#this might be able to be an end or taper off after this since the part 2 has some of the same muses after they get to the castle

[goddamnshinyrock]

The scene: new year’s morning, 8am, my wife and I wake up at my parents’ house after a night of revelry (playing board games until 10pm).

There is one minor problem this morning: no running water. This is a mysterious state of affairs, as 1) the power is still on and 2) there was running water the previous night. We brush our teeth with emergency bottled water as my father, extremely disgruntled by the lack of his usual morning shower, goes out to tinker with the well pump.

Shortly, my father comes back in, triumphant: good news, he’s fixed it, there was a wire with worn insulation on the pump and he snipped the worn end and re-attached it. There is water! Peace is restored.

15 minutes later, as we’re eating breakfast: no more water.

No problem, my father has a fresh theory as to the culprit: the new water filter/softener. My mother suggests they call the guy* who replaced their filter unit only six months ago, and pulls out her massive binder of household records to look for his number. My father** insists that he wants to “just take a look at it” first, since he’s “pretty sure” he knows what might be wrong with it. He vanishes into the basement.

There are a few minutes of minor swearing and banging noises as the rest of us discuss the situation upstairs, but the conversation is interrupted by a sudden FWOOOOOOSH from below us, as if someone has just turned on a fire hose in the basement. We all leap up and clatter down the steps, to be met with the sight of my father, soaked and defeated, standing in the middle of the room and staring at the geyser issuing from the general vicinity of the hot water heater and holding a small metal pin.

After a about 20 seconds, the roar of the geyser began to taper off and my father was able to explain, damply, the events that had lead to ‘basement geyser’. First, he’d determined the problem was indeed the new filter, and had (logically) begun trying to engineer a temporary fix by re-routing the house water supply to bypass it. He had accordingly turned off the valve leading from the well pump into the filter, and then went to open the valve that exited the filter to drain the unit. The filter valve was held shut by a twist cap with a pin. He pulled the pin, but didn’t get so far as twisting open the cap, because it had already shot across the room under the pressure of all the water currently in the house draining at once. Into his face. And thence onto the basement floor.

But, on the bright side he did solve the new year’s day water mystery, and even got his morning shower after all.

—

*Their Filter Guy is not a plumber. He was described as “the water filter whisperer”, a title which, after this incident, I am extremely skeptical of.

**Also not a plumber.

[cryptid-killjoy]

Valerie did feel like she were the Annabelle Lee and Thomas might as well have been Poe himself. She felt iconic, like they were something legends were made of when they walked side-by-side all dressed up in their best in atmosphere's such as this. He made her feel like every person she touched would recall the good in her, or the laughter, or the fun goof that was inside that critical brood and not the disaster that cursed a city wide radius around her. She felt like a rock star again without being on stage.

Stage? Shit. Fuck stages. She was basically riding an Ent up a mountain with Thomas and he was talking about Isengard. What was life even right now? Damn, she loved it. "More spectacular? That's a tough prediction. But, coming from you? I think I just might believe it."

--

Dale paid attention when GoGo mentioned her work uniform. The disappointment was clear when he heard about her vow even though he sort of figured that to be true from his time living with her. He still wished it had changed. It was just too easy to poke fun at. Dale confirmed. It wasn't kawaii. "Hot. For sure." Just in case she thought they were teasing. He had to reaffirm.

"I like my crop top." Dale defended with a laugh all in good humor.

Then the moment came everyone on the bus looked around and realized Figaro was the only one who read the book. Every single person shrugged clueless. "The more ya know." Said Chip. "Something about his not talking."

Scout sniggered at the comment knowing how Chip came off to the public. He might have been a talker to the family, but not anyone else. Dale might have more Wybie hair, but Chip pulled off the lack of speech. Regular Wybie was a whole different story.

She whispered the concept to GoGo only as a private thought to her friend after they were far off because as much as the siblings did poke fun at each other to their faces, sometimes they were nice enough to spare each other every little thought. With their sight they were often intrusive enough with each other's privacy.

All the joking and teasing was full blast and fun on the bus as the wheels went round and round for this drive. No one was spared. This group needed it. Not a person missed Koda's reaction to his round from Ellie. Everyone seemed to take their own mental note on that one. Grins and giggles all around.

This dress was well worth the wait. Thomas would be thinking the same thing, even if he had to wait until his death day to see his Valerie in it. He couldn’t wait to spend the night with his arms around that beautiful waist of hers, feeling the fabric, feeling her. Appreciating everything that the dress did to emphasize her - much like she thought of him, she could wear anything. Something like this - it could make someone faceless. Someone would just remember the gown and not the person wearing it, but not Valerie. Not his wife. He’d never forget the way that the fabrics made her skin appear even softer, the colors complimenting her, the shape that it gave her, oh boy, like she was sewn into it. Her face - the most stunning of all, of course. He was going to be looking into her eyes all night as he swung her around the ballroom. Of course he was going to be dancing with her. There was no chance that he wasn’t. Socials always took second place after romance.

Nothing felt more appropriate than Poe tonight. It was a Halloween ball, gothic style, in a dark and mysterious castle. Did it get more spine-chilling than that?

“I know, I always feel the same,” Thomas chuckled, holding tight to Treebeard as they were brought up the mountain in their own special way. Some people had to take the stairs, some people took the bus - these two were special enough to get their own special escort. “I’d say we’re going to end up somewhere far more spectacular than Isengard.”

He checked his pocket again. He wasn’t coming empty handed, no. He was still determined - maybe foolishly since it hadn’t worked yet - to get Frank talking about something. After all, their ladies were friends. It only seemed right. He was bringing along a tin of fine Irish tobacco, since Frank was known for smoking. Might be just the thing to get him through thte door.

--

Iorek was just living his best life right now. He still mainly lived in the zoo, where it was nice and cold but he could leave his enclosure. He knew how to work the doors and it was never locked. He was getting a sugar high from the coke, so he kept wriggling his back in the seat, almost in a dance, just because his body was feeling the urge to move. Being a creature that had been in a zoo all of it’s life, it was used to stares so the gaggle of women who kept looking over at him was hardly a bother. He’d sniff them as they came on but wasn’t threatening.

