll be at every event we host from now on. As my High Lady, you deserve to have parties that reflect—”

This time it’s him being interrupted by an unfamiliar feminine voice. “Are you saying I won’t be the only High Lady anymore?”

Eris and I both whirl, and I smile at the sight of the three people standing in front of us. Rhys, Morrigan, and an unfamiliar woman with golden hair and a crown.

“You must be High Lady Feyre,” I say, extending a hand. “I must say, it was your title that inspired the whole make-me-High-Lady thing.”

Feyre shakes my hand enthusiastically, nodding. “At least I’ll have another lady to gossip to,” she replies with a wink.

Morrigan sweeps me away into a tight hug, bouncing on her toes. “You’re being mated! Oh, I can’t believe it! I do wish the Mother could have chosen a better mate for you, however,” she whispers the last part in a hushed voice, eyes darting to Eris.

I’ve known Mor for as long as I’ve known Rhys — from being found in Night Court territory, trying to capture a beast. They had released me, but found a liking to my humor and had written to me consistently, even going so far as to request jobs from me when they needed someone killed out-of-territory and were too busy themselves.

Mor seems to have gotten over the whole past Eris situation, mostly, although her jibe towards my mate was understandable. 

“Rhys, we have to introduce her to Cass and Az,” Mor gushes, glancing to her two friends. “She’d love them.”

I spare a glance in Eris’s direction, and he smiles softly, waving me away. 

“I’ll go find Thesan and Helion — you have fun. Signal if you need me,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. With that, he walks away.

I watch him leave, until Mor is tugging on my hand. “Come on, they’re probably dancing. We’ll find them on the floor.”

Nodding, I follow the blonde onto the dance floor, my dress already billowing in my wake. The High Lord and Lady are heading towards the dance floor as well, and I can’t help but get a little anxious as the music picks up speed. Eris and I practiced for weeks just for this night and tomorrow. However, I haven’t been to very many dances, having spent my childhood learning the art of being an assassin.

But Mor seems to know that, for she sweeps me into a basic variation of the dance. I find myself breathing a sigh of relief, twirling when she holds up her hand.

“You sensed that I’m not much of a dancer, then?”

She laughs, and it’s a whimsical sound, tilting her head back and putting a sparkle in her brown eyes. “You look more agile than graceful. Like you could be quiet, but dancing would put you half in the grave.”

A blush creeps up the back of my neck, and I avert my gaze. “…You were correct…”

She laughs once more, and then her eye snags on something — rather, someone — behind me. “Time to change partners! This is Cassian,” she spins me around to face a tall, muscled Illyrian male. “The war general I told you about. He kills people, too. Discuss.” She pushes me towards him. 

I stumble a little with her shove, quickly regaining my composure and looking up at the man. He’s got an odd expression on his face — like he’s up to something. Something tells me that he’s on some form of mission, but I cautiously offer him my hands anyway.

He takes one hand and places the other on my waist, and we begin a slow, slightly clumsy dance. The clumsy part is all him. “Should I be concerned,” he starts, “that Mor just introduced you as someone who kills people.”

I snort, shaking my head as we turn — and he nearly steps on my foot. “Hardly. That’s exactly how I met Mor and Rhys, anyway. I was on a job in the Night Court collecting a beast for a public execution, by Lord Beron’s orders. They caught me, but found that I was simply too amusing to kill and they let me go.”

He chuckles and nods. “Yes, I do believe they’ve told me that story before. Now, I have a question for you.”

“Is it: how are you putting up with my terrible dancing skills, lady?”

“No, not quite,” his eyes dart from me to the left, and then back to me. Fishy. “Politely… are you really, truly in love with Eris, or is it just a ‘you’re my mate so I guess I’m stuck with you now’ sort of thing?”

I frown, dropping my arms to my sides and ceasing the dancing. “That is wildly inappropriate.”

“I did say politely—”

I raise a hand, frowning deeply. “Cassian. I’ve only just met you, and I can already tell in your eyes that you’re up to something. I’m not a fan of games.”

He holds his hands up in a surrendering way. “Alright, alright. So I do have a motive. But you’ve got to promise not to freak out, little miss mated.”

Little miss mated!?

I narrow my eyes, frown deepening. “Well, get on with it, then. I make no promises.”

He glances behind me, and then nods. 

There’s a sharp tug on the half-formed mating bond, and I sigh, whirling around, expecting to find Eris there, but—

Someone else stands in that spot. Large, membranous wings frame his form, black hair swept across his face. He has swirling tattoos across his arms and neck, marking him as Night Court for sure. 

I find the air suddenly difficult to breathe, the room packed too densely with people. The soft ribbons of magic are now sharp daggers prodding at my ankles, and I know I must be hyperventilating now, because there is one thing that is sure to me in this moment.

This man is my mate. And he knows it, too.

[alittleobsessedbitch]

Shocker || E.L x Reader

Warnings; Fluff? Cheating, profanities, idk

Summary; You have the most perfect girlfriend in the world, you think. You figure out that your girlfriend was cheating on you, with Ethan Landry. You guys become best friends, knowing it was neither of your guy's fault. Hanging out with you had made Ethan catch feelings.

A/N; Hi! This is the story idea I had that you guys begged me to write. 😭 Me being the lovely person I am, I GOCHU. I hope you enjoy this!!!! 🫡🫶

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

Being bisexual can be hard for people, but not for you. You have the best girlfriend anyone could possibly ask for! She is literally the definition of perfect.

Speaking of your girlfriend, you pull out your phone to message her. Asking to hangout.

You - Babe, can we hangout? I miss you. -12:56

Leah❤️ - Awh, I'm busy right now. How bout in an hour? -12:58

You - Yayy! I'll see you soon! ☺️ -12:58

"Yes!!" You celebrate, throwing your fist in the air as if winning a battle. It had been such a long time since you've seen her. Your heart flutters at the thought of her. You throw your phone next to you on your bed and sit up.

"MINDYYYYYY!!" You yell. Yes, you were indeed Mindy Meek's roommate. You both like girls, both hate a majority of the world. Perfect fit!

"YES Y/N?" Mindy yells back. You ignore her knowing she'll be in your door way any second.

"Yes?" She asks, now in your door way. "Can you pick out an outfit for me?" She groans, still saying yes. She runs over to your closet, grabbing a shirt and sweatpants. She throws them at you and you go to thank her but she shushes you.

"Thank me later, I put on a movie." She says as she spins and walks back out of your room. You laugh and roll your eyes, changing into the fresh clothing.

You slip on a pair of white tall socks and then your shoes. Grabbing your phone off your bed and walking into the living room. You take a seat on the couch and scroll through your phone.

Every few seconds you look at the time. You still had an hour until you could go over, which in your opinion, felt like an eternity. She wouldn't be mad if you came early, right? Probably not. And you do have a spare key.

You decide to just go, already being ready. Sliding off the couch, you grab your keys from the TV stand.

"Bye Minds!" You say as you blow Mindy a kiss. She waves, pretending to catch the kiss and bring it to her chest.

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

The drive to your girlfriend's was short, only being five minutes or so. You were so excited you could feel electricity shooting through your body. When you pulled into a random parking spot you immediately got out of your car and locked it, running into the apartment building.

"3rd floor.." You muttered to yourself as you walked into the elevator and pressed the 3rd floor button. The elevator arrived and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your excitement. You stood in front of her door and unlocked it, walking down the hallway to the living room.

"What the fuck?" Your eyes widen as the only words that came to mind fell out of your mouth. Your girlfriend, YOUR fucking girlfriend on the lap of Ethan Landry's. Kissing his lips numb. The surprised girl jumps off Ethan's lap. Ethan stares at you, no clue in the world what was happening.

"Y/N.." Leah whispers. Your eyes are still wide, tears begining to occupy them. "No," You say, your voice just above a whisper. "Babe, fuck. It's not what it looks like." Leah pleads. Ethan's eyes widen as well. "Babe?" He questions.

You nod. Ethan stands, shaking his head. "Leah what the hell?" He turns to you. "Fuck Y/N, I had no idea-" You put your hand up. "It's fine Ethan."

You point to Leah, tears finally streaming down your pink cheeks.

"We're done."

You try to make your voice bitter, shoving your emotions down, your voice still slightly cracking. Leah stays quiet, knowing she has done enough damage.

Ethan nods his head, as if agreeing with you. "Yeah, Leah. We're done too." He says. You wanted to laugh at his awkwardness, but your body was taken over by anger. Anger and sadness.

"Don't call my phone, don't even talk to me." You yell as you turn and leave, walking out the door and to the elevator. You can hear footsteps behind you, thinking it's Leah you ignore them. A hand lands on your shoulder, causing you to turn around.

"Leah-" You begin to say, Ethan's doe eyes meet yours, immediately calming you down. "Y/N, I'm sorry." He says, bringing you into a hug. His arms wrapping around your lower back. You take no time to wrap your arms around him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck, sobbing your heart out.

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

Since the hug, you hung out as much as you could, having picnics, gas station trips, studying for tests, movie nights. Though it was awkward sometimes, you made the most of it and had fun. Ethan on the other hand had more fun than you. He would send you SO many warnings that he liked you. I mean he stared at you in the most loving way, cuddled you, held your hand. IT WAS SO OBVIOUS. You were so oblivious to him which made him hopeless, but that didn't make him stop.

He loved getting close to you, making your breath hitch and tint your cheeks. Your eyes would close and it would make Ethan laugh. It angered you but oh how he loved it. The next time you both hung out, he would do something different.

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

You were sitting on the couch in your apartment, watching a movie. Ethan sat right next to you, practically on top of you. Neither of you minded though, enjoying each other's presence.

"Hey Ethan?" You ask. He hums, eyes still stuck on the screen. "Thank you." You say quietly. "—For the whole Leah thing. And not being upset." He turns to you and smiles.

"It wasn't your fault." You nod slowly as he leans closer. Your noses almost touching. Your breath catches in your throat, not being able to stop yourself from leaning towards him and brushing your noses together.

"I could never be mad at you." He whispers. You couldn't take it. You lean in fully, closing the gap. Your lips on his, feeling as if this is how it should have been since the beginning. The movie was long forgotten, making this moment about you and Ethan.

It was silly to think about it. Now you were the one kissing his lips numb.

Shocker.

@a1exxq @cyan1decandy @sflame15-blog

[analogwriting]

The Other Side of Paradise

Chapter One: Poplar St

Killer x gn!reader word count: 1.6k first|next a/n: i know this is shorter pls bear w me as i get back into the swing of things trustttt the rest will be longer kinda laying the land a bit

As you pulled up to your house, loud music was playing from the closed garage; as it always did. You climbed out of your car, stretching a bit before heading inside. Once inside, you headed down the hallway to the door leading into the garage. You couldn’t open the large door as things were hanging on it and it wasn’t like there was any room to park in there anyway. It was more of a large hangout space than a place to park your vehicle. Besides, you had plenty of driveway to park in.

As you opened the door, the music grew tenfold. You didn’t mind, however. It was something you were used to at this point. Kid had done exactly what he had set his heart on all those years ago. He formed his band with your friends once everyone reached their teens. He was the vocalist, sometimes playing the guitar. Heat was the lead guitarist and backup vocals. Wire was the bassist, sometimes playing the keyboard. Killer played the drums, also helping write a lot of the lyrics and composing the music.

They also were pretty good. They traveled to nearby cities and towns, playing in all kinds of places. Maybe you were biased, but you just knew they were going to be signed any day now.

The moment the door opened, Killer looked back at you, a large smile forming on his face as he kept playing. The others hadn’t noticed you as they were facing away and too lost in playing to really notice, but Killer always could tell when you walked in. It was the deep connection the two of you shared. At least that’s what you told yourself. He was your boyfriend after all, even after all these years.

You walked over to him with a large smile, leaning down and kissing him softly. He didn’t miss a beat, still playing his drums as he kissed you. The two of you knew better than to interrupt practice, Kid had yelled at you plenty of times for it. So, Killer became very skilled at multitasking. Well, at least in the form of kissing you while he played.

You pulled away, smiling at him for a moment, him returning the smile. You kissed him one more time before letting him be. You had homework and he needed to focus. When you turned, you noticed Hop sitting on the couch, reading with a sleeping Dive slung across her lap. You snorted at the sight, settling in on the other side of the couch.

Hop looked at you, waving. You returned the wave before diving into your homework, wanting to finish it before practice ended. You couldn’t exactly talk when the music was as loud as it was. 

During the duration of their practice, people came and went. Gig and Pomp stopped by, dropping off some snacks before heading off to their afternoon classes. Hip and Bubblegum popped by, sitting and chilling for a while before heading back out as well. 

That’s the way your house worked nowadays. Your mother passed a couple years ago, leaving you the house and a good enough inheritance to keep you comfortable. Kid had always lived with you and your mother, so of course he was always at the house. Killer had stayed with you most of the time after your mother passed, knowing how close the two of you were. It had been rough of you. He had also been close with her, of course. He eventually just…never left. He had a spare key since your teens, so he was already a part of the household basically.

Your friend group had grown so much and with everyone having crazy schedules, it wasn’t like you could just…hang out in a big group like you used to. Sure, sometimes the stars aligned and you were able to have some kind of get together with everyone, but this more casual way was easier for everyone. People came and went, hanging out for as long as they liked or as little as they liked. The fridge and cabinets were always full of snacks and food that people brought. There were different game consoles, tv screens, the likes spread throughout all the rooms. It was just one giant hangout spot and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You left the backdoor unlocked at all times. You had a fenced in backyard, but there was always someone you trusted at the house at all times so you didn’t have to worry otherwise. Besides, you’d been in this neighborhood for so long, you knew everyone.

You suddenly felt strong arms wrap around you and lift you up. You slowly woke up, not even realizing you had fallen asleep. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Killer’s voice was low as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You yawned, shaking your head. “It’s alright. I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. How long was I out?” You snorted, looking up at him and kissing him.

“Not too long. We just finished up.”

“How was practice?” You looked over, seeing that Hop and Dive had left. It was just you and the four who were just playing.

“It went good as usual, but there’s something missing,” Kid said, drawing your attention. You immediately rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Tungsten, I’ve already told you. I’m not joining.”