GoGo wasn’t expecting much attention tonight with her attire, especially with everyone else being so dressed up. All the other ladies, Chip’s wives, it was like a fashion show. But she also couldn’t say that she wasn’t a bit pleased that the effort she put in was noticed, even if she wasn’t really the dress up type. At least not until she met Scout, who had rubbed off on her a bit.

“It was either this or my work uniform, and I made a vow to myself not to ever wear that after working hours,” Go-Go chuckled. Despite being in school almost full time, she still kept up her job at the stupid cafe. Dale had been right. She made some pretty good money there, as humiliating as it was. Besides, not like she had very much shame. If she brought some to the family name … good. “Hot is better than kawaii, I’ll take it.”

She let out a little snort of a laugh. “Independence, it helped.” After bunking with him at Elsa’s, she had moved into her own apartment and had been there since August, while he had gone off to Peru to do whatever Dale does. She never really asked questions. “Quite the crop top, Dale.”

Offended by being called Spindly? Hardly. “All the better to move faster.”

“Fun fact,” Figaro called from the front of the bus. “They put Wybie in the movie to make it LESS creepy. The book doesn’t have him, and it’s balls to the wall isolation.”

Because leave it to them to know.

But as for Ellie, all that time alone with just Babyface for company has really gotten rid of her filter, so joking and teasing, it had become a real big thing. It’s how she showed love, now more than ever. Not that she had a say in her aunt’s relationship, but that little quip was her way of letting Koda know that she approved. Anyone who could influence her aunt into wearing THAT and not something frumpy was well worth accepting.

Ellie’s grin only grew bigger when she heard Babyface stand up for her. She put an arm around his shoulder and looked at Koda. “Yeah, take that, Koda!”

Laughter was all over the bus, even Elsa smiling as she leaned into Koda to hear his compliment. “Thank you,” She said, taking the compliment without ever attempting to fish for more. “Though I do feel different tonight.”

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 18 - The Threat)

4.8k / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Peace between the Clans after the wedding is short lived.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, petnames (pretty bird, baby, etc.), one (1) daddy, two (2) spanks, unprotected PiV, oral (m receiving, reference to f receiving), a teeny bit of ass play and a wee smidge of choking. Angst - it's back, baby!

A/N: This takes place after The Wedding (but it's not necessary to read). I need to write the next few chapters together, so it might take me a beat to post Ch. 19 but I will try my best 🥰 as always, thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Din had never experienced the old saying “the calm before the storm” before.  He had heard of it, of course, but in his experience, there was ever only the build up to the storm or the storm itself.

In retrospect, “the calm” was exactly what the last few weeks had been.

The weeks leading up to Cassandra and Rikard Pyke’s wedding had been tense.  Security concerns increased in light of the unrest that had been rising in intensity and frequency for the months prior, complicating already intricate and complex security logistics necessitated by the union itself.  It gnaws at Din to no end that he and Paz haven’t been able to identify the culprit orchestrating all the previously thought unrelated disturbances; he’s at least glad the theory that the incidents were random has been abandoned and that even Boba agreed there had to be a common thread between all the events. 

Happily, the wedding had gone off without any major incident; the happy couple had married and celebrated joyously with both Families.  No blood had been spilt, and one could even declare that the relationship between the Fetts and Pykes has never been better.  There had been that minor scuffle at the end of the evening; Din hated worrying you unnecessarily even more than he hated lying to you, so he had told you a half truth when he said it was just a few kids who drank too much.  It was a half truth in that only half of the drunk kids in question were wedding guests - the other two had been Hutt wedding crashers.  For whatever reason, two lower level Hutt foot soldiers had decided to check out the wedding venue after most of the guests had wound down their celebrations and a few of the younger Pyke cousins had taken offense.

It had been easy enough to break up and smooth over, sending the kids to their proverbial corners - that part he hadn’t downplayed.  And since then, it’s been… quiet.

No more skirmishes.  No vandalism.  No theft.  Nothing. 

It’s as if whoever was responsible went on vacation or decided that whatever they were trying to accomplish in the first place wasn’t worth it.

At first, it had been much too suspicious to be trusted.  The Mandos remaining on high alert even when nothing out of the ordinary was being reported.  Then slowly, things started going back to normal.  Late night patrols taper off and security surveillance whittle down to a minimum.  Jimmy returns to training with Karga full-time.  Din’s schedule regulates and to make up for lost time, he takes you out to dinner nearly every night, chipping away at the long accumulated list of restaurants you want to try.  Mayfeld goes back to doing whatever Mayfeld does.

It was the calm.

Din’s humming to himself as he folds towels - checking the clock, he’s glad to see he’s about half an hour or so away from Greef coming in for the late shift, at which time he can go back upstairs to spend the rest of his Saturday night with you.  The two of you had spent a lovely morning at the same farmers’ market he had taken you to on your second date, and much of the day had been spent recreating a similar afternoon – him working while periodically popping upstairs to visit you and Al, helping you with the lasagna.  The only notable difference was that instead of letting you nap, he had made you come on his tongue twice before heading back downstairs to oversee the lazy Saturday gym crowd.

Otherwise, history was repeating itself delightfully even now with Paz coming by after his workout to check in with Din.

“Hey brother,” Paz clasps his hand on Din’s shoulder before the two men embrace, “good day?”

“Yep,” nods Din, good naturedly, “you?”

Paz’s face slips into an unserious grimace, “Was going pretty good, but just got the call to check in with the boss, so like Rhianna says: work, work, work, work, work.  You wanna come with?”

Din shakes his head, “Nah, I’m retired again, remember?  Besides, I’ve got lasagna.”

“Ooo!  Lil’ Lady made lasagna?  Save me a slice, brother!  Wait… unless ‘lasagna’ is code for some weird sex thing?  Then please don’t think of me, thanks.”

Din whips a towel at Paz’s head as the latter heads out the gym, the back of his shoulders shaking with laughter.