Kid groaned loudly. “But why not! Your soft vocals would provide the coolest dynamic!” He flopped into the recliner across from you, slightly pouting.

“You know why.” You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. “Singing and all that in front of you guys and our friends is one thing, but it’s completely different going on stage in front of tons and tons of strangers.” You shook your head. “The pressure is too much.”

“Laaaaaame.” He huffed, cracking open a beer and drinking it.

“You guys are doing just fine without me.” You shook your head.

“We’d do better with you,” Kid was definitely pouting at this point. It was like he was still a child sometimes. Always pouting when he didn’t get his way. He decided to switch topics, talking to Wire about something or another, you stopped paying attention as you rested against your boyfriend.

“I love it when the light sits on you just right,” Killer randomly mused. You looked at him, confused by his words. He always said the most random things, but they always ended up being really sweet.

“What are you saying right now?” 

He handed you his phone and you slowly took it, still unsure what he was getting at. The lockscreen woke up as you held it and it was a picture of you. He had clearly just taken in as you were wearing exactly what you did in the picture. You were also asleep. He was right - the light that came through the highset windows in the garage hit you just right, illuminating you in a way that made you look like a sleeping angel.

You immediately felt your face heat up and he spoke again, “Good picture, isn’t it?” He was right. It was a good picture. It was almost unbelievable that it was you. A lazy smile stretched across his face. “Still doesn’t compare to the real thing, though.”

“That’s it! I’m not watching this!” Kid stood up, flinging his hands in the air and heading inside. “I’m seeing if anyone happened to make some cabbage rolls.”

“I was gonna make some tonight!” you called as he left. You weren’t even sure if he heard you. You snorted, shaking your head.

“Oh, by the way. Be ready on Friday.” You looked to Killer with a confused expression once more. He was really pulling things out of thin air today. He was just hitting you left and right today. “What’s Friday?”

“We’re gonna have a date night. It’s been a couple weeks and I can’t remember the last time we went out - just us.” 

He was right. Usually when you went out, someone was always tagging along. You were typically always accompanied by one or more of your friends.  You didn’t hate it, but sometimes you just wanted it to be just the two of you. “I have some news to share, too.”

You immediately perked up. “What news?” You searched his face as if it were written on him somewhere.

“I’ll tell you Friday.” He shrugged, a smirk on his face and you groaned. “Killi, that’s not fair. That’s three days away! You’re killing me!” You flopped against him, folding your arms and pouting.

You might not have been much better than Kid sometimes. It seemed some things ran in the family.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I figured we could go to a movie then go to that new smoothie place you’ve been wanting to try.” 

Your face brightened as you sat up, turning to face him. “Really?” A new smoothie place had opened up downtown and you’d been dying to try it. You wanted to try it with Killer because you always tried new places together, but Kid had been hounding on practice even more as of late, so you didn’t get to see Killer as much.

Killer chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, really. We can go to the movies right after you get out of class. Or we can go to the smoothie place first then go to the movies.”

“I like that plan better. A smoothie after a long week of school work sounds like a good treat.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and relaxing against him.

He grinned right back. “It’s a date then.” Then he kissed you, leaving you all sorts of excited for Friday.

first|next

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

II. of niceties and awkward second meetings.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce makes an offer you actually can refuse... at first.pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, bruce wayne is still a masochist, bruce wayne is ALSO reckless :). words: 3.5k. edited: 2/28/24.

After every surgery—good or not so good—when you’re rinsing off and getting patted on the back for a job well done, you elect to feel hope. And then you hurry to lock yourself in your office and try to catch your breath.

The weight of a life on your hands follows you from room to room, from work to bed, from daydreams to night terrors. Even when it’s good, it rarely ever feels good. Questions bloat your brain: what if there’s something you missed? What if, despite it all, it’s not enough? Is the blood on your hands, then? Is the life yours to save or the patient’s to endure?

There was no solid answer. All you could do was wait for full recovery and try not to let it consume you.

Maybe tonight was a night for Thai. Maybe you’d call up your old roommates and get together at your place. Maybe you could finally tell them about the night Batman broke into your house, and how you stitched up his bullet wound, and then fell asleep 20 feet away because you had to meet Bruce fucking Wayne the very next morning and God help you if you embarrassed your boss by being late. So far, the only person who’d heard about it was the old lady who lived in the apartment below you, and all she’d done is pray for you.

You’d assured her you were fine, but she’d insisted on anointing your doors and windows before you left for work. The “demon of Gotham” she’d called him, herald of vengeance. The fact that you’d saved his life meant that you’d be spared in the reckoning... or whatever little old ladies learned in Sunday school.

Whatever she believed, you had no reason to think you’d be struck by lightning twice. Batman would not be returning to your home any time soon.

The thought almost made you sad.

There was no reason for him to return. Batman probably had a team of doctors waiting to tend to him if his arsenal of weaponry was any indicator of wealth. He wasn’t just any ol’ run of the mill vigilante, that was for certain.

You were just a blip. A freak accident. A glitch in the matrix. The chance that you’d been in the right place at the right time when Batman needed you most was just that: chance. And you were no gambler, but you could bet on your license that that man would never darken your doorstep (or window sill) again.

Maybe you’d stop by the liquor store too on your way home.

You’re rounding the corner when you collide with your boss, frantic as usual.

“Oh! Finally, there you are,” he grips your upper arms like a vice, eyes frenzied as they look you over, “why do you look like that?”

You imagine he’s referencing the dew of sweat on your skin and your scrubs out of whack. “I finished an operation fifteen minutes ago.” You answer, unimpressed. “I was just heading back to my office.”

Your attempt to sidestep him—to free yourself of the shackles that were his hands—proves useless. He spins to keep you in his grip, “You can’t! Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You have a visitor.”

You frown, “A patient? No one’s on my schedule.”

“I’d like you to make an exception for this one.” His voice drops to a whisper. He readjusts your shirt sleeves as if dressing you up, prettying you for the highest bidder, and that sets you on edge, “Just trust me.”

You almost (almost) flinch away when he pushes you to your office door—now, a looming boulder instead of a gateway to your safe haven. Before you can even ask just who is waiting for you on the other side, your boss is rushing off down the hallway to do God knows what.

As if disarming a bomb, you slowly open the door to peek inside.

It scares the both of you, clearly, if the wide-eyed look he gives you says anything.

It’s like it hasn’t been a week since you’d last seen him. Bruce Wayne is wearing what looks like the same suit he’d worn last time, tie and collar stiff, jacket open underneath his billowy coat. But he looks awkward standing in your modest little office. He looks like he’s not supposed to be here, or at least not without his right hand man and the fanfare to follow.

He keeps his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm, “Your boss said it was okay to wait here for you.”

You’re still bracing yourself against the door, trying to figure out what he could possibly be doing in your office, what he’d possibly be waiting around for you for.

You think about the last time you’d seen him, when you’d grabbed him out of nowhere and his companion (Alfred, was it?) looked like he would have no problem breaking your spine if you dared manhandle him again. Oh God, he wasn’t going to sue, was he?

You swallow, “Uh, right. Can I help you?”

Bruce straightens up. His hands fall to his sides. You search his face to predict his next move but you’re puzzled to find that he’s just as clueless as you.

You didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne, that much had been established. What little you did know was some amorphous figure of nobility, the “prince of Gotham” as the press dubbed him.

Yet, standing before you in your simple little office, Bruce Wayne feels less like nobility and more like a stranger in foreign land. He keeps his hands in front of him and you’re able to make out purple dusting his knuckles. Bruised. Not bloody. Not recently. This piques your interest.

“How long have you been a surgeon?” Is his first question.

You slink into the room and debate on shutting the door, deciding to leave it open a crack; whether it is so you can escape or for him to feel unwelcome, you’re not entirely sure. “Four years. Not including the 12 years of school and residency.”

Bruce perks up just a tad to your bewilderment. “Did you study here in Gotham?”

“I did. I considered Metropolis.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Cheaper tuition.”

“Do you like it here in Gotham?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Wayne,” your voice comes out clipped—nervous—all the same, “I just got out of a surgery and I didn’t even know you’d be here so I haven’t got the faintest clue what you want-”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce apologizes, “I can come back another time.”

Come back? You assess his face once more, double checking for any sign of where this conversation is going, “Come back for what?”

For the first time since you entered the room, Bruce takes a step forward. A few, actually, ‘til he’s standing only a foot away and his whole deer-in-headlights deal is on full display. “A proposition.” Your head swims with big ideas. You’re thankful you’re still standing still. “I’d like to hire you.”

If Em could see you, she’d be laughing her head off at the look on your face. The emotions you're hit with are akin to blunt force trauma.

Bruce catches onto your distress and begins to explain, glancing away from your eyes to give you room to breathe, “Due to the nature of my job and the... events that transpired last November, I’m careful about my position in the public eye. I’ve decided to have a doctor on call, someone I can rely on in the event that something drastic happens again. It would be more menial work, but you would, of course, be greatly compensated: full benefits, triple your salary here. Nothing is out of the question.”

As the last word melts in the air, he finally locks eyes with you. Less deer-in-headlights now, more spotlight. More "I eagerly await your response".

You couldn’t even fathom the price point: triple your salary? You already made good money here, any more would be excessive. And then there’s the reality of the situation. You would be employed, solely, by Bruce Wayne. At his beck and call—perhaps moved into a nicer place within chauffeur distance of Wayne Tower—the support staff of the upper echelon.

Your mom wouldn’t bug you about moving out of Gotham ever again.

This all felt too good to be true. So good that your intuitive pendulum swung violently in warning. Bruce awaits your reply, wringing his hands before him and those glaring purple knuckles catch your attention again. How a CEO had managed those was a question you hesitated to entertain. Something else was going on here.

You knew Gotham was a corrupt city. It festered with crime in every aspect, that much the Riddler had made clear last Halloween. The late mayor, the DA, the police commissioner... and amongst his targets, Bruce Wayne had survived. Something else was definitely going on here.

“...I serve the public, Mr. Wayne. I reserve my skill for the citizens of Gotham without the... ability to seek better. I’m flattered you would consider me and I would be more than happy to point one of my talented colleagues your way in my stead. But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your offer.”

Bruce’s face falls for just a second. After all, if he were to wear his emotions on his face all the time, you doubted he’d be much of a successful businessman.

You’re thankful that he takes a step out of your personal space and doesn’t fuss, doesn’t try to shove a wad of cash at you, doesn’t throw more offers at you until you concede. “I appreciate your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I should let you return to your work. Thank you for your time.”

You nod a little dumbly, the weight of what has just transpired starting to settle fully on you. Em would be far too angry at you to laugh, now.

With the grace of his pedigree, Bruce Wayne nods silently to you and leaves.

You notice once the muscles in your shoulders stop shaking that there’s something in your office that wasn’t there before. There, on the loveseat where Bruce Wayne had waited for you, was a business card.

You shakily approach the seat and collapse beside it, reaching out to read what adorns the back of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Bruce Wayne CEO P: 212-XXX-XXXX

It takes the clatter of ceramic to pull you out of your reverie.

Beside you, Em hovers, “And here I thought you weren’t a fan.”

At the puzzled look you give her, Em jerks her head toward where your eyes had been focusing, mindlessly stirring in the events of the afternoon. At some point, the TV’s channel had changed from Days of our Lives to the Gotham News. They were running a story on a charity event downtown. Bruce Wayne was shaking hands on camera, the tagline “Bruce Wayne makes dazzling appearance alongside controversial mayor”. How fitting.

“‘m not,” you grumble, pushing your lunch around in yellowed Tupperware, “just thinking.”

“About?”

You glance at Em. Too little too late, your boss had clambered into your office shortly after Bruce left, pestering you about the conversation you’d had, disappointed when you’d told him you’d turned down the offer. “Imagine the press we’d get, one of our very own working for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises,” he’d argued, “you’ve got to reconsider.”

You hesitated to tell your tale again, fearful that you’d suffer the same reaction, but Em was not your boss. She would never let the topic rest. And it wasn’t like you signed an NDA, a truth that had only hit you hours after the fact, “I got a job offer today.”

Em’s eyebrows shoot up, “From West Mercy? Arkham?”

The very thought of working in Arkham Asylum had you abandoning your lunch altogether, “God, no. It was more like... on-demand. Concierge. A very rich patient wanted to hire me as their private doctor.”

“Wow... was it one of your patients?”

“No, I’ve never examined him in my life.”

“Him?” You recognized that tone of voice. A slew of questions were on the way if you didn’t elaborate fast enough.

Besides yourself and Em huddled in a corner, the break room was relatively empty. One of the ER nurses was napping, another engrossed in a game of Sudoku on their phone. You doubted they would hear even if you raised your voice above a whisper.

Quietly, because you clam up at the thought of saying his name out loud, you fish out his business card and slide it across the table to her.

It takes her but a moment to process. First a deep inhale, then her hand slaps the table (the Sudoku nurse glances up at you both and then changes his mind), then she’s gripping at your scrubs and shaking you violently in your chair, “Shut the front door! Please tell me you said yes!”

You frown, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why the hell not? I know you don’t keep up with the times in this city, but this guy is loaded!”

“I do keep up with the times. I just don’t give a rat’s ass about Bruce Wayne. A crime punishable by death, apparently.”

“But why in the world would you want to keep working here when you could be... having lunch on a terrace? Discussing lab results over Pinot Grigio? Jetting off to the Bahamas to check his vitals on vacation?”

You snort, “Exactly what I told him: I serve the public. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Could always do both.”

You tried to imagine it, for Em’s sake. The terrace lunches, the Pinot Grigio. You imagined the nice apartment from before and the esteem that your boss was sure you could bring the hospital.

And you imagined Bruce Wayne, with a limp. With bruised knuckles. Always looking at you with those big eyes that somehow told you everything and nothing at the same time. Like an open book in a dead language. You thought about the night that Wayne Tower caught fire and the world that had been crumbling down in Gotham had started to feel truly broken. Politicians die all the time, but the uber rich? Even you had watched the sky in horror.

And now that same man had asked you—you, of all people—to be there in case there was a next time.

You thought about the Batman. Would you say yes if he asked you the exact same question?

You hadn’t considered both.

You’re unaware that Em is leaving until her chair scoots loudly across the laminate, “Think on it. Seriously. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” Her hand brushes your shoulder fleetingly. Then she’s leaving and you’re left to think again.

It was a bit ironic that his next visit took place as you were perusing apartment listings.

You hadn't seen him get inside your home the first time. He’d just been there, as if he’d always been there and you just never noticed. This time, he doesn’t have the urgency to break in. He waits at your window… staring in at you. No knocking. Not even a muffled “Can I come in?”

You don’t know how he expects anyone to invite him inside their home with those kinds of manners. You set your laptop aside and walk over to the curtains, his figure becoming clearer, more menacing as eyes silently follow you. By the time you reach the window, your heart is beating at an unhealthy pace. You had been able to get that adrenaline down before. How did you manage that again?

Batman waits patiently. Your hand presses to the glass, the warmth of it leaving behind a visible print as you push up on the glass, “Don’t tell me,” his head cocks to the side as you begin, “another bullet?”

If he is suffering from a wound like the last, he doesn’t look it. He’s crouched on your fire escape with his cape billowing behind him and the light of your apartment giving off just enough of an ominous glow.

After last time, you’d sneaked some extra supplies back to your place under the paranoia that something might happen again. And, let’s be honest, no one would raise a brow at having everything you need to clean a gunshot wound in this city. You couldn’t say it was entirely just for him, though.

The silence goes on uncomfortably long. You start to wonder if he even heard you, the way he stares you down, unmoving. He resembles a stray caught stealing from a trashcan, seconds from sprinting in the opposite direction to avoid being caught.

Eventually, your heartbeat spikes again. What had he told you last time? To run if someone tried to break in? Maybe he had wanted you to sprint the second you saw a human looming on your fire escape, regardless of their vague bat shape. Was he angry? He kind of always looked angry.

“Have you noticed anyone following you?” His question causes just the briefest alarm.

Living on the not-greatest side of Gotham, you had learned how to keep your head down but your eyes everywhere. If some mugger were looking to jump you as you got out of your car, you’d know. You shake your head, palms beginning to sweat.

Batman assesses you for a bit longer. You can’t tell if he’s reading you for a lie or if his instincts are just telling him otherwise, but eventually, he accepts your answer.

And begins to leave.

“Wait,” you stutter out against your better judgement, when he’s already stood to his full height, one boot positioned on the railing to propel himself below. He looks over his shoulder at you very slowly, “how’s your... side? Wound heal okay?

He looks down to where you’d stitched him, where his armor had been mended. “It’s better.”

You sigh, relieved. “You’ve gotten it looked at, then.”

“Someone looked at it.”

His wording gives you pause. “What about your stitches? Did you get them redone?” He hesitates. “You... did get them redone, right? Better. Preferably by someone who wasn’t worried about you dying on their living room floor.” Your skin prickles when you see his guilty look. “Batman, if you’ve been fighting crime every night for the past week with the same stitches I put in you days ago-”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“So you keep saying.” You really don’t mean to grit your teeth at him, practically stomping your foot because you’d, at the very least, expected him to be a bit smart about a bullet wound.

But, then again, you were talking to a man dressed as a bat.

You crawl out onto the fire escape, chilly and biting and unforgiving as the night may be, and watch Batman turn halfway toward you. You have to resist the urge to brush your hand against his side, an act far too intimate with Kevlar in the way. You look up at him, “Don’t suppose you’d let me take another look at it?”

The first time, sure, he let you because he was close to dying. With a motto of “I’ve been through worse” at his disposal, you doubted he would let you do it again unless the circumstances were dire.

Sure enough, he moves defensively away from you. You take heart in that it seems less like he distrusts you and more like he’s got a bravado issue. Not great, but better. Easier to fix.

You think of the medical supplies in your apartment and wonder if you’ve got what it takes to coax him inside. “I thought that you might not come again. Guy like you fighting crime every night must have people on hand for stuff like this, right? You’re not just any vigilante. Couldn’t be.” His unsettling glare makes the cold seep into you just a little bit more, “You don’t. Do you?”

He doesn’t answer you. His eyes shift from yours to the cityscape. Looking for a way out, maybe.

But if he wanted to leave, he would leave. Why would he hesitate?

“I just want to look. Make sure it’s not infected. No poking or prodding, I promise.”

“It’s not. I had someone look at it.”

“A doctor?”

“...No.”

“Someone who knows what they’re looking at, at least?”

He looks down at you. There’s something there that he’s keeping close to his chest, too much information for a stranger (even one who’s saved his life). You wait to see what his decision will be. “You work at Gotham General.” Batman states, matter-of-factly.

“...I know you were bleeding to death when I told you, but you’ve got to keep up in this city.” You see a hint of a smile on his mouth that is just as easily written off as a scowl. “What about it?”

Again, that look.

Just as you’re certain that you’re about to break through to something, a siren goes off in the distance. Sure enough, when the both of you look to the sky, his emblem is carved out in the clouds, beckoning him down to the streets once more. Your heart sinks. You were so close.

Batman waits a beat, positioning himself on the railing again. His eyes find yours over his shoulder, cape fluttering with the promise of taking flight, “They’re lucky to have you.”

He leaves. It feels even colder when he does.

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 19: [INFERNAL FRIENDS] barbatos / tea party

ao3 link

note: requested by "average robot enjoyer"! i'm fairly sure i do know which tumblr user this belongs to, but since you didn't specify your handle i've refrained from tagging you, just in case - hopefully you see this! (this takes place prior to the other two infernal friends requests)

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

There isn’t a precedent for what happens when a servant of the prince erupts into flames mid-way through a gathering. To be honest, Barbatos hadn’t thought it would ever be necessary.

Satan eyes him with impressive serenity. “...are you feeling alright?”

He looks down at the crimson flames dancing around his feet. To be fair, there isn’t any heat. “I feel well, yes.”

“I’m going to make a call,” Lucifer announces, then pulls out his phone. “Diavolo, your butler is on fire.”

Perhaps it’s a good thing that the Young Master is running late to this particular occasion, Barbatos thinks placidly as Lucifer listens to his response with a small grimace. Then the flames climb rapidly up his legs, and his surroundings fold in on themselves.

The world compresses to a sharp point in a crunch of indiscernible colours and sound, then expands again into the shape of a living room with peeling wallpaper. Barbatos takes in a shallow breath, then looks down and makes eye contact with IK - the Young Master’s new human friend.

Now it makes sense. Barbatos has only met her once, and she spent most of that time hiding behind Diavolo’s wings, but he vaguely recalls being told that she’d been given his summoning ritual. Still, he hadn’t expected her to ever use it.

“Hello,” He says pleasantly. “Did you mean to summon me? Or were you perhaps seeking the Young Master?”

IK shakes her head.

“You wanted to see me, then?”

A nod.

“Why?”

IK gestures at him, turns around, and very purposefully walks out of the room. Barbatos, understanding quickly, follows - pausing to extinguish the candles on the carpet with his tail.

She’s waiting for him at the end of the hallway. As soon as she spots him emerging, she darts quickly into the next room. (Barbatos allows himself a private smile - though she isn’t nearly as chatty, IK reminds him quite uncannily of a particular young demon. Nevertheless, he resolves himself to his usual brand of distant attentiveness.)

“Would you like to show me something?” He asks, glancing around the kitchen. Hmm. Well-maintained, but a little messy.

IK points up. Barbatos opens the cupboard, as directed, and finds a tissue-wrapped teapot.

He turns around. The child gazes hopefully up at him.

“I see,” He says after a moment. “You would like me to make you some tea. Is that it?”

IK’s eyes light up as she nods. After a moment, very quietly, she adds, “Please.”

Well... clearly he hadn’t been needed at that gathering, if the threat of him being reduced to a pile of ash had been so unremarkable to the others. Making tea is hardly a heavy task for him, anyway. He supposes he has the time to spare for a companion of the Young Master.

There isn’t anything nearly as fine as the castle’s crockery in this kitchen, and it takes a while for him to navigate around all the clutter - but, finally, he has everything laid out prettily on the table, without so much as a speck of a stain on his gloves. A job well done, he should think.

IK stands blankly in the middle of the kitchen - where she’d remained, unmoving, while Barbatos worked. He dusts off his hands, clears his throat delicately, and pulls out a chair.

“Please, young miss - sit,” He says, as courteously as he can.

A beat passes. IK slowly approaches the chair and clambers up, looking entirely bewildered.

“Very good.” He sets a cup in front of her, then pours out a careful measure of tea. Lightly floral, a lovely rosy colour - quite acceptable. He takes the liberty of pouring himself a cup as well.

IK watches him, wide-eyed, as he seats himself on the opposite side of the table, and blows delicately on his cup before taking a sip. He sets it down, then quirks an eyebrow at her, and she stiffens a little.

Then, eyes steeling, she attempts to copy him. The cup and saucer clatter together rather unelegantly, and she puffs like an angry little bird, but Barbatos feels something about his resolve soften nevertheless.

“How is it?” He asks after a moment.

IK blinks at him over the rim of her cup, then sets it down again. He glances into it. It’s empty?

To be able to completely drain a teacup, without looking as if you’re doing so, is something of a feat. Barbatos tries not to look too impressed. “...well done. Was it not hot?”

IK looks him dead in the eye. Then her face scrunches up.

“Do you need some ice?” He asks patiently. A head shake. “Is it not to your taste?”

She looks a little shamed, then nods. He sighs lightly, but smiles. “Not to worry. You are young - your palate will refine with time. For now, shall we add a little sugar?”

He stands up to retrieve the jar from the cupboard. As he touches the handle, IK suddenly says from behind him, “Don’t you add milk?”

Barbatos pauses, then turns around. “Pardon?”

IK looks at the tea set, then back at him. “You… add milk. To the tea. And— and when the girls play, the tea isn’t real…”

She trails off. Barbatos stands there for a moment, then finally realises why she’d looked so perplexed as soon as he started actually filling the pot.

“I see,” He concludes after a moment. “You only wanted to play.”

IK nods slowly.

“My apologies. I'm accustomed to acting in my capacity as a—” He cuts himself off, realising that IK probably understands his sentences about as much as he understands Leviathan’s slang, and instead says, “—well, I’m afraid that I am not used to this sort of thing. I could call…”

Then he pauses to think about it. If IK had wanted to play tea parties with Diavolo, she would’ve summoned him in the first place. She’s obviously picked Barbatos for a reason, even if it isn’t for his actual tea-brewing skills, and he’d hate to let her down now.

"Perhaps you should teach me,” He suggests instead, returning to the table with the sugar jar in hand.

IK stares hard at it, then admits, “I don’t know how to play either.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t play with the girls…” She blinks, then adds, very fast, “I want to. But I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll think I’m stupid because I don’t talk.”

“You’re talking to me, are you not?”

“That’s different.” IK goes quiet for a moment. “...you’re supposed to say clink.”

“Clink?” He repeats.

“Like this.” IK picks her cup up, then reaches it across the table and knocks it against his. “Clink.”

“Clink,” Barbatos repeats again, returning the gesture this time. “And what else do you do?”

“You pretend to eat things,” She says slowly, then mimics taking a bite out of something with surprising accuracy. “Mm. Wow. Tasty.”

It comes out so completely monotone that Barbatos has to press his lips together to prevent a chuckle. IK seems to notice anyway.

“I don’t get that part either.” She looks at the tea set again, then adds, “I just wanted to try. It’s lots of pretending. And lots of talking.”

“You don’t have to play exactly as they do,” Barbatos tells her, beginning to pour her another cup, this time with a half-spoon of sugar added. “You don’t have to talk to me if you’d rather not, either.”

IK thinks about it for a moment. “...no, I like talking to you. You say big words like you mean them.”

“I’d rather think that’s because I do,” He replies, disguising a surprised (and rather pleased) smile. “You will learn to use big words with time, as well.”

“Your name is a big word.”

“It is,” He acknowledges. “You’d be surprised how often even other demons spell it incorrectly.”

IK squints at him, as if asking if that’s a challenge, then starts, “B-A-R-B-E—”

“A.”

“—I— what?”

“B-A-R-B-A,” He corrects.

“B-A…” IK stumbles, then finally settles on, “Toss.”

“B-A-R-B-A-toss,” He agrees, nodding. “Very good.”

IK nods as well, then picks up her teacup. She copies him once more: blowing lightly, then taking a careful sip. She’s already doing it with much more poise than the first time.

She looks thoughtful when she lowers the cup - she’s refrained from drinking it all at once this time. Barbatos holds his own cup out again, and IK quickly reaches over to knock hers against it.

“Clink,” She says, happily this time. “This is fun.”

“What sort of games do you play with the Young Master?” Barbatos asks after a moment. Both of them are rather easily amused, it seems. “Ah - Diavolo, I mean.”

“Young Master,” IK repeats a little sceptically. “Um… he reads to me. I have to teach him games, as well.”

“And you talk to him?”

“Sometimes. When I feel like it.” IK taps her little fingers on her saucer. “...talking is hard.”

“I think you are doing a superb job,” Barbatos tells her, and means it. IK gives him a smile more warming than the tea. “The Young Master speaks very highly of you, as well.”

“Why do you call him that?” She asks, scrunching her nose.

“As his servant, it would be discourteous to address him too familiarly.”

“You’re a servant?” IK leans across the table with wide eyes. “...how much does he pay you?”

“Pardon?” He didn’t know a child of this age knew to consider wages. “Well— it isn’t often monetary—”

“He doesn’t give you any money?”

“I receive payment enough,” He says, and decides to leave it at that.

IK’s eyes are owlishly wide, but she doesn’t question him further. Instead, she asks quietly, “What does dis-court-us mean?”

Barbatos explains it, and a great many other things - talking for long enough for the remaining tea in the pot to go stone cold, so absorbed that he doesn’t realise that the front door has opened until IK’s father walks into the kitchen. He barely flinches upon seeing him, and Barbatos gets the feeling from his loose handshake and absent introduction that the man’s mind is utterly elsewhere.