---

Satisfied.  That’s the word Din thinks best describes how he feels in this very moment.  His stomach is full of wine and lasagna, and he currently has his delectable dessert straddling his lap with her tongue down his throat.  When you lift yourself up to press down on Din’s mouth with your plush lips, your core grinds a little on the top of his now soft again belly and you both let out a heady groan at the sensation.  Din suspects that after the bout with Rotta Hutt, you had made it your personal mission to reinstate his softer stomach, and he happily acquiesced - eating second helpings of all your delicious cooking that seemed to constantly fill your and his apartments with mouthwatering aromas.

Brushing your tongue over Din’s, your hands go to card his soft curls through your fingers when you feel his meaty hands slide down your sides until they come to a rest on your ass, cupping your cheeks and palming them lightly while you whimper into his mouth. 

“Feel good, pretty bird?”

“Mmmhhmmmm, feels so good, Din,” you murmur as you kiss across Din’s jaw and trail your lips down his neck, tongue darting out to lick his bobbing Adam’s apple.  You feel Din’s hands tighten and squeeze hard at the feeling, and it makes you giggle - you give your butt a little wiggle and dance around in his lap as a response.

Smack.

You yelp and then immediately moan from the spank Din administers to your behind.  Din chuckles throatily and lands another hard smack to the other cheek, watching your ass ripple as he growls in your ear, “Gonna be a good girl, baby?”

You pull back so Din can see the pouty, doe-eyed expression you’re giving him, “What do you mean, daddy?”

Din’s eyes darken, “Are you gonna be a good girl, or are you gonna be a br-”

Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

Din’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.  Then another.  And another.  It continues to vibrate, even as you reach over to the coffee table to grab it for him.

Brow furrowed, Din looks at the notifications on his locked screen and sees texts from Paz, Mayfeld, Woves, Bo, Iggy with more coming in every few seconds from other Mandos.  Each text containing just one line:

This is the Way.

Din’s face hardens and his body tenses, he sits up straight and you have to lace your fingers around his neck so you don’t slide off his lap.  The words themselves are innocuous, chosen to sound authoritative and purposefully vague and mysterious; but the text protocol being executed is deliberate and meaningful, one that Din himself implemented years ago.  It was a code red and a check-in system rolled into one.  It meant he had to go.

He gives you with an apologetic look but he finds you already watching him with an expression full of softness and understanding, “You have to go?”

Nodding, Din closes his eyes and pulls you tight against his chest, tucking your head into your favourite nook under his chin before murmuring, “I have to go.”  You hug him back just as tightly and tell your man you love him.  Tipping your head back, you eagerly accept one last tender kiss before Din gently pulls you off his lap.

As Din sends off his own text (This is the Way.), you grab a jacket for him and see him to the door, eyes worried, “Be careful, Din.”

“Always, pretty bird.  I love you.”  And then he’s off - hurrying down the stairs, taking two at a time.

---

Entering inconspicuously through the back entrance of an office building that acted as a Fett safe house, Din greets the Mandos that beat him here in the open lounge area.  Some are nursing drinks, others seemingly just waiting around.  Everyone looks to be on high alert.  Still not knowing what the alert was for, Din doesn’t ask – he would rather get the debrief straight from Paz, but he doesn’t see the Fett head of security in the room.  Koska gives him a little nod when she spots him and tilts her head towards the boardroom, mouthing, “They’re waiting for you.” Who exactly they are, still unknown to Din even as he pushes open the thick oak door. 

Paz is inside, as are Bo and Brian.  There are no other Mandos.  Everyone is sitting around the long conference table except for Paz and Fennec, both of whom stand flanking Boba’s seat at the head of the long table.  Many of the chairs are already filled by Fett Family seniors and principals and in front of every seat, even the empty ones, is a brown manila envelope.  Din sees that those already sitting have opened theirs, but the contents are unknown to him – either stuffed back into their envelopes or placed face down on the table.  As he walks towards Paz, Din notices that all the envelopes have names written on them; the handwriting is unfamiliar, but he recognizes the names of some other clan members that haven’t arrived yet.  It’s not until he’s nearly at the end of the room that he looks at the envelope in front of the empty seat to Boba’s right and reads his own name.

Cocking an eyebrow at Paz, he’s mildly alarmed to see Paz’s expression.  Normally so impassive and stoic while conducting official security business, Paz looks… nervous.  Din looks quizzically at his envelope, then at Paz, Boba and Fennec; Boba gives a slight nod of his head and Din doesn’t even bother sitting down, just reaches over the chair to grab his envelope, ripping it open.

Din reaches in and pulls out a thick stack of photos.  He goes through them, faster and faster, the top photo being filed to the back so he can see what the next picture is, his actions becoming more frantic and hurried with each photo.

“What the fuck is this?!” he roars.

You.  Every picture is of you.  You stepping off the subway.  You eating a sandwich outside your office.  You having brunch with your friends.  You walking the dog.  You’re wearing so many different outfits in the photos, they must have been taken over several days.  Weeks even.  Din thinks he’s going to be sick - someone has been watching you for weeks.

Since no one has answered, Din thunders again, “What the fuck is this?!” Several of the people sitting, bristle.  Paz looks defeated.  The epiphany that what Paz had been nervous for was Din’s reaction hits suddenly, “Paz, did you know what was in this envelope?!”

Boba, ever calm, but radiating an undercurrent of fury, suggests, “Paz, why don’t you catch Din up in private?  Please rejoin us when you’re ready.”

Paz gestures to a side door and Din follows, still clutching his envelope and the pictures of you.  He waits for the door to the smaller, empty room to close behind him before he goes in on Paz, “Brother, what the hell is going on??”

Paz sighs, “First, I owe you an apology.  You’re right - I knew what was in the envelope.  Actually, I didn’t know, but I had a really good idea.  It didn’t give me any pleasure to see you ambushed like that, brother.”

Din nods, waiting for more.

“A box of envelopes was left outside Peli’s doorstep this morning with a note on top that just said ‘For Boba Fett’.  We checked her cameras and asked around, but there was nothing usable – whoever left the box knew where all the cameras were, where the blind spots are, and they dropped it off at 5 a.m. when there was no one around.”  Paz sighs heavily before continuing.