Though his weary eyes brighten when IK hurries to greet him - she's gone quiet again, but in a way that Barbatos takes to mean that no words need to be said. He decides to excuse himself soon after that, wary of intruding, but offers IK a warm smile and deep bow when she enthusiastically waves goodbye.

He steps seamlessly through one of his own doors, back to the Devildom and emerges in the castle's entrance hall. A moment later, Diavolo is already upon him.

“So?” He asks eagerly. “How did it go?”

“Young Master,” Barbatos greets with an incline of his head. After a moment’s thought, he admits, “I do believe everything you have told me is true.”

[kylobith]

The Little Tiefling (Gale of Waterdeep x Tav)

Word count: 2,955

One afternoon, as Tav takes a nap, Gale seizes the opportunity to bond with their three-month-old daughter by reading her a story.

Clad in his purple robes, Gale closes the bedroom door as softly as he can, wincing as the hinges and the wood creak. Before walking away, he perks up his ears, awaiting any grumble or moan from the other side. Nothing.

Relieved that he was gentle enough not to wake his partner, he tiptoes to the stairs, only to be interrupted by a loud cry. Months ago, he would have pictured himself whimpering and sobbing along upon hearing this sound so often in a row. Still, now that he was in the thick of it, nothing could eff the smile on his face. Sure, some days are more demanding than others, but he is more than grateful to any deity above to have been granted the privilege to experience it. It is a second chance, one most craved and prayed for.

So, Gale renounces the little free time he planned for himself rather gladly. He slithers towards the nursery at the end of the hallway, careful not to cause any more ruckus than the baby already does. Once inside, his face illuminates at the sight of the squirming little thing in her crib, grabbing at the air while screaming her lungs out.

‘Hey there, sunshine,’ he coos. ‘Awake already, aren't we?’

He bends over the cot and picks up his daughter, pressing a few kisses to her cheek before cradling her in his arms. In a mere instant, he is a man transformed. Tenderness and affection radiate from his twinkling eyes while the most beaming grin burns onto his cheeks. As he has so often done since he first beheld his partner, he cannot help but think that his arms were designed for two things: for holding his beloved Tav and for carrying his child.

Gale caresses the thick, feathery hair on the child's head, kissing her forehead while rocking her. Sooner than he anticipated, the baby calms down, but a nose scrunch remains on her little face. He walks out of the nursery and heads downstairs, momentarily setting her down into her lounge chair in the kitchen so he can prepare a bottle. He sings to the two of them all the while, occasionally spinning on his heel to coo the lyrics at his daughter while making silly faces. She watches her father with round eyes, drooling over her knuckles.

With a giggle, he picks her up and takes the bottle to the living room, feeding her on the couch.

‘Sorry, little one, it's just us this afternoon. Mum needed a break.’

His daughter eyes him again, her face finally relaxing now that she is eating. He chuckles and extends his index finger to poke her tiny nose.

‘But that means that you and I can catch up a little! So, tell me, how's life treating you?’

Silence. Of course, there would be.

‘Oh, I see! Many new things to explore, huh? Don't worry, that never stops. That's what’s so exciting about life if you ask me.’

The suckling noises fill the air, and he could not be more elated to have this quiet moment with his baby.

‘You know, adventures will await you at every corner of the world,’ he speaks fondly, already imagining her growing up. ‘It will be up to you to accept challenges or to deny them. Of course, you won't always do exactly what you like every time, and that's quite alright. You'll need that to evolve and enlighten yourself beyond books. But when you feel uncomfortable engaging in something, know you have the right to say no. It’ll spare you much heartbreak and pain, trust me. Promise you'll do just that?’

He stares at his daughter briefly before laughing to himself.

‘That's right, you're just a baby. I'll take your silence as a promise for now, though. Sorry that your old man needs a little reassurance now and then. He'll need much more once you grow up, especially if you dabble in magic. Don't want you summoning a bloodthirsty creature and unleashing it on the city, now, do we?’

Gale grins and gazes at the girl, remaining silent as she drinks the rest of the bottle. Once he finishes the feeding routine, he carries her around the house on a whim, showing her the view from each window and pointing at everything to be seen. He tells her about the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate, the sweet smells whenever he passes the baker and how he always needs to restrain himself from heading inside to buy several pastries. He reminisces about strange encounters with locals and foreigners alike, those noteworthy enough for him to still grin whenever they cross his mind. He describes the hammering in the smithy in intricate detail, portraying it loud enough to resonate through the neighbouring streets.

When the baby fusses, he shoots glances around.

‘Oh, of course! Where's your owlbear, now?’

Before the child cries, he finds the little stuffed toy in the dining room, probably put away on top of the cabinet when Tav was too exhausted to think about where to put it. He grabs it and playfully rubs the toy's velvet beak against his daughter's nose, producing silly sounds he never thought he would indulge in when he was still single. The baby laughs, warming his heart and softening his traits.

‘How I love you, little one. Never doubt that.’

With another kiss on her forehead, he takes her to his library, which they now partly use as a playroom for the girl. The bottom shelves are long cleared of any of Gale's books, instead filled with baskets containing toys, games, emergency pacifiers, and bibs. It has become a new thing for Tara to nibble on the pacifiers as of late. It happens so often now that Tav has considered dedicating a separate budget for them alone.

A quilted throw lays on the ground, already dotted with stuffed toys and rattles. So much love has been woven into this blanket, skilfully created and sewn together by Tav during the pregnancy. Each square represents essential milestones in their lives, a work still in progress. A purple and black hole in a rock with a hand sticking out of it is embroidered on the first square, a playful nod to how Gale and Tav met. The following one pictures a serene scene by a campfire between the two, then the third shows them connected to the Weave. Tav's favourite square of all shows them under a colourful starry sky, the moment when she understood that she fell in love with the quirky wizard.

Other squares show Gale's proposal, their wedding, their new house, Tara, and her pregnancy. Another one features the two of them holding their newborn daughter, doting upon her. Possibly the most joyful event in their lives so far.

Gale gently places the child on the throw and sits next to her, not caring whether the belt of his robes is undoing itself, leaving the hems to gape around his torso. He shakes one of the rattles in front of her, but she seems more interested in nibbling the stuffed owlbear gifted by Karlach. He chuckles, knowing she would melt on the spot if she knew about it.

As father and daughter play and bond, it occurs to him that life could not improve from there. This is it, the pinnacle of his happiness. Teaching on weekdays while having enough time to coddle his wife and daughter, to study and read while petting Tara… No, it truly cannot get better than this.

When he senses that the child grows sleepy again, he puts down the toys and takes her in his arms.

‘Dozing off already? Am I this boring? Ah, I guess. One day, you will think that your mum and I are the dullest people you've ever met, but if only you knew why we became so…’

The girl yawns, and he giggles. No matter how often it occurred, it always filled him with such warmth.

‘But I think that your mum would kill me if I told you the story when you're not old enough. Or at all, actually. You need not be burdened with such things.’

Sitting her up on his hand, clutching her against his chest, he walks her over to a specific section of his library, making her look at the books.

‘Any favourite for today, duckling?’

Another yawn. Gale kisses the top of her head and finds his attention caught by a particular book in his collection. A beautiful edition, bound in green leather with gold embossings. It is one of the first books he purchased when Tav was expecting, in one of his many children's books rampages in the city. He wished to ensure that his child would never run out of stories to escape reality to, that their creativity would constantly be challenged and encouraged, and that the world would come to them when they could not take them into the world yet.

Sometimes, when the excitement or anxiety of becoming a parent seized him at night and ebbed him away from sleep's shores, he would pick one of the books and read to Tav's belly, caressing it with his fingertips lightly enough not to awake or disturb her. And just like that, fear would drift away, enabling him to swim back to the land of dreams.

‘How about The Little Tiefling, mh?’

Tilting his torso back, he reaches for the book and paces towards the armchair in the corner by the window. He sits down, propping his daughter against him and letting her curl up naturally, letting the sun filter through the windows onto her angelic face. His fingertips caress the embossed cover and flip it open to the first page.

‘The Little Tiefling,’ he announces with a hint of pride.

He clears his throat and adjusts his position to make them both more comfortable before starting to read aloud.

‘Once upon a time, there was a little tiefling named Yalaia. According to her mother, she had the most beautiful auburn hair, but according to her father, she had the cutest button nose in the realm. But there was one thing that Yalaia wished for above all else: horns.’

The door creaks open, and Gale's eyes dart to it, only to find Tara nudging it open and rubbing against the doorpost. With a grin playing on his lips, he beckoned her over with a nod.

‘Oh, hi, Tara! Come to listen to the story, too? Come in!’

The tressym, understanding her friend's every word, happily hops into the room. She comes to rub against his bare calves for an instant before leaping onto the armchair and sitting on top of it. Emitting a loud purr, she nuzzles his hair, earning a chuckle from the wizard. He balances the book on his knee for a second to pet her on the neck and wings. When the baby fusses, he kisses the girl's forehead and continues to read.

‘Her mother had elegantly curved horns, reminding her of fauns. Her father had proud and sturdy ones, making him look taller than he was. But Yalaia only had nubs above her brows.’

The baby yawns, and he gently strokes her bent leg with his thumb.

‘One morning, as she headed outside to meet her friends to play, she found with horror that they all had small horns protruding from their foreheads. But not Yalaia. As they played, she stared, wishing her turn would come. As her parents tucked her in that night, she wished to wake up with horns. And she did so every night that followed. Sadly, she woke up every morning with nubs.’

Above him, perched up on the backrest, Tara tilts her head to gaze at the beautifully painted illustrations.

‘When she saw that more of her friends grew their horns as if it was the easiest thing in the world, Yalaia felt rather sad. She felt that she did not fit in and was different from other tieflings. Now, as she prayed for horns every night, she did so with tears brimming her eyes. But it was not enough.’

Gale kisses his daughter's forehead again, seeing that she is nodding off.

‘As her favourite uncle came to visit with her cousins one day, she was shocked to discover that all her younger cousins already adorned shiny horns. So, between lunch and dessert, she snuck out of the house and ran away. It seemed that she did not belong. Perhaps she was no tiefling at all.

‘Worrying as soon as she left their sight, Yalaia's family relentlessly looked for her, calling her name. Neighbours and friends, shopkeepers and strangers joined the search, hoping to find Yalaia safe and sound and bring her home. They went through every house, every garden, every shop, every cellar, every attic, every chest and every barrel. They combed the streets, the hills, the riverside. When her mother ventured into the forest, calling out for her daughter, her cries were met by a whimper.

‘Huddled up by a rock in the middle of the woods, Yalaia sniffled and wiped her tears, relieved to see her mother. After running for hours to hide, she lost all sense of direction in the dense forest. She had turned and paced forever until she decided to remain by the rock. Whatever she was expecting to come for her was not her mother, so the joy to be found was only sweeter.

‘Yalaia’s mother cradled her in her arms, tears dripping onto her hair. What a fright it had been! She told Yalaia of everyone joining the family to search for her and how everybody was so concerned that all activity had ceased. The blacksmith had climbed the hills to see the landscape better in hopes of finding her, while her friends had retraced their paths to every place they explored together.

‘“Mama,” said Yalaia, “why would they look for me? I am different. I look different. Why were they not happy that I left?”

‘Yalaia's mother was saddened to hear such words from her daughter. But then, with the brightest smile only a mother can bestow, she replied, “Because you are one of us. You may think you are different, but we all are in our own ways. The baker does not always see eye-to-eye with the guard, yet when celebrations come, they dine merrily at the same table and share the same wine. Everyone has a place among us, and so do you, no matter who you are or what you look like. You are one of us.”

‘“But Mama, I don't have horns, and all my friends and cousins do!”

‘Her mother smiled and pulled her locket from beneath her dress, opening it to reveal two painted portraits. On the left, a young tiefling with orange skin smiled at the onlooker, while on the right, an even younger one with a reddish complexion did the same. Their pose was not their only common trait. Both children lacked horns.

‘“Do you see the girl on the left?” Yalaia's mother asked. “It was me when I was a bit older than you. I did not have horns yet, which made me sad, too. But I came to learn that everybody is different and evolves at their own pace. There is no wrong way to grow, no wrong way to belong to your people. All you need is to be kind and accepting. Everything will come in time, with a little bit of patience.”

‘And so, Yalaia hugged her mother, reassured her that nothing was wrong with her. Together, they left the forest and happily announced the good news of Yalaia’s return. Everyone was merry that day to know that the little tiefling was found. That night, she did not wish for horns, only for her kin to fare well. And when she awoke in the morning, two little horns were on her forehead.’

Gale gazes down at his daughter and smiles from ear to ear as he finds her fast asleep.

‘The end.’

‘Don't you think it's a bit of a complex story for a three-month-old?’

His eyes dart towards the door, only to find a dishevelled Tav leaning against the doorpost with a grin. Even with deep circles underneath her eyes and knots in her hair, she looks as radiant as ever to him.

‘There you are, my dear,’ he chimes. ‘Didn't you want to nap longer?’

‘Couldn't bring myself to it. I missed you both too much.’

‘I see.’

Gale laughs and puts the book aside, carrying the sleeping baby to Tav.

‘She and I had a lovely afternoon. She was an absolute sweetheart.’

‘That's good to know. How long has it been since you fed her?’

‘About two hours ago.’

‘Mmh. It's almost time again, then.’

She takes the little girl from his arms and props her up against her shoulder, cupping the back of her head and kissing her hair. Tav’s attention is drawn to a pile of boxes in a corner, and she sighs.

‘You still haven't dealt with those?’

‘I meant to do it this afternoon, but I got carried away playing with her and all,’ Gale admits, scratching the back of his head. ‘Don't worry, I'll get to it today.’

‘At least return Astarion's gift first. That's the first one I want out.’

Gale follows Tav out of the library, lovingly holding her by the waist.

‘My First Wine-Tasting Kit. Who even gives that to a baby?’

‘The question is: who sells that in the first place?’

Both chuckle and exit the room, closing the door behind them to return to their cocoon and family life, leaving Tara to curl up on the warm armchair.

Tag: @emmanuellececchi

[loveackermannn]

☰ TAKE YOU BY THE HAND. –.ೃ࿐ 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧.