“Peli called it in and after the box and its contents were cleared, Boba went through it in the late afternoon – he himself got an enveloped filled with pictures of Poe, Lisa and their kids.  Everyone who received an envelope got called in – there are at least 25.  All the envelopes so far contain pictures of loved ones: spouses, partners, family, kids.  All the photos recent.  Bo and Brian’s envelopes contained pictures of their girlfriends.  That’s how I was fairly sure yours had the Lil’ Lady in it.”

Din wordlessly hands over the pictures of you and Paz takes the stack, going through it with a pained expression on his face, “Recent?”

Din nods, “Who the hell did this?  What do they want?  Was there anything else in the box?  What is the fucking point of these photos?!”  Din thinks his brain is going to explode.

Paz shakes his head, “We don’t know.  That’s what we have to find out.”

“But it’s a threat.”

“Yeah.  It feels like a threat.”

Din presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.  His heart and head are pounding, a million thoughts racing through his mind.  Are you safe right now?  He shouldn’t have left you.  No, you’re at Mando’s – there’s nowhere safer.  Had you noticed anyone following you these last couple of weeks?  No, you would have told him.  That means whoever did this was a professional.  And they must have a team, if they were able to take pictures of so many targets over the past few weeks.  Targets.  Fuck.  You were a target.  A voice that Din hasn’t heard in months practically screams in his head: Because of you!! 

His rage and fear suddenly trampled by a new emotion: guilt. 

Beaten, Din looks up at Paz, his voice breaking, “This is why.  This is why… she shouldn’t be with me.  This is what I was always afraid of.  That being with me would put her in danger.  That I would put her in danger.  She’s being threatened because of me.”

Din hangs his head, that old insecurity over bringing you into his life, or rather his life into yours, resurfacing after all these months - ready to tear down the life that he and you had started building together.  How could he have done this to you?  You don’t deserve it.

Paz lays a firm and what he hopes is a reassuring hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “We’ll get who ever did this.  And we’ll keep her safe.  We’ll keep them all safe.”

Din nods, swallowing hard, but unable to peel his thoughts away from images of you.  You in the pictures.  You when he left you tonight.  You smiling at him.  Trusting him.  And then before he could stop it from creeping into his mind, a terrifying vision of you, limp in his arms, hurt.  He closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe, “She has to be safe.”

He follows Paz back into the main boardroom - ready to formulate a plan, to figure out the next steps, to do whatever it takes to bring down whoever was responsible for this transgression against the Family.  Din forces his face to wear the steely visage familiar to those in the room who know him as Boba Fett’s most fearsome enforcer, doing his best to ignore that nagging voice in his head that periodically interjects, “You know what you have to do.”

---

Something has happened tonight.  You can tell.  When you hear Din’s footsteps trudging up the stairs, it’s almost 11 p.m.  He had texted you earlier letting you know he was going to be late, but implored you to save taking Al back until he came home.  You didn’t know about the way his chest tightened when you wrote back to tell him you and Al had gone out and come back already.  As Din gets closer to the top floor, you think you can hear a weariness in those steps, as if he’s shouldering an additional weight.  Meeting him at the door, your heart cracks when you see the furrow of Din’s brow and the exhaustion in his eyes.  Something has happened tonight.

Wordlessly taking Din’s things from him and guiding him to the couch, you straddle Din’s lap and lightly trace his face with your fingers, as if trying to wipe away his worry.  His eyes are closed, his breathing even, but barely controlled.  On more than one occasion, Din has marveled at your talent for being able to soothe and calm him, often with a single touch.  But not tonight.  Tonight, no matter how much you may try, his muscles will not relax, his fists will not unclench, and the tension he carries in his shoulders will not dissipate.

You curl yourself against his hard chest, resting your head on his tightened shoulder and whisper, “Din?  Do you need to use me?  Work out some of this stress?”  Taking his clenched fist, you gently pry open his hand and lay it flat against your own chest, holding it close to your heart.

Din breathes out shakily and opens his eyes to see you looking up at him, wide-eyed with love and concern.   Fuck.  He loves you so much.  And he needs you.  You always know what he needs. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t get the image of the you in those pictures out of his mind – so innocent and unassuming; the idea that someone was looking that same you but with the intention of scaring or hurting you has Din wound up so tight, he’s afraid he might snap at any minute.  Regretfully, he chokes out, “Can’t, pretty bird.  Not this time.  This time… the way I’m feeling right now... I- I might hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You can see how hard Din’s struggling and you want to cry for him.  Cupping his rough, tired face in your dainty hands, you kiss him softly and nod, not wanting to add to his burden.

“I think I need to go work it out in the gym, baby.  Take it out on some bags.  Then maybe catch-up on some work.  I’m still behind on paperwork for the gym because of the other stuff that was going on before,” Din sighs.

“If you want, I can take on some of the admin, like tax forms and stuff.  You know I’m good at that,” you offer, wanting to be at least some help.

Against all odds, Din smiles.  How do you do that? “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.  Thank you.”

You relax into his chest, but when Din’s hold on your waist remains tight and his breathing stays sharp, you climb off his lap and prod him gently, “Don’t be too long, baby,” letting your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer before going to get ready for bed.

---

When you wake in the middle of the night, it’s just past 1:30 a.m. and you’re alone in bed.  Sitting up, you listen for Din but the apartment is silent except for Al’s soft snores.  Where’s Din?  You throw on a long cardigan over your lace trimmed sleep set and grab your keys, padding downstairs.  Opening the door to Mando’s second-floor landing, you hear the thump thump thump of gloves hitting a bag.  Quietly, you walk across the walkway and down the opposing side stairs, coming upon where Din’s working a hanging punching bag.  His shoulders are up, his back muscles tense and glistening with sweat; his gloved fists flying at the bag in consistent intervals, over and over and over, with a force that sends the bag nearly swinging each time.

You don’t know how long Din’s been at this, but judging from his laboured breathing and the beads of perspiration that have rolled down his back, dampening the waistband of his sweatpants, you’re guessing it’s a while.  You can feel his exhaustion rolling off his body in waves from where you stand.  Din’s so hyper focused, you don’t think he’ll even hear you if you call his name, and for a moment, you’re not sure how you’ll get his attention without needlessly startling him; but Din solves the problem for you when you see him pause in his attack, holding the bag still with his gloves and resting this forehead against the leather, breathing tired and shallow.