(*IMPORTANT; implied mentions of sex !!*)

the days before levi goes on a mission, he's a lot more clingy than usual but of course he would try not to be obvious around others – though, coming from the constant pokes and whispers from hanji and erwin, they could see right through him.

the way he shows this, is whenever the two of you are out doing your duties in the halls or even just roaming around the mess hall, he'll find any excuse to be near you. being right by your presence is enough for him to be relieved of his anxieties and pent up stress. hearing your voice talk about the most mundane of things from something as simple as what happened in your day to your stupid jokes that never failed to light up a room. to see your smile outcast the rest of the world by the beauty that is you, to feel your love radiate internally and externally and to know that it's all reserved for him is a deep reminder that he will do anything to come back home to you again. you are his home.

he loves linking his pinky with yours in moments that spared for the two of you to be alone together (he'll even sneak it in the mess hall during meal times under the table). the soft glances towards your direction whenever you manage to cross paths in the dimly lit hallways, paperwork filling both of your hands. the small gesture of taking up the majority of the paper from your load as if he didn't have another stack awaiting for him in his office, he didn't mind one bit.

what couldn't be done or said during the day, was reserved for the late evenings in which the two of you expressed your love in your shared bedroom, passion flooding through the four walls so much so that it could burst. the exchange of 'i love yous' could no longer be contained by him and he needed you to know that every word that spilled from his lips were said deep within his heart and soul.

"i love you. god, i love you."

and the way your body molded perfectly with his and how your lips naturally connected with his like magnets. he'll never get over how sweetly you tasted and he could honestly just live off the entirety of you for the rest of his life. nothing else mattered to him in this moment – you were his sun and he was your moon, you were the sky and he'd give you the stars.

for now, he could just be levi.

☆ — 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @luvjiro , @youre-ackermine , @lovolee3 , @notgoodforlife , @averysmolbear , @bejewelledd , @leviismybby , @evas-leslas , @roseofdarknessblog @cometlevi , @21aurora (! ! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝💌)

[iguana-eyanna]

NCIS: Damon Pt. 2

It's been two weeks since he's been in the hospital. He still couldn't fathom that he wasn't in the Navy anymore, and it hurt a part of him that couldn't be healed.

But what hurt most was that he may have lost you again.

Damon's been thinking a lot since he saw you. He wished he wouldn't have broken things off with you in the first place. He loved you with every bone in his body, but he was too scared to bring you into his messy life. But the damage was already done, and he regretted not being there for you and his baby girl.

So when Gibbs came to his hospital room and gave him a medal and a slip of paper that had your new address, he took it as a sign to make things right.

With the spare change he had, he took a cab and arrived at your doorstep in a small apartment. Damon took a breath and hesitated to knock at your door. And he stood there for what felt like a millennium until he heard his name.

"Damon?"

He turned around and saw you holding bags of groceries, looking beautiful as ever. He saw how your bump grew bigger the last time he saw you, and how tensed you must have been standing there.

"Could I help you with your bags?" Damon asked.

He could have said something along the lines of "I still love you" or "I'll be a better man and father for your baby" but he needed to earn your respect first.

"Y-yeah." You said with a bit of hesitance.

He came down the steps to help you as you unlocked the door. Inside, he found more spacious than it was outside. You had a big living room that connected to your kitchen and had a great view of the city. He placed the groceries on your counter as started to place the food in the fridge.

"You um - have a nice place." Damon said.

"Thanks, I saw it in an ad and thought moving closer to my job was the best decision. I got promoted and my hours changed."

"Congrats! That's... amazing." He said, taking a seat by the counter.

You paused where you stood in front of your fridge and turned toward him.

"I heard what happened about your discharged, I'm sorry." You said.

"No, don't be. This- this was my fault. All I wanted was to serve and I lost sight of what mattered most."

You nod in a small manner, using your hands to lean by the marbled countertop.

"What matters the most to you now?"

He hesitates and he looks up to you with teary eyes.

"Trying to be a better man for you."

Your heart began to ache. One part of you just wanted to envelop your arms around him like before, wanting to take back the words you said to him the last time you saw each other. But the other was hurting too much, always feeling you were second place in his life.

You walked ever so carefully to him, placing one hand on top of his.

"I know you're trying to make amends Damon, but I don't think we can be what we were, just not yet."

He nodded his head, understanding that the way you two left things had left scars that hadn't healed. But you held his hand firmer to break out from his thoughts.

"But I do want you here, in our baby's life. She has the right to know who her father is, if you're ready."

A flicker of hope shone through his eyes and gave you a smile that he hadn't seen in a while.

"I'll be here any time you need me."

Since then, Damon has chosen to live near a motel. He wanted to give you space but still guaranteed to be by your side through the end of your pregnancy. He helped you buy some clothes for the baby as well as help you with the nursery. It was your favorite day to be with him as you started to fool around with the paint, purposely painting each other's clothes.

You haven't laughed in a while, and it felt like your heart was being repaired, piece by piece. You offered Damon to stay the night and he looked a bit reluctant, but he knew you wouldn't take no for an answer. So, he slept on the couch that night.

Since your pregnancy, you haven't had a peaceful sleep. So when you heard noises from the living room, you had to investigate.

Your feet slowly padded your hallway and you walked through the dark room.

"Damon?"

You saw him tossing and turning, murmuring. Slowly, you go up to him, softly shaking his shoulder.

"Damon, wake up."

Suddenly, he abruptly wakes up with a cold sweat. He looks at you with wild eyes, like the ones you saw when he was in the interrogation room.

You reach out to touch his face, but he flinches away, his jaw clenched. But you stood your ground.

"Look at me. Please." You begged, whispering.

He hesitantly looks up, fearful. His body screamed at him to run away, to not hurt you, but his heart stood its place, knowing he would never do something like that.

All you could see was his eyes softening, then became glossy as a tear fell.

He began to sob, and he landed his face in your chest. It caught you by surprise, but you held him closely to you, trying to calm him down by combing his hair that was growing and kissed his forehead. You two both stayed in that position until you brought him to your room where you both sat at the end of your bed as you listened to him attentively.

He talked about saving his friends lives in the line of duty, yet feeling like a failure to himself and his country.

"I couldn't recognize myself, I thought I became this monster. All my life, I was too weak to do anything. I almost didn't qualify to serve due to my health records. That's why I started taking enhancements."

Your mouth rounded in a small 'o' as you never new that part of his life before the army.

You intertwine your hands in his and look at his eyes that faced so many wars.

"You fought so much in your life, Damon. I know it seems like you given up but you didn't. You saved so many lives. I know I can't give you much-"

Damon whips his head towards you, hurt.

"What do you mean? You given me the world." His hand softly goes to your growing belly and looks at you with those loving eyes that you once remembered.

You held on to each other, feeling his heart beat slow down as you two laid back in your mattress where you two fell asleep.

When you woke up, you see him snuggled by your belly as you comb his hair that grew much longer through your fingers. He smiles then flutters his eyes open, adoring you again with his gaze.

Both of you know the risks of dating each other again, as no one wanted to break the other's heart.

But you had to at least try. Cause Damon would be damned if he repeated the same mistakes again.

He could promise you that, but for the time being... He was happy where he was now, entangled in bed with the woman who had his whole heart and more.

[geminiwritten]

a gift from god ; bones

fandom: star trek

pairing: bones x reader

summary: after a series of unfortunate events, you run into bones in the middle of the night completely naked, but he is more than happy to help

notes: another very sporadic post, this time star trek - don’t ask, i don’t know - but i hope it’s okay! i’m still struggling with tenses so i’m sorry if its crappy and slips in/out of past/present tense, but i really love feedback so please let me know what you think!

word count: 1888

The spray of water refused to change temperature. Your fingertips were beginning to numb as you held your hand beneath it, dancing from foot to foot in a feeble attempt to keep your naked body warm. “For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, before finally giving up and turning the shower off. It felt wrong to slip your jacket back on and wriggle into your tights; you could smell the aftereffects of your exhaustive workout with Nyota.

Cursing incoherently under your breath, you slung your towel over your arm and half-slipped back into your shoes to exit your living quarters. The bright white hallway was mostly empty, being the assigned ‘night-time’ hours, most of the crew were asleep while the ship operated on minimal personnel. Your feet began the familiar route toward your cousin’s quarters, and less than a minute later you were knocking impatiently on his door.

“What the hell do you want?” Scotty demanded once the door slid open. His hair stood out at odd angles and there were pink lines streaking his cheeks, marked by his sheets.

“Hello sunshine,” you plastered on your sweetest smile, “my hot water isn’t working.”

He huffed, “so? I’m sleeping, go tell an engineer on shift.”

“You were sleeping,” you pointed out, “and I don’t want you to fix it, I just want to use your shower.”

His brows squeezed even tighter into their frown, “why are you even awake, it’s almost the middle of the night?”

You shrugged, “couldn’t sleep, so Nyota and I trained some. Now, are you done with the third-degree? I smell.”

His hesitation was obvious, and you honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he shut the door in your face, but after a dramatic sigh he stepped aside to allow you in. His living quarters were tidier than you expected and being the same layout as every crew member’s residence, you didn’t need to question where the bathroom was.

“Do you need a towel?” Scotty asked.

You shook your head, “I brought mine, but do you have a spare shirt and shorts? These clothes stink.”

He sighed again, “yeah, I’ll have a look and leave them on the dresser for you.”

“Thanks Scotty!” you grinned and blew him a kiss before shutting yourself in the bathroom.

The shower heated almost immediately, filling the small space with steam and delicious warmth as you shed your dirty clothes, but a knock on the door came before you could step under the hot water.

“I have to go to the laundry room for clean clothes,” Scotty called, “can you give me those dirty towels under the sink?”

You half wrapped your towel around your naked body and opened the door to kick the pile of dirty laundry out to him. “You don’t mind taking my clothes too? Thank you!” you asked, sealing the door once again before he could reply.

His huff was loud enough for you to hear before you stepped into the shower, the hot water soothing every inch of your sore and sweaty body. You spent longer than you should have in there, shampooing your hair twice and almost emptying Scotty’s bottle of fruit-scented bodywash. The only reason you finally decided to turn of the water was because of the tiredness pulling an excessive number of yawns from your mouth.

You dried your body and ruffled the towel through your hair before wrapping it tightly around your chest and opening the door. Steam escaped around you and filled the dark, empty room. Scotty still wasn’t back. You sighed and slumped on the bed, finding his communicator on his side table and opening it up before realising if it was here then it wasn’t with him.

“Ugh,” you stood again and approached his dresser to find some clothes. The first drawer was underwear, which you shut quickly, the second was full of red uniforms, and the third empty. “What the fuck, Scotty?”

You held your towel tighter and opened the main door, peaking your head out into the hallway. It was still empty and there were no footsteps coming in either direction; you could probably make it back to your own room without being seen.

The corridor floor was cold against your bare feet and goosebumps rose all over your back under the cool air drifting from the vents overhead. You padded quickly through the white tunnel toward your room, managing to get there without running into a single crew member. Though your relief was short lived when you realised you’d left your access key in the pocket of your jacket.

“Fuck,” you muttered, turning on your heel and hurrying back the way you’d come. This was going to be the fourth key you’ve put through the wash and the security team were going to kick your ass for it.

Your feet made little smacking sounds as you broke into a jog, murmuring curses as you rushed toward the elevator and mashed the button to summon it. Once inside you bounced from foot to foot, trying to stay warm and calm your nervous energy. The doors finally parted and you dashed out, not realising the elevator doors had caught your towel until you stood completely naked.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you gripped the towel and tried to yank it free, but the doors were sealed tight. You swallowed a scream as you whirled back around, searching frantically for something – anything – to cover yourself.

The first open door you found was a medical supply closet, offering nothing practical to help your situation, so you hurried along toward the laundry room. You could feel the goosebumps spreading all over your body and a shiver beginning to rattle up your spine.

You continued down the hall, haphazardly holding your chest and crotch as you tried to keep your footsteps as light and coordinated as possible. “Why am I such an-”

As you frantically rounded the corner, you slammed into something. Something bigger than you and kind of soft, and very warm. You looked up and squeaked.

“Holy shit,” a deep southern voice greeted you, and Bones absolutely could not control where his gaze travelled as he drank in your naked state.

“Hi, um-” your words caught in your throat. Blood rushed to your face, colouring your skin bright red from your chest to the tips of your ears and the low temperature was no longer the reason for your goosebumps.

The two of you stood in silence for longer than necessary, which caused your heartrate to rise with every shallow breath you took.

Bones cleared his throat, “s-sorry, Y/N, are you okay?”

You finally managed to blink and stutter, “uh, yeah, mostly. I just- it’s a long story.”

He chuckled, and when you finally looked up you could’ve sworn his cheeks were a darker shade of red than before. “Here, take this,” he said, tugging his sweater over his head.

You couldn’t help but revel in the sight of his shirt rising with the action. “Thank you,” you said, taking the garment and turning your back to him, “close your eyes.”

You knew it was futile, that he’d already seen just about everything, but it felt like the right thing to say as you pulled the sweater over your head. It smelled delicious, like peppermint and fresh laundry, and a hint of antiseptic. It was long enough to be modest, though the slight breeze between your legs still felt a little risqué.

You turned back to face him, finding the widest and cheekiest of smiles across his face. “You did close your eyes, right?”

He laughed again, “I am a gentleman.”

You couldn’t help your own grin, “have you seen Scotty?”

“About five minutes ago,” he replied, “he looked grumpy.”

“Yeah,” you toyed nervously with the too-long sleeves of his sweater, “I woke him up for a shower, m-my hot water wasn’t working.”

“Oh,” he struggled to control his gaze, his eyes continuously dropping to your bare legs.

“Well, um, I better get down to security to get an access key for my room,” you said, taking a small step sideways.

He chuckled again, “lost another one?”

You nodded as you started back toward the elevator, more than happy that he began to follow. “I can just let you in, you know?” he said as the doors opened in front of you.

“What?” you frowned.

“I have access to almost every room, medical emergencies and whatnot.”

“Oh,” you looked up at him again, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, “that would actually be amazing.”

Your skin was suddenly overwhelmingly sensitive to the feeling of Bones’ sweater against it, and being alone in a small space with the man you’ve had a crush on for as long as you’ve been on the Enterprise was making you incredibly flustered. For once, the elevator was too quick in reaching the floor on which your quarters were located.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you stepped into the hallway, “about all this, it was so stupid.”

“This is nothing to apologise for,” he said, turning to you as you walked side by side, “this is a gift from God.”

His words stunned you silent and your cheeks felt impossibly hot as you stared at your bare feet, one after the other.

“This one, right?” he asked, stopping at the door to your room.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “how did you know?”

“I’m Chief Medical Officer,” he swiped his key and the door slid open, “I’m required to keep tabs on my clumsiest and most accident-prone crew members.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up your throat. “Thanks again,” you said, stepping inside, “I owe you.”

“Trust me,” he replied, “it was my pleasure.”

Your body ached with tiredness and you knew you should’ve just said goodnight and shut the door, but Bones was leaning in and you could feel yourself slipping toward him too.

“I’ll, um- I’ll wash this for you before I give it back,” you said, your voice lower than before.

“Don’t worry about,” he leaned closer, his lips right beside your ear, “by the way, nice bum.”

Your heart skipped a beat and your breath stopped in your throat, but before you could fully process what he’d said, he was back on the other side of the threshold. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist, halting his steps.

“Yes?”

You bit your lip, considering your words carefully but stumbling over them nonetheless, “you could, um- I mean, I could just give it back to you now?”

His jaw dropped – he couldn’t help it – as you slowly removed the sweater and offered it to him. A beat passed, and for that moment you wondered if you’d made a terrible mistake. He closed his mouth and swallowed thickly, his eyes darting between you and the sweater.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, before pushing the sweater back toward you, pressing it against your chest and continuing to push you back inside the room. The door slid shut behind the two of you and he wrapped his arm around your waist just before you could stumble.

The back of your legs finally hit the bed but Bones kept you upright for a moment longer. “I hope you’re not tired, doll,” he said, before his lips crashed into yours, and suddenly, any trace of tiredness left your body.

END.

[eldritchdiplomacy]

Home Invasion

 The city was listing under her feet as she ran through the streets blasting Nerubians and dodging falling debris, cursing at herself the whole way. 

 Calline hadn’t had a second thought about her father coming along with the city on this venture. Dalaran had moved several times without incident, after all, and everything had seemed fine this time as well. Taking him from his home of the last 30 years would’ve been far harder on his slipping mind than a slightly different skyline outside the windows. 

 But things had gone wrong, somewhere, and she hadn’t stuck around to see what. She couldn’t even think too deeply about the bodies lining the streets, every one of them familiar, if not a close friend or a colleague…or a student. Calline could only shut her heart up tight and run, sparing the mana to blink forward, around tumbled carts and crumbled fountains and killing more and more spiders as she went.

 Her spire was still standing, though her balcony was now surely in the sea below. Calline’s eyes narrowed as she slapped her hands together, sending herself in a blast of arcane up to the now-open wall of her bedroom, the security wards mostly broken. “MARIS?!” She called out immediately, grabbing a small wooden box from her bedside table and sprinting through the house. The polished marble floors were already strewn with dust and crumbled stone, a few dead Nerubians already spattering the stairs down into what once was a parlor. 

 “IN HIS ROOMS!” Calline heard her cousin shout back, and she altered her course accordingly, tucking the box into her robes. In apartments done up in all the faded finery the Firebrand estate in Quel’Thalas had once held, Lord Magus Jae’vin Firebrand was terrified in his great velvet chair, clutching tight to his live-in nurse Kira’s hand, Maris in front of them both with her bow drawn. The full-elf had her frostwolves guarding the doors as well, a wealth of Nerubian guts at their feet, but they shifted to let in Calline, who rushed to her father’s side.

 “Papa,” She crouched, letting her tone lift to a girlish lilt. In his dementia-ridden mind, he most often thought her still a child or teen, and even in her singular focus and rattling nerves, she leaned into that for his benefit and comfort, “I’m here…”

 “Calline,” He gasped out, “Girls I-I fear the scourge m-may be back…” Calline felt his words like a stab through the heart. Of course, that’s what this would feel like. She should have let Maris take him to her estate in Stranglethorn when she’d asked, the night before…

 “It’ll all be okay,” Calline told him steadily, taking a necklace off from under her robes. The full-elf above her let out a short gasp, as she handed the glowing blue chunk of quartz on a gold chain to Kira, “I’m going to send you to Hasun. You know Hasun.” Her eyes darted to the human nurse, who nodded, swallowing hard. 

 “Big Draenei, yes, masterful elemental worker…” Jae’vin noted in his shaking voice, and Calline felt a little better. He was more in his Professor days today, which were nearer to the present. She nodded, tears she’d been holding onto threatening to spill.

 “You and Kira here can tell him all about it,” She directed at the nurse, whose eyes had gone wide. “Contained portal spell, it can only take two, just tap the rune.” 

 “What about you two…?” Kira whispered, glancing between the cousins as Maris snarled, shooting a skittering monster as it crawled through a hallway window. Calline swallowed, squeezing her father’s arm.

 “Give me a day and I can portal back, or Hasun can find me just fine via this,” She raised her free hand, where the rough ring containing a tiny elemental storm rested. Kira nodded, swallowing her own tears as Calline embraced Jae’vin tightly. “I love you, Papa.”

 “Be in for dinner,” He whispered into her hair. “Don’t stay out with your friends too long.”

 She held on until Kira tapped the stone, the two of them vanishing, her arms closing around empty air. Her lungs shook as she let out a breath, right before another tremor went through the building and she felt it tipping under their feet.

 “We’ve gotta move!” Maris hissed, and Calline roused herself, nodding, shaking herself and rising. 

 “Let’s figure out what the fuck happened,” She breathed, turning to her cousin. Sharp green eyes met her half-elf blue, Calline’s irises changing shape to be slitted, reptilian, “You want a ride?” Maris blinked, and then a slow, wicked grin spread over her face.

 “Only since I was 12,” She looked to her wolves, giving them a whistle before lifting a hand, summoning them into the ring on her own finger. Calline turned, running, leading the other woman back to her room just as the spire began to fall in earnest. She kept running, leaving Maris teetering on the edge of her missing balcony as she leapt into the air. 

 Her form shifted mid-air, from a bronze-skinned half-elf woman to a massive, bronze-scaled adult Dragon. As the tower fell Maris jumped as well, and Creviadormi caught her, the satchel at her side having morphed into her saddle. 

 “Worst and best day of my life,” Maris breathed, drawing her bow again as she stood up in the saddle, “Let’s fuck up theirs!”

 Crevia let out a bellow, swooping into the chaos of the streets below, blasting arcane dragonfire onto the Nerubians swarming the plaza.

  Later she would have the breakdown threatening, down on the shore, in a stone inn surrounded by the small handful of neighbors who’d survived all this, crying on her cousin’s shoulder. 

 But for now, she was a Dragon, and someone had invaded her fucking lair.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 13

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 12 🍂 Part 14

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: confusing family dynamics

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: @keanureevesisbae Keeps me busy! I owe 17 now, too! You go girll!!!

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @omgkatinka @summersong69 @diegos-butt @beck07990

“Babe, there is no way I have room for all of these clothes,” Patrick said as Jules pulled yet another box from the car.

“Well, you’d think they wouldn’t fit in her apartment, either, but here we are.” You put the next box – also labeled ‘clothes’ – on the floor in the hallway.

“Please tell me these are the last ones?” You both laughed at the way he said it. He looked around the hallway, which was filled with boxes, most of them containing parts of Jules’ wardrobe, and sighed.

“It was the last trip, but Sy’s still on his way,” Julie said as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend.

“With some furniture,” you added quickly, “Jesus, Jules, you’re going to give the man a heart attack.”

As it turned out, ‘moving in with someone’ was just code for ‘yelling at your partner while your friends did all the real work’. And not even in the privacy of any room you weren’t in, nope; right in front of you.

“If they’re not done by the time we put this closet back together, I’m makin’ popcorn,” Sy whispered at you – but not softly enough.

“Sy, stay out of this.” Jules definitely wasn’t happy. To be fair, she was in the right, and Patrick was being stubborn. You rolled your eyes at Sy. “Lara, what do you think?”

“Hell no, doll,” Patrick said before you could even tell Jules you weren’t getting mixed up in their argument, “I don’t get backup, you don’t get backup.” That made you scoff. There was no way Sy would side with him.

“What’s funny, Sugar?” Sy said with a look on his face that was suspicious at best… Oh my God, he thought Pat was right? You raised an eyebrow as your mouth literally fell open.

“You’re with him on this?” you managed.

“It is his house,” Sy replied.

“I think both of them living here kinda makes it their house, and it doesn’t make sense to have friends sleep on the couch when you’ve got an empty room and a second bed!” It was unbelievable that your first fight at a couple not only took place at a friend’s house, but was also on the topic of what they should do with their spare room.

“Patrick, I need one more door between him and us. You can have your man-cave when he’s out.” She glared at Sy before walking out of the room. Pat slammed his hand down on Sy’s shoulder so hard you almost felt it, but Sy didn’t even flinch.

“So, you haven’t found anything yet?” Sy shook his head at his friend.

After the adventure of moving Jules into Patrick’s place, the four of you focused your attention on planning the weekend camping trip the boys had been talking about. They were also mostly the ones planning it – neither you nor Julie knew anything about camping. That didn’t mean you weren’t excited to go; Sy had shown you some pictures of the area, and it looked absolutely beautiful.

“It’s not too far from where Sy and Patrick grew up, actually,” Julie told you.

“They grew up together?” You were surprised no one had ever brought that up. It definitely wasn’t a secret that they were close, and they owned the company together and everything, but you had no idea they’d been friends since childhood.

“Yeah,” Julie said, “Pat’s dad started work at Sy’s grandfather’s ranch when he was sixteen or so. Became really close friends with Sy’s dad.” Oh, so their dads were besties? Cool…

“And he became even better acquainted with my dad’s eldest sister.” Sy sat down next to you and put an arm around your shoulder. You loved it when he did that; something about feeling the weight of his arm on you relaxed you.

“’Better acquainted’ as in…” You almost refused to believe what you were hearing. Not because it was so hard to believe it was true – it was kind of a mild story, actually – but because no one had ever bothered to tell you this. “You’re cousins.”

“The way my old man tells it, Uncle Johnny was mad as all hell when dad started going out with ma.”

“Which my dad doesn’t deny, by the way,” Sy added, “it’s just that in his version, he beats the shit out of Uncle Rick.”

“Wait, are you both named after your fathers?” Sy and Patrick both nodded – and grinned when they saw the incredulous look on your face.

“Eldest son, right? My full name is Jonathan George Syverson,” Sy laughed, “Named after both my father and my grandfather.” You almost laughed at hearing his full name. Hearing his first name was weird enough, or his full last name, even.

“Wait, who’s your father named after, then?” you asked. Jules quickly raised her hands before either of the guys could answer.

“Lara, stop!” She pointed at the innocent eyes Sy and Patrick were conjuring up. “They can do this for hours. And it wouldn’t even be a start in preparing you for whatever kind of family gathering you’re no doubt going to be dragged along to. Oh my God!” She suddenly seemed really excited about something. “I don’t have to do those alone anymore!”

Sy pulled you close.  “She’s right, Sugar, we can do this for hours, I’m sorry.”

“And you won’t have to do any family gatherings anytime soon, doll,” Patrick said. “We’re doin’ the holidays over at your parents’ if you don’t mind…” All three of them laughed as if that was supposed to mean something, but to you, it didn’t.

“Wait, why?”

“My youngest sister just got married and had her first kid.” Whoa? Kids?

“You’re an uncle?” You looked at Pat wide-eyed. That was not something you’d heard before.

“Three times over,” Jules answered. You must have looked surprised, because she continued: “Sy has more nieces and nephews.”

“Wait, you have siblings?” How had this never come up?

“Five of ‘em. Three sisters, two brothers – they’re twins.” Sy laughed apologetically. You thought back to any time he’d mentioned his family. He had talked about a sister twice, and about his brother once, you had just assumed they were the only ones. “And a combined…” You could tell he was counting; he mumbled some things you couldn’t make out, and he was almost hesitant in his final answer: “ten nieces and nephews.” Ten? Ten?

“So, you’re Uncle John, too?” You were curious now. Pat and Sy both shook their heads, and then looked at Jules.

“He’s uncle Sy, right?” She clearly wasn’t entirely sure, but the guys nodded.

“Why do you go by Sy, anyway?” You asked. A couple more of these questions and you’d start to sound like Julie, with her infernal interrogations.

“When I got to middle school, there were six Johnathan’s in my class. Refused to listen to my full name, couldn’t go by my middle name because I have a brother named Georgie, so… Sy.” That made so little sense to you that you just nodded with a blank expression on your face.

“And it stuck,” Pat added, “even his mother calls him Sy now.”

“But wait, back to the start,” you said as you suddenly remembered something, “what was the connection between your sister being married and having a baby, and you guys not going to family gatherings?”

“Oh, they just hand you the newest baby and start telling you several million times ‘how good it looks on you’ and ‘when are you two finally getting married?’ and all that kind of stuff.” Jules shuddered.

“Besides, they’re living in sin now,” Sy said. Somehow, the look on his face kept you from laughing – or from even believing that he was joking.

“You’re kidding, right?” you asked just to be sure. To your surprise, they all shook their heads.

“Nana – our grandma – would throw a fit. I think Meemaw – our great grandma – might actually die.”

“She survived Uncle Charlie’s wedding,” Pat said, and you were officially lost. You looked at Jules for help, who quickly clarified the situation with the word ‘gay’. After about another half hour of this, your head was spinning with all kinds of information about a whole bunch Syversons – and some of the Dawsons. It turned out Sy’s dad had a brother and two sisters, and those two sisters combined had seven children, some of whom also had children. Why were there so many? And why was every other woman either named Mary-something or something-Marie?