“Din?” you call out delicately, you’re close enough to him now that you can see the fatigue that lines his face.  It takes you a moment to put a name to the look he gives you, but when you do, your heart nearly shatters.  It’s defeat.  Din’s looking at you, but his eyes are far away, downcast and weary.  His frame, held so tight and tense, droops and deflates as he takes in your figure walking gingerly towards him, as if all the agitation and aggression that he’s been trying to work out over the past few hours simply floats out of his body, along with all his power and determination.  Your big strong man is broken and you don’t know why.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you exhale with relief when you feel Din lean into your soft touch, eyes closing and face somewhat relaxing; he’s still here, your Din.  Silently, you take his gloved hand with your free one and lead him to the boxing ring.  Using the little stairs tucked into front right corner, you walk up to the raised platform and duck under the ropes to stand in the ring, holding your hand out to Din, beckoning him to join you.  As if in a trance, Din heeds your unspoken request; removing his gloves before meeting you in the middle of the ring, still looking at you with an expression that further breaks your heart – one of failure, resignation.  Holding his face in your hands, you bring it down to yours and press your lips to Din’s – tenderly, warily, so not to spook him.  When Din’s eyes close and you feel him melt against your mouth, you trail your lips to the other parts of him that need your attention. 

Din keeps his eyes closed and uses his remaining energy to mentally track the path of kisses that you lay across his jaw and down his throat.  You dot kisses along his collar bones and over the expanse of his wide chest; flitting out your tongue to taste the saltiness of the sweat that still clings to his hard pecs and his solid midsection.  You squeeze each arm and massage gentle circles over his muscles with your skilled fingers, working down from his flexed biceps to the raised veins of his forearms and ending at his still wrapped hands that you raise to your lips, delicately nipping at his exposed fingertips.  Din revels in your soft fairy-like touch and the heaven of your soft lips against his rough skin.

He opens his eyes only when he feels you slide his sweatpants down past his hips, eyes coming into focus to you see you on your knees before him, cardigan shrugged off to reveal barely there sleepwear that matches the sultry gaze that peers up at him.  Wordlessly, you take him in your mouth.

Hearing Din hiss above you, you work his length gently in your soft mouth, feeling him harden under the efforts of your lips and tongue.  When you feel both his hands come to a gentle resting grip in your hair, you flash a doe-eyed look at him, trying to gauge from his expression what he needs.  What you find is Din, eyes closed and mouth slack – tension and pressure finally evaporated from his body, his face burden free; you hum in pride and vow to suck, lick and tease every last remaining drop of agitation from him.  Rhythmically bobbing your head over Din’s cock, you let him hit the back of your throat repeatedly as you gently fondle his balls with your small hands until you feel them tighten and you hear Din’s heaving breaths above you.  Pulling off of his perfect dick, you see a flash of surprise in Din’s eyes as they snap open; you make sure he’s watching as you dip your hand down your sleep shorts and start to rub your clit through your already drenched panties.

When you see a dark hunger replace the look of surprise on Din’s face, you use your free hand to pull on his wrist so he’ll join you down on the mat.  Mouth latching to yours open mouthed, needy, violent, Din allows you to maneuver his strong frame easily so that he lays beneath you; you shimmy out of your shorts and panties before straddling him, hovering over his already weeping cock.  Normally both so vocal during sex, no words are exchanged between you and Din tonight.  Every question and want expressed only through looks and touch - communicating heart to heart, mind to mind.  When Din removes your top, you realize it’s the first time he’s really touching your body since you came downstairs - his touch is desperate, gripping, tortured.  You let him grab and grope your breasts, waist, stomach, arms, hips and thighs with a fervent need, as if he needs to prove, convince himself that you’re all there. 

Notching him at your entrance, you feel Din’s hand snake up the valley of your breasts and come to a rest around your neck.  Lolling your head back to give him more access, you follow the direction of his firm grip and sink down on Din’s dick; your movements guided by the pressure that Din puts on your neck, letting him pull you down until you’re fully sheathed on his throbbing cock.  Keeping pace with the flex of Din’s fingers on your throat, you bounce – ignoring the sting of pain from having taken him with no prep; no matter – your overstretch walls soon flooded with arousal as your movements quicken and your breaths sharpen, dizzy from your airway being constricted.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you ride Din with abandon – there's no dirty talk, praise or degradation tonight, the only sounds echoing off the walls of the empty gym are the urgent slapping of skin on skin and Din’s loud animalistic moans and grunts.  For Din, this is primal, physical, making sure you’re real and that he can touch you, hold you – you’re here, within his grasp.  Safe.

Keeping one hand on your neck, as if tethering you to him via your airway, your lifeline, Din is hypnotized by the sight of you on top of him – pretty tits bouncing, pert and perky.  You’re beautiful.  Perfect.  That you give yourself over to him so readily when you already give him so much fills him to the brim with emotion: you trust him with your heart, your body, your life.  He inches a finger towards the tight ring of your ass, pressing in past the initial resistance and feels your pussy flutter around his cock once he slips in.  Always so willing to take.  Because you trust him.  Love him.

Fuck, he loves you more.

Crying out as you come, you clench down hard on Din’s cock but don’t stop moving, determined to fuck yourself through it; Din follows shortly after, spilling himself to the look of euphoria on your face.

No words are exchanged as you gather your things and lead Din upstairs after turning off the lights in the gym.  And still none when you guide him into the hot shower, washing his tired body under the spray of the water steaming up the bathroom.  Din is barely awake – eyes shut as he lets you wash his hair, only partially registering the soft touch of your fingers against his scalp.  Melting into your sweet kisses to his lips, chest and back, he slips further towards dreamland.

Silent even as you dry him and dress him in a pair of clean pajamas, Din, exhausted from the physical exertion of trying to punch out his frustrations and the mental load of what he learned today, completely dissociates from everything except the warmth of your presence.

Only once he’s laid down on his side of his bed, head already sinking into his pillow and lips tingling from your goodnight kiss does Din speak, “I love you so much, pretty bird.  How will I ever live without you?”