“We’ll draw it out sometime,” Sy said as he watched your understanding slowly drain away. Yes, that would be good. Probably wouldn’t make it any less intimidating, but at least it would be clear…

“Hey, I found some listings for you,” Julie sounded sweet as she dropped a small pile of paper on the table in front of Sy. She couldn’t hide her ulterior motive, and she didn’t have to. Sy knew she wanted him out of the house as soon as possible, and who could blame her? She’d just moved in with her boyfriend, and he was absolutely an inconvenience, he couldn’t deny that. But none of the houses he’d looked at so far were right… He flipped through the papers Jules had given him. He found something wrong with every last one of them within seconds.

“Are you even looking for a place, Sy?” She put her hands on her hips, that was never a good sign.

“I am, look,” he turned his laptop so she could see the screen.

“Those are rentals,” Jules said. She was clearly surprised, which wasn’t strange. Sy hated renting, she knew that for a fact. Everyone who had talked to him for more than five minutes probably knew that. But here he was, nodding in reply to her question. “You’re looking to buy.” Sy shrugged. “Everything that’s for sale is…” He made a vague gesture instead of finishing his sentence. Jules rolled her eyes. Everything for sale was missing that one thing…

[suekreandtheidiots]

Her own.

Location // Characters: Aberdeen // Hallie and Sofia

June 2006 - Craig Abbott is no longer among the living. A fact so painfully sad and true, but Hallie and Sofia still manage to share a nice moment, sharing some lovely thoughts.

Status/Notes: unfinished/I always loved the thought that Hallie and Sofia had a real connection back then. Sometimes, some girl talk is all we need in our lives!

***

The front door opened, and Hallie looked right into Sofia Abbott's face.

A friendly face, but undoubtedly weary, too; Sofia's grief was plain obvious. Hallie felt a wave of sympathy but decided to not address it. The three remaining Abbotts most likely had enough people going on about their unfortunate situation, trying to make sure that they were okay, while it should be so clear that none of them was okay, not right now, not in a few weeks, maybe not ever. The least thing Sofia needed was another shallow remark, Hallie figured.

"Hallie, darlin'." Sofia welcomed her with a bright smile. A genuine smile, despite it all, Hallie could tell.

She smiled back, giving Sofia a little wave with her hand. "Hi! I, uh, believe I'm a little early…"

"Well, if you're here to see Lance, you are. He took an extra shift in the hospice but he should be back by five, I think."

"Ah, wasn't sure about that and I couldn't get a hold of him earlier. Now I know why." Hallie bit her lip. "Well, I guess I can come back later-"

"Or you can wait? If you want?" Sofia offered, making a welcoming gesture towards the open door.

Hallie thought about the suggestion. Heading home only to sit around for a few minutes and to come back later really seemed like a bit of an unnecessary hassle, when she could also stay and have a little chat with Sofia. Checking in on the Abbotts had become somewhat of a daily thing anyway, Hallie saw no reason to make an exception today.

"Uhm, as long as I'm not a bother?" she answered with a smile.

"Oh, you're a welcome distraction, dear." Sofia laughed. "I've got cake, too. Ali played chef earlier."

"What? Ali baked?"

"What can I say, we're all grasping for straws these days." The line was heavy with meaning, but Sofia uttered it so casually that it made Hallie wonder if the woman was trying to play it cool for her or if she really felt as alright as she sounded. "And that cake actually turned out amazing, there's just too much of it to eat all by myself. Come, dear. Come on in."

Hallie stepped into the house's hallway, still trying to wrap her head around the mental image of young rising football star Ali Abbott standing in the kitchen, possibly in a cute little apron, waving a whisk around… or whatever one needed to whip up some decent cake batter; Hallie wasn't particularly experienced in the fine art of cooking and baking herself. The house smelled delicious, though, Ali had apparently done a great job indeed.

"I am just looking through some old pictures for the funeral service." Sofia told her as she was guiding her through the hallway to the living room.

Wow. Hallie thought. That had to be tough.

"How's that going?" she asked, dropping her bag next to the door as she entered the living room. When she did, she almost tripped. The sight of dozens of photos spread on the floor took Hallie by surprise and she supressed a gasp.

Well. Apparently, that was how it was going.

"I'm biased, of course, I love them all." Sofia said. "You know what? It's really great that you're here and have a moment to spare, I can use a girl's creative opinion. My sons aren't exactly helpful in these matters."

"Not even Ali? Now that he shows some talent in the creative field, too?" Hallie laughed, crouching down to take a closer look. Dozens of Craigs in front of her, yet they all longed for just one. The real one.

"To be honest, I haven't even asked him." Sofia admitted, offering Hallie a cushion to sit on which she gratefully accepted. Sofia sat down next to her and went on. "Ali is not doing well. Of course he is trying to just keep going, but he hardly ever talks these days."

Hallie could hardly picture a version of Ali who wasn't an extraordinarily lively, happy and chatty little fella. "That's so sad."

"I'm trying to give him some room and let him come to me, you know? Lance as well. It hasn't been easy. To be honest… I don't always know what to do, or what to say to my sons." Sofia swallowed hard and for a few seconds it looked like she was lost in her own thoughts but she eventually snapped out of it. "Oh dear. I'm rambling again, love, I'm sorry."

"No! No, I mean, it's fine." Hallie answered quickly. She appreciated Sofia's honesty. So much, now more than ever.

It was one thing she had always loved about the Abbott family - they told things as they were. No false modesty, no sugarcoating, no glossing over things and no unnecessary drama either.

"That must be so hard for you." she went on. "I mean, I have no idea at all what you're going through, I just… I'm so sorry."

"Aw, nah." Sofia waved it off. "Nothing you should be worrying about."

"I am, though! I mean, I have known Lance for quite a while now, he's my best friend, and I don't always know what to say to him, either. If- if that helps?"

Sofia turned her head and looked at her, and after a few moments, the corners of her lips curled up into a warm smile. "You know what? I think it does."

Hallie felt another tremendous wave of sympathy for Sofia but decided to let the subject go for the time being. She bit her lip and nodded at the photos. "So what's with all of these?" she asked.

"Well, I need some nice photos. We have collectively decided that we're going to turn the house into a… well, let's call it 'Craig shrine'. We're going to create a walk down the memory lane of some sorts. Put up the photos, all his favorite items… so everyone can say their goodbye in their favoured surrounding."

"Like a museum of memories, but more rock'n'roll!" Hallie mused, and she could picture it right away. She liked that idea a lot.

Do not mourn the dead, but celebrate the lives they had lived.

Hallie had no idea where that thought had just come from, but it definitely sounded like something Craig would have agreed with.

"Exactly!"

"Collectively decided, you say?"

"Well, it was Lance's idea but Ali and I loved it. I have talked to Craig's old friends, too, they supported it as well. It's simple, but it's good. He'd love it."

"And what kind of photos do you want to put up?"

"The good ones."

"You might want to narrow that down a bit." Hallie laughed, looking through the masses of Craig portraits and snapshots in front of her. They all looked pretty charming in one way or the other. Not always flattering, definitely not, but they showed Craig as he was - a chaotic and loveable force of nature.

One image in particular caught her eye now. It had to be a fairly old one because it had the characteristic slightly red tinted look to it that many older photos developed over time. It showed a much younger version of Craig and Hallie just realised that she had never seen any pictures of him from back in the days. Craig looked clearly like Craig, but so different at the same time. He was sitting in front of what looked like the old Capitol building, posing for the camera with a light smile and the typical metal fork.

Hallie carefully picked the image up.

"That one's nice!"

"Oh, you tell me." Sofia instantly agreed. "Wanna know what this is?"

"Sure!"

"It's from February 28th, 1984 - the day I met Craig for the first time."

"No way!" Hallie gasped. "That's how it started? That is what he looked like? Did you take this?"

"Oh no, his friend Cyril took it, and he gave it to me a while later. But yes, that is how it started, that is what he looked like." Sofia smiled.

Hallie just remembered the day she had met Craig for the first time, about five years ago. He had looked young, younger than most dads she knew, but he had still looked like a dad, somehow. She remembered the encounter very fondly; Craig had managed to make her feel welcome and her shyness had eased so quickly as he was talking to her like he was talking to an old friend. The little crush she used to have on him for a while was very innocent, Hallie could tell from her nowadays perspective, but it was bound to happen.

It's strange. Hallie thought. Those Abbotts really have a way of knocking you flat, when you least expect it. Her thoughts wandered to Lance for a moment. One way or the other.

She looked back at the picture in her hands. "Gosh, he was a fox." she gasped out.

Sofia let out a hearty laugh. "Pretty much what I thought. He was beautiful. Not at all my type, but gorgeous. The shabby attire just added to it, for reasons I could never quite understand."

Hallie knew all too well what Sofia meant. Some people can simply pull shabby off, and Craig was quite obviously one of them. He had to be in his very early twenties on the picture. If she were to meet that guy, she'd immediately fall for him, too, Hallie was sure of it.

She also wondered if Lance had ever told her about the way his parents had met, but she couldn't recall anything. She had sure been curious, but the opportunity to ask either Sofia or Craig themselves had never really presented itself until now.

"Don't get me wrong." Hallie started. "It's just… I mean, I always wondered what would bring the two of you into the same place."

Sofia gently took the photo out of Hallie's hands, stroking the slightly tattered rim. While she looked at it, her expression changed and Hallie could tell that she was reliving that particular memory once more. Not because she had troubles remembering the details but because she did remember them, and because it was a much happier place than reality could ever be these days.

"It was a Whitesnake concert." Sofia eventually said.

"Whitesnake?! Oh god." The story would be very eighties, Hallie thought to herself. As eighties as it can get.

"I didn't really care about the music, I just went to keep my then-boyfriend company. Left the concert hall to get some beer. Stood in an endless queue for what felt like hours… and all of a sudden, there he was." Sofia smiled. "Smiling at me from one of the little standing tables. Gosh, I don't even know what happened to me in that moment. I wasn't able to take my eyes off him."

"That's so cute!"

"Hallie, I tried, believe me, but I just couldn't. I couldn't help it. I was entirely aware that my boyfriend was inside the hall, and I felt a little bad for staring but truth is that I had never seen a man that gorgeous before. When I saw Craig Abbott, I saw… life. It was like I suddenly saw the life I was missing out on at the time."

"Oh my god, and he wasn't even your type." Hallie breathed out, entirely taken by Sofia's voice and the way she was telling the story.

Once again, her thoughts wandered to Lance. The way she had fallen for him was so different from the way Sofia had fallen for Craig all those years ago. Sure, Lance and her had only been twelve years old when they met; one could most likely not expect a rush of impure thoughts at only twelve. But even now that Hallie was so sure about her feelings, there still weren't any actual… flying sparks. Or anything of that sort. She sure had her moments when she wasn't able to peel her eyes off Lance, his face especially, but she blamed that on his pale blue eyes, as they had always fascinated her, after all, even when she wasn't trying to become his girlfriend.

Hallie tried to find the right words to address what was going on inside her mind, without giving it all away.

"So… you knew right away? That Craig was the one for you?"

Sofia put the photo away, smiled and let out a little sigh. "Well, at least it dawned on me that night that Ethan, my boyfriend, wasn't the one. All those other things… well. It's a little more complex."

"But it does happen, doesn't it? Love at first sight, I mean?"

"You know, Hallie, I believe that the thing we usually refer to as Love At First Sight is actually just attraction at first sight. That happens all the time, sure."

"People keep talking about it, though. That they knew right away, once they laid eyes on their partner. That they were the one for them. And I always figured that those moments are the real deal, you know? Can't get any more real than just knowing, right?" Hallie looked at Sofia for a few moments, and decided against adding something along the lines of 'I always wanted that for myself.'

"That's all easy to say in hindsight, don't you think?" Sofia laughed. "Sounds more like a fantasy to me, though. A nice one, sure, but the reality of a relationship - it's a little different than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Falling for someone is easy. Attraction is a thing. What's much more important, though, is the way someone makes you feel. The way they treat you in the long run. Don't you think?"

"I think so...?" Hallie shrugged, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"Craig and I were a good match, I give you that." Sofia chuckled, giving the impression that she had picked up the slight disappointment in her voice. "He was incredibly cute and funny, he had charmed me right away. To answer your question, though - no, I did not know that he was the one for me. How could I have known? I'm not psychic."

"Huh. When you put it that way?"

"I had a good feeling about him, though. Craig being the way he was made our start a lot easier. I mean, one usually doesn't go on dates with someone they can't stand."

"Makes sense." Hallie nodded. "Think I see what you're getting at."

"If it had turned out that Craig and I hadn't gotten along as well as we had, though, I wouldn't have stayed with him, just because things started so well between us. Just because of the idea of us."

"I see. That really makes a lot of sense." Hallie's thoughts now wandered back to her ex-sort-of-boyfriend, Simon. Three weeks of whispering sweet nothings to each other… and that had already been it. What had felt like love at first sight had turned out to be nothing at all.

"Craig had a way of making me feel like I belonged." Sofia went on. "It's hard to put into words. He never took me for granted. He made me feel like spending time with me was the greatest thing in the world. He was so in love with our boys, too, and he never made a huge deal out of the things that many other, older men got squeamish about. Craig never felt threatened."

"Threatened?"

"Well, I was a little older than him, after all. I had studied veterinary medicine, had a promising career that I had never even considered giving up, even when Lance and Ali were born. I always made my own money, I was my own woman and never the average stay-at-home-wife. Men of my time usually did not like that a whole lot, to say the least."

"I think they still don't." Hallie made a face. Well, there were exceptions, though. She could think of at least one.

"Craig loved every bit of it and he always encouraged me to keep going. He was happy on his own, because he had made the right choices for himself, even before we met. It wasn't all… how do you young folks say? It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows but we were good together. And knowing that I was one of the people in Craig's life who made him even happier fills me with joy and gratitude. It sounds cheesy, I know."

"No, it sounds wonderful."

"Look, Hallie, it's none of my business, of course, and you are still so young; you will meet a lot of people in your life. Times have changed, too, I know that. Speaking from my personal experience, though… you are so smart, creative and so, so kind. You may want to look out for how a person makes you feel. If someone makes you feel like shite, let them go. If someone makes you feel great about yourself, keep them around."