All you can do is smile when you see your hulk of a man finally relaxed enough to drift off towards sleep.  You’re so relieved to have managed to put him to bed that you don’t notice he isn’t utilizing the hypothetical.

Not ‘How would I ever live without you?’ but will.

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-Seven

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.7k

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If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised to see how quickly Dís was able to arrange the celebration of the King Under the Mountain’s betrothal. After all, she knew dwarves loved a good party and Dís certainly struck her as a woman who, when she set her mind to a task, let nothing deter her from her goal.

But, that didn't stop Nina from being almost slack-jawed as Thorin escorted her into the Great Hall after sunset that evening, as Dís had gone far and above anything Nina could have even imagined. 

The tables had been rearranged to encircle the center of the hall, and at one end, a separate table had been set up for two. Candelabras of gold and silver stood upon each table, each holding six elegant white tapers, whose dance flames bathed the room in gold and sparkled merrily off the cut crystal of the wine decanters and goblets at each place setting. 

Fairy lights had been strung around the ceiling’s perimeter, matching the soft golden glow of the candles and she couldn't help but smile at the sounds of musicians warming up. 

“Dís has outdone herself,” Thorin murmured as they stepped into the transformed room. “And it has been a lifetime since this hall last saw a celebration of this size.”

“I’ve never been to a celebration of this size,” she said without thinking, gazing up at the iron and glass chandeliers also ablaze with candles. “Only the Master had the funds for such things and my family was not on his guest list.”

He turned to her, catching both her hands in his. “I’ve been to one of his parties and although the drink was quite good, his taste in food left much to be desired, and he believed his company all the entertainment one needed. Which made us all thankful for the ale that flowed so freely.”

“You meant to tell me he had no music that night?”

“Not a single note.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Really. If it wasn't for the ale and wine…”

“Surely he had pretty women there for you to admire. He was always fond of pretty women around him, no matter how repulsed they were by him.”

Thorin pursed his lips for a moment. “There was one pretty woman, but she was left out in the snow that night.”

A wink accompanied his words and she rolled her eyes even as she smiled. “Spare me, please.”

His laughter rang out, booming across the room with enough force that the musicians went silent and Dís emerged from a back room with a smile as well. “I wasn't expecting either of you just yet,” she said as she strode toward them. “Dwalin was supposed to stall you a bit longer.”

“Dwalin?” Thorin shook his head. “I haven’t even seen him all day.”

Dís offered up a mischievous grin. “That would be because you and Miss Carren snuck off somewhere to be alone.”

Nina’s cheeks grew warm, but Thorin only laughed again. “And how do you know this?”

“I bumped into Elisin as she was readying to leave,” Dís replied, her smile fading. “She was not at all happy.”

“She’s trouble,” Nina said without thinking, “and I cannot say I’m sorry she’s leaving soon.”  

Thorin’s fingers tightened about hers. “Nor can I, which is a shame, since she wasn’t always trouble.”

“Well, in her defense,” Dís replied, “she did think she’d be queen.”

Thorin glared at his sister. “Neither here nor there and really not the time nor place, Dís.”

To her credit, Dís blushed. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Carren, that was terribly rude of me. I—I don't know why I thought I should say that at all.”

“Because ye speak without thinkin’ at times,” Dwalin growled from behind them. 

Nina bit the inside of her mouth as Dís scowled at him. “No one asked you, I’ll have you know.”

“I know. I dinna care, but I know.” 

He said this with a grin, then to Nina’s surprise, bent to brush Dís’ cheek with a kiss. Peering up at Thorin, Nina expected to see surprise on his face as well, but instead, he smiled. “It’s about time the two of you made up.”

“Wait…” Nina looked from him to Dwalin and Dís and back, “they are a couple?”

“When they aren’t ready to throttle one another, yes,” Thorin told her. 

“But he’s so grouchy all the time.”

Now it was Dwalin’s turn to grin. “Not with everyone, lassie.”

Nina’s face grew hot once again and Thorin chuckled, giving her hand a squeeze. “Worry not, mesmel. You won’t be the only one surprised. Now, why don't we go and make ourselves comfortable?”

It truly was a wonderful evening and Nina couldn't help but wonder if this was how it would have been at the Master’s house that night, had she been one of the ones to welcomed to join the celebration. Dwarves absolutely knew how to host a party and how to have a fantastic time, for the music was lively and the food delicious.

However, when Thorin came up and murmured, “Walk with me?” she was perfectly willing to step away from the party and the noise. 

The buzz of conversation died away, along with the music and clatter of silver against china and crystal as she tucked her arm through Thorin’s and allowed him to guide her away from the Great Hall. 

He led her along a narrow corridor that wound up and away from the festivities. She glanced over at Thorin. “Where are we going?”

He smiled. “Up to the rampart. When I was a boy, it was one of my favorite places to go, as I wasn't often allowed beyond Erebor’s gates. Up here, no one would bother me. It was me and the ravens and I was perfectly happy.”

“Ravens? As in the birds?”

“As in the birds. They understand me, you know.”

She offered him a long look. They understood him? What could he mean by that? “Of course they do.”

He chuckled. “You’ll see.”

“I suppose I will.”

It was a beautiful evening, clear and cool, stars sparkling overhead and a gentle breeze whispering through the trees. The rampart was wider than she’d imagined—wide enough for two columns of dwarves to pass one another with room to spare—and as she moved to the edge, the view stole the breath from her lungs for a moment. 

The plains between Erebor and Dale were dark and quiet, but in the distance, Dale itself sparkled with light. Each day, more people and more businesses arrived in the town and so at night, more lights shone than the previous day, or so it seemed. That made her smile, for she’d seen enough desolation and destruction to last her a life time and watching Dale’s rebirth was cathartic. 

Beyond that, Esgaroth remained dark. Reconstruction was coming along slowly, but that didn't trouble her. Even if she wasn't about to become the Queen of Erebor, she would not be able to live in Esgaroth again. Too many memories. Too much pain. She did not care if she ever set foot on one of Esgaroth’s docks again.

She drew away from Thorin to cross to the stone parapet, where she leaned against it to gaze over at the Long Lake, whose surface sparkled so she could almost hear the water lapping at the pilings. For a moment, she was back in the small bedroom she shared with Lenna. 

“Mooning, are you?”

A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see her older sister, Lenna, propping an elbow on the railing and offering up a knowing smile. 

“No,” Nina shook her head as she managed to tear her eyes from the building, “I am doing no such thing.”

“He didn’t know you were alive, little sister. All he cared about was getting the Master to release him.”

“Which he did. And he smiled at me.”

“Or he was smiling at Shalia, as every red-blooded man does.”

“But he is not a Man, and you know it. He is a dwarf. And not just any dwarf, but the King Under the Mountain.”

Lenna let out a low laugh. “I am not calling you Queen.”

“You will when I win his hand.”

Lenna would have loved every moment of this, and would have ribbed her endlessly about Thorin, all the while being the happiest soul alive for her. 

Nina’s eyes stung. She missed her sister so very much. Her death left a hole that would never completely heal.

“Where are you?” Thorin asked softly, leaning on his elbows against the stone alongside her.

“She teased me about you, you know.” Nina looked over at him. “My sister, Lenna. She knew I was mooning over seeing you at the Master’s house that night and teased me mercilessly about it. But, it was playful, not malicious. She would’ve loved this. And I would absolutely make her address me as Your Majesty once you and I were married.”

He smiled. “Sounds like the relationship I had with my brother.”

“You had a brother?”

“I did, indeed. Younger by five years. He died in battle at Azanulbizar when we were young.”

“Thorin, I—” she shook her head slowly—“I had no idea. Were you close?”

“We were, yes. Very much so. I like to think, that had he not died, he would be to be me what Dwalin has become. I trusted him more than anyone else in my circle and I hope he felt the same.”

Sorrow wove through his words, crept into his voice, and she covered his hand with hers. “I’m sure he did. I know Lenna loved me to the moon and back, even when she teased me until I cried. She would be so thrilled to see this unfolding as it has. I hope your brother would be for you.”

“He would, no doubt. And Frerin would be amused at the notion of how we came to be together as well.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.”

“I do.” Thorin leaned over to brush her lips with his. “And he’d never let me forget it.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Both. But, you would win him over. I’ve no doubt about that at all.”

Her cheeks grew warm as he kissed her once more, this time a bit more slowly, and a bit more deeply. She melted into him, her hands curving against his bristly cheeks. And when he drew back, he whispered, “Maralmizi, Nina.”

“Maralmizu, Thorin.”

He wrapped his arms about her, pressing a kiss into the top of her head. Nina sighed softly, resting her head against his chest, just listening to the soft thump of his heart beating. This was the most perfect moment in her life, and she let her eyes close as she savored it, savored him holding her as if to protect her from anything and everything around them. A lifetime had passed since that night in the snow, when she and Lenna stood in the crowd, watching the Master welcome Thorin and his company to Esgaroth, inviting them to celebrate in his house, 

“The morning after Smaug attacked,” she murmured, lifting her head to gaze up at him, “when I washed up on the shore on this side of the lake, I thought I’d lost everything that could ever make me smile again. I was convinced I’d never be happy again. And I knew—I just knew—I wouldn’t sleep peacefully until you’d paid for what that fool dragon did to us.”

A hint of pain flashed through his eyes. “If I could, I would take—”

She shook her head. “Let me finish,” she admonished gently. 

He pressed his lips together, which made her smile as she went on, “but… the more I came to know you, the more I saw that you were not responsible for what that beast did. You wanted to reclaim your home and defeat him. It was never your intention to set him upon us. That was entirely on Smaug. I blamed you because I could get to you. He was dead. I could get no satisfaction from his death, as I was not the one to end him. But I could end you. At least, I could until I met you.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m rather glad you changed your mind, Nina.”

“As am I, Thorin.”

“I have but one question.”

“And that is?”

“When did you decide you preferred me alive?”

She smiled up at him. “Our first night in Mirkwood. When you asked me why I hadn’t told you I was from Esgaroth and what ever became of Lenna. You were just… you listened and when you apologized, I knew it was sincere. And for a moment, I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I was. And I would have, had Dwalin not interrupted.” A hint of mischief crept into his eyes, into his grin. “And who knows what might have happened if I had?”

“Who knows, indeed.” She gave him a gentle squeeze. “We should probably get back to the party. Someone is bound to notice that we’ve gone missing.”

“Yes, you probably should head back down. People definitely noticed you two had snuck off.”

Nina rolled her eyes as she peered over her shoulder at Elisin, who stood at the far end of the parapet, arms folded, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. She knew without having to ask that Elisin had overheard them. The question was, how much had she overheard?

Thorin sighed. “Why are you up here?”

“I told you, people were wondering what happened to you. They’ll be very relieved to know she hasn’t harmed you, Your Majesty.” Elisin’s eyes narrowed as her gaze slid from Thorin to Nina, and Nina swallowed hard, her belly churning as Elisin added, “Although, why do I think they don't know she thought about harming you to begin with?”

“Elisin, you know nothing of it,” Thorin growled, taking a step toward her.

“I know this… this ragamuffin… had thought—and thought seriously from the sounds of it—to bring harm to the King Under the Mountain. I wonder, Nina, how receptive they would all be to having you as their queen should they learn of that little tidbit?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thorin growled.

Elisin turned her wide-eyed stare to him. “Wouldn’t dare? Thorin, I think you owe it to your people to tell them truth, don’t you? I mean, this is something very serious and they should know. Your life could be in imminent danger, after all.”

“If you do, you will be sorry,” Nina gritted.

“Is that so? Well, I think I’ll take my chances.” Elisin spun on her heel and strode back toward the stone steps. 

Nina started after her. “Now, you wait just one minute!”

“Nina!” Thorin lunged to try and grab her arm, but missed as she veered to the side and out of his reach. 

She moved faster as Elisin practically ran the rest of the way down the staircase. She didn't look over her shoulder, didn't seem at all concerned with Nina catching her, and no matter how fast she tried to push herself, Nina couldn't seem to catch her. Her belly churned like mad as she realized Elisin was absolutely going to announce to the hall full of people that Thorin was planning to marry the woman who’d thought to assassinate him.