(... to be continued!)

[satans-helper]

Reaching for Stardust - Part III

Read Looking for Space here / RFS on wattpad / Playlist

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: none

Domestic bliss with Josh is all I want <3

---

I had enough of a hangover the next day to almost cancel on my sister. Painting walls seemed like a really awful way to nurse my brain and body, but Josh was actually so insistent we still help out that I bucked up with some extra coffee and a Gatorade from the gas station and we were off, on the road again with Josh behind the wheel again. A couple stubborn pieces of glitter were stuck to his cheekbone and catching the sunlight as we drove, then my memory of the previous night was jogged even more at the sight of the violet-colored hickey on his neck.

“Shit,” I said upon noticing it, reaching over to touch as if I could make it disappear. “Sorry.”

Josh swatted my hand away. “Don’t be sorry, darling. You know how much I love it when you do that.”

I took his hand and held it as long as I could, until he needed both to make a sharp turn. “I love that you let me do it.”

“I love you.”

I smiled, leaning back against the seat and turning my head to look at him again. “I love you, too,” I said, and truer words really had never been spoken. 

Kirsti had already started by the time we got to her house, dressed in paint-smeared jeans and an old Detroit Tigers t-shirt and barefoot, holding a paint roller in her hand when she opened the door. “I won’t hug you,” she said, stepping back to let us in. “For obvious reasons. But I’m really glad you’re here. I could do it all myself but, wow, it’s taking a lot of time in between layers, y’know? At least now we can get more base coats done together.”

I was still a little groggy, unprepared for her bustling energy, but my eyes came to full alertness as I stepped completely inside the mudroom and could peer into the adjoining dining room and the living room on either side. “Wow,” I remarked, taken aback by how much progress she’d made making this place look like a real home. Like her home. I drifted into the living room, the chat between her and Josh disappearing into the background as I approached the big, black leather chair that had once been in our grandfather’s study. I knew she had it. I hadn’t been able to take it myself–there wasn’t enough room in mine and Josh’s apartment. But seeing it there still shook something inside me up and I couldn’t help but make a remark on it that came out with more envy than I’d intended. 

Kirsti was behind me then, and she ran the thankfully dry paint roller over my back. “Hey. You know a bunch of their other stuff is in storage, right? I won’t fight you for any of it. Except that painting grandma has. You know the one, with the birch trees.”

“Fine,” I resigned, cheeks hot. “I just wish we had the space for it all now.”

“You will.”

Josh appeared at my side then, holding a can of paint. “Are we doing one room each?”

“I gotta finish the kitchen today,” Kirsti said. “I spared you guys that. I’d really like to get the two bedrooms done, too.”

“Fancy living,” Josh said, stepping around, peeking at everything, and I found myself questioning again why he didn’t want to buy a house as badly as I did.

Regardless, Josh and I went upstairs to paint the bedrooms. Kirsti wanted the east-facing one painted a lavender so soft it was almost white and the other one that had windows to the west a subdued ochre. Josh took that one after he set up the spare portable speaker Kirsti had loaned us in the hallway, situated right in the middle, and I started on the east side. The bedrooms weren’t that much bigger than our own at home in our apartment, but big enough to notice. Beyond that, it was just the freedom of space and space to OWN that got me. But while I’d been browsing houses, Josh had apparently been browsing wedding rings and whatever else, which seemed like the most ridiculous contradiction ever. 

Through each rolling motion, looking over the smooth tracks of pale lavender, I kept imagining what my–our–dream house would look like. I’d seen many and none had ever stuck out as being the dream home, one that I couldn’t live without. But then again, how could any of them if Josh wasn’t completely on board with finding one? I could picture us in a shady bungalow surrounded by tons of greenery and flowers, tucked back on some cul-de-sac loop; I could also see more of a fixer-upper situation, like a rustic cabin on a couple of wooded acres that we could tend and build together; even something simpler, like a quaint ranch in the suburbs. I could see us anywhere, really, because whatever we got would be our own and we could make it exactly as we wanted. 

“I really don’t think this needs more than one layer,” Josh called out over the music, so I set my roller down into the tray and crossed through the hall to his side. Just like in the bedroom I was working on–Kirsti’s bedroom–the furniture was pushed to the center of the room and Josh was stepping back against the dresser, inspecting the walls.

“I don’t think so either,” I agreed. The warm ochre color was opaque already and catching the light coming through the open windows, the sun and breeze rolling through the screens. “She’ll check it out though, I’m sure.” I leaned back against the dresser too, next to Josh, and sighed. 

“Tired of painting already?” he asked, jostling my shoulder with his hand.

“Just thinking about how after this, we’re gonna go back to our boring white walls.”

“Oh, come on. Not for long,” Josh said, slinging his arm around me. “Let’s set a date.”

“For what? A house or marriage?”

“Both. Preferably marriage first.” 

“We’re not even engaged.”

Josh whirled around, positioning himself in front of me. “Want me to propose right now?”

I laughed, pushing him away. “No! That’d be so lame,” I said, and he grabbed my wrists and brought himself in close again, pressing his lips to mine for a brief moment. In the darkness behind my closed eyes, I saw the starry skies we’d both gazed upon together night after night. 

“Don’t worry, love,” Josh said, dark eyes like the umber earth beneath those skies. “I know exactly where I’m going to do it. It’s just a matter of time.” 

I looped my arms around his neck. “I’m sure. But I’m sure I’ll still be surprised.” I reached up to touch his hair, the long curls that still remained past the shaved sides. “So since you picked out the ring, can I pick out the house?” 

“Absolutely,” Josh told me, but something in his face changed just slightly, almost imperceptible, and I couldn’t read him clearly anymore. “We just have to figure out where that’ll be.”

“Here, obviously,” I said, punctuated with a helpless, nervous chuckle. “Where else?” 

Josh kissed my forehead then turned back to the walls, grabbing the paint roller. “Well, the world is our oyster, you know. We should keep our options open.”

I was tempted to pry into that thought. I opened my mouth again to do just that, but Kirsti’s footsteps ascended on the stairs and she popped in, hands on her hips as she looked over Josh’s work. 

“Looks good,” she said. “Yeah, I think this room only needs one layer. What about the other one?”

I felt cheated, even somewhat slighted, by Josh’s lack of transparency. But the moment was gone and that told me this wasn’t the time or place, so my sister and I drifted into her little world of pale lavender and faded sunlight instead.

—

For days I let it go. Work was always a distraction to a certain extent but more and more I found myself getting not lost in the research of other places because it was all a fantasy, but because it was a worry. Did Josh really want to maybe move somewhere else entirely? The only place that seemed reasonable to me was Detroit but, really, even with the boys being there, I didn’t think I truly wanted to live there. And anyway, if that was a place Josh was thinking of, I knew he’d come right out and say it. 

In an effort not to fixate on it any longer, I poured myself into birthday plans for Josh and Jake, at least until I learned that Jake, Sam and Danny would be out of town, playing another show, that whole weekend. That defeated me and I sat, deflated at my desk in front of my open laptop, all the potential plans seemingly moot now. It was the first birthday since I’d joined the clan that we’d all be apart. 

“Nothing wrong with just the two of us,” Josh said, coming up behind me. It was the next Friday and his day of teaching had ended at a reasonable hour, leaving both of us with a wide open evening and night, but I didn’t feel like doing our usual. Nothing seemed appetizing and I couldn’t wrap my head around a movie. 

I was stuck on too many things and yet nothing all at once. It really didn't matter that we’d all be apart for Josh and Jake’s birthday, but it felt like it mattered. It bothered me that Josh seemed to be unfazed, actually–why should I be the only one bummed about it? I shut my laptop and swiveled around in my chair, looking up at him: “I know. But it’s not gonna be the same.”

“The only thing I’m not looking forward to is Jake not being there for dinner with our parents,” Josh told me, taking a seat in the green faux-suede chair I’d sourced from Facebook marketplace across from me. It wasn’t nearly as well-built or as cool as my grandfather’s old chair. “I think they’re struggling with him being away from home so often more than we are. Sam too, of course.” With a little laugh, he added, “They might even miss Sam more than Jake.” 

“He’s easy to miss when you get so used to chaos.” 

Josh sighed, tilting his head back. “Maybe we should just become their roadies. I mean, what the hell–why not? We could be nomads.”

Even though it was silly, not totally serious talk, I could still see it. “Maybe. But then that would mean you got that master’s degree for nothing.” 

“Not necessarily. I could shoot their music videos.”

“That would be something,” I mused, looking over Josh’s toned down attire he wore to teach his classes. His longer academic journey hadn’t been easy–in fact, I’d never seen him so stressed out and there were times when I thought it might have been better for him just to drop it. I’d never imagined him working so behind the scenes, teaching people in such an ordinary way–working with film, yes, following his dream, of course. But he loved it, apparently. Loved the constant interaction with eager students, loved working with and learning newer and better equipment, loved seeing other people’s work and still having the time to do his own. His eccentricities followed him wherever he went. That was for sure. 

Josh was quiet when he turned his head, looking out the window at another blessed sky we had–cloudless, it was nothing but clear blue beyond the trees. Without turning back to look at me, he said, “Actually, I kind of anticipated this.”

“Anticipated what?”

“Jake–all of them–being gone. So I have a surprise,” Josh told me, looking at me again but without the glee and unraveling joy most people had to struggle to contain when they were revealing a surprise. “I got us plane tickets.”

I felt my brows furrow, face tightening. “Plane tickets to where?” 

“Savannah. Georgia,” Josh said, face brightening, cheeks turning pink. “I thought it’d be fun–a new place, new sights, new everything. I really could use a change of scenery and I know you could, too.” 

“Oh,” was all I managed to say at first, looking past Josh, taken aback by this abrupt reveal and how much planning must have gone into it and how none of it had involved me. When I realized that, I looked right at him, my words coming out in a way that sounded more suspicious than I wanted to let on: “I thought surprises were FOR whoever was having the birthday.”

“Traditionally, maybe. Have I ever been a man of tradition?”

“Not especially.”

“Exactly, darling.” Josh got up and approached me then, sitting down on the floor in front of me, his hands on my knees. “You’ve got all that PTO to use. I figured getting two days off, since it’ll be a Friday through Monday trip, wouldn’t be hard. I already got the Airbnb. Everything’s all set. Everything to make it the best birthday trip ever.”

“If you’d told me where you wanted to go, I could’ve planned it,” I said, not angry, not upset, just a little bewildered still. “I feel bad you had to do everything.” 

Josh waved that statement away. “Don’t feel bad. You’ve been frustrated with work lately and I know you’ve just been wishing to get away. So why don’t we? A little spontaneity never hurt anyone.”

“That’s so not true,” I replied, though I felt a smile making its way over my lips. Secretive or not, the more this idea sank into my mind, the more I was on board with it. Instead of wistfully pouring over pictures and articles on different places, Josh and I could really BE in one again. “But point taken. I’ll email my supervisor right now.” When I swiveled back around, I felt Josh standing behind me, his chin resting on top of my head and then his arms wrapped around me.

“Spectacular,” he commented, his soft graveled voice drifting into my ears. “The only thing that’s not spectacular about this is how early our flight leaves.”

I paused my typing. “How early?”

“5:40. Morning time.” 

I groaned. “Oh, god. Who’s gonna drive us?”

“My dad already volunteered.”

“Oh, so you told your parents about this trip first?” I shook my head, chuckling. “So rude, Josh.”

“Hey!” Josh chirped, bringing his face down to my shoulder, speaking against my neck. “I needed to secure a ride. And now we have one. Victory, darling.”

I giggled when his curls tickled my skin. “Victory indeed.” 

Whatever trepidation and suspicion I had initially felt was mostly gone after that conversation. I actually felt some admiration for Josh’s own determination–he knew where he wanted to go and that I’d want to go there too, seeing as how I’d pretty much go anywhere at this point, and took care of all the logistics to get it done to spare me some stress. I figured, as he did too, it would help to be somewhere else for his birthday anyway. It’d get our minds off being away from the boys again. Or rather, the boys being away from us. The only thing I couldn’t quite figure out completely was the place itself. As happy as I was to go to Savannah for the first time, it seemed so random. Josh had never really expressed much interest in going down south apart from maybe Nashville. So why wouldn’t we go there? Savannah, as far as I could tell from the internet, wasn’t even much of a sizable city. It was historic and beautiful looking, but didn’t appear to have the pizazz and glamor Josh often sought out. Nor was it wilderness, it wasn’t one of the state and national parks we both had on our lists. It felt obscure even with all of its appeal.

I woke up abruptly in the middle of the night, the twilight dark and gleaming outside. Josh was opposed to blackout curtains, always wanting the stars and moon to be able to shine light into our bedroom–the slight silver sheen from beyond the wispy blue curtains, the white blinds that came with the apartment and the windows laid slick over his skin when I looked at him. He was still sound asleep, face smushed into his pillow, lips parted. I could even see a spot of drool on the pillowcase. For such a vibrant extrovert in waking life, Josh was an exceptionally quiet and still sleeper–he didn’t snore, didn’t talk in his sleep, didn’t even really move much. 

I was able to easily slip out of bed and find my way in the dark hallway, through the small spaces beyond and out onto the balcony. A chill rippled through me from the brisk air and I stood there, hands on the banister, looking up at the waning moon. A layer of clouds masked the stars momentarily then passed, bringing them to light, and I felt anxiety pass through my chest in turn, which felt like a betrayal. Normally the night sky soothed any woes I had. The rapid turn of my heartbeat and tightness in my chest propelled me into full alertness. Too much alertness–I knew I wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon, but I didn’t want to stay awake in that state. I didn’t want to pontificate over that secrecy again or WHY Josh had chosen Savannah of all places. I didn’t want to think any longer about his aversion to creating a real home together. I didn’t want to bother myself with his endless desire to bring our names together before anything else. 

Unfortunately, no answer came from the moon or the stars. I let the thoughts roll through my brain one after the other and tried not to cling to any of them, instead staying focused on the night sky, inhaling cool air, finally bringing myself to sit down and bask in it more so than struggle through it. 

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Tagging no one because RIP the 2018-2021 fandom LOL please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this series or any other of my fics!