“Stop!” Nina flung herself at Elisin, wrapping her arms about the dwarrowdam’s thick waist. However, instead of halting her, Nina instead pushed her forward and into the Great Hall, where everyone seemed to fall silent at once and Nina almost heard the whoosh of heads swiveling in their direction. 

“What goes on here?” Dís demanded as the musicians went quiet and she hurried toward them.

“It is very fitting you should ask me that,” Elisin replied with a sweet smile that made Nina’s stomach hurt even more as she reluctantly eased her hold on Elision’s waist.

“Elisin,” Thorin came into the Great Hall, his voice reverberating all around them, “do not dare.”

“Dare what?” Dís looked from Elisin to Nina to Thorin, her eyes narrowed. “What is going on here?”

“What is going on here is simple, really. Your future queen is a would-be assassin,” Elisin announced, her smile growing more smug with each word. She nodded, looking about the room as she added, “Yes, you heard me. She is here because her plan was to kill your king.”

[milogreer]

really wanna write rn so help me choooose

no promises it’ll get done ‘cause, you know… life… but i wanna be able to at least try to focus in on one. i miss writing 😔

also some little snippets of each one that might help y’all decide 🤭

shaw pack scaredy cats

“You wanna what?”

“It’s not that big a deal, I do it all the time.”

Milo looks at them like they’ve gone crazy. “Tank, if my Ma finds out I snuck into an R-rated movie, I’ll be six feet under before you can even blink.”

“You just don’t wanna watch the movie ‘cause you know you’ll chicken out first.”

“And you just don’t know the kinda hell Marie Greer can rain down on you. She’s scarier than any movie.”

Tank rolls their eyes. “Then it’s your turn to ask David for a movie. I did it last time and he spent ten minutes chewing me out about how his copy of Alien had dried pizza sauce on the back cover.”

“Maybe if you didn’t eat like you were raised in a barn-”

“Don’t be mad at me just ‘cause you chickened out when you thought the cat was gonna die-”

“Hey, that is a very reasonable response!”

Tank laughs, dispelling any further argument. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll talk to David, see if he can pull a movie for this weekend.”

the morning after

Blake stirs, mumbling something incoherent as he buries himself further into the duvet, and Bestie stills their hand from looping a lock of his hair around their index finger. When he doesn’t say anything further, they continue, touch feather-light.

Another quiet moment passes before Blake sniffles, nudges his head up into their hand, and manages a slurred, “S’wrong?”

“Nothing,” they whisper, switching to run their hand through his hair, curls soft beneath their fingers, willing him to fall back asleep. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He grunts dismissively, peeking open one eye. “What time is it?”

They pause. It’s just barely four in the morning - they’d only slept two hours before being unwillingly and inexplicably dragged out of the depths of sleep. He’ll worry if they tell him the time.

“Early.”

As expected, Blake’s brows furrow. “How early?”

“It’s fine,” they say reassuringly. “I haven’t been up long. I was just thinking.”

A pause. The air feels heavy all of a sudden. When Blake speaks, his voice is low.

“…Can I ask what about?”

working overtime

“And I was supposed to be free tonight, I was right on track to get all my stuff done, but- but then a professor from down the hall had a family emergency and so she wasn’t going to be able to finish the banner for the rally at the end of the week, so she asked me to do it and I, I, I mean, I couldn’t say no, you know?” Lasko pauses very briefly to suck in a breath. “I would’ve felt so bad because she put in a lot of work and to, to not have her project done and displayed is a shame, I mean, I know she was really excited for it, so if I can finish it for her, then I want to, I just,” he expels an exasperated breath, “I wish it wasn’t at the expense of our date night. I-It’s been a while since we were able to actually go out together, I’m so sorry I can’t make it, I know I said it already, but-”

Dear catches his hand as he paces by where they’re sitting on his desktop, nervous hands flitting through the air as he speaks, then brings it to their lips to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Taken off-guard, Lasko goes quiet and still, his rambling tapering off with a soft oh.

“It’s alright, Lasko. I’m not upset.”

Big pleading eyes blink at them from behind his glasses. “Really?”

“Really. It’s sweet of you to want to finish her project for her.” They tug him closer to stand between their legs, looping their arms loosely around his neck and taking great satisfaction in the flush that immediately consumes his cheeks. “Did she leave instructions for you?”

His voice is pitched a touch higher when he responds, “Mhm.” Then he clears his throat, the initial embarrassment ebbing, and says, “She’s very, um… detailed. I hope it doesn’t take too long, but.” He makes an uncertain sound.

sweetheart’s first pack party

They gratefully accept the wine glass he offers, clutching it like a lifeline.

The hand on their hip tugs them a bit closer to him. “Don’t look so nervous, sweetheart. Might be a room full a’ wolves, but no one’s gonna bite.” He leans away slightly, taking a purposefully long moment to check them out, gaze dragging slowly down and then back up their body. Their heart flutters at the sly grin that paints his face. “Well, one of them might. But he’ll ask first.”

Sweetheart exhales a wavering laugh, rolling their eyes and turning their flushing face away.

“Is it that obvious?”

His smirk turns into a slight grimace. “Ash says you’ve got your investigator face on and it’s freakin’ him out a little.”

This time their exhale is a sigh, an attempt to expel some of the anxious energy trapped in their chest that buzzes like a beehive. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to parties like this. My family never did Solstice parties and even if they did, I think this would still be nerve-wracking because…” They falter, nails tapping their glass. “I mean. You know. This is my first one and, I don’t know, David and Asher have always been nice to me-”

sweetheart’s will likely be the only one that gets an actual name bc i have an OC for them more than anyone else, though i’m working on bestie atm so they might get a name too :)

[keouil]

ask the world without us

“we could do it you know,” shoko says quietly. “just stay here and grow old.” 3k. gojo/shoko. angst. also on ao3.

i. finally, i can admit: i dream of care that has nothing to do with survival.

Shoko gets fourty eight hours with him.

She tried, really she did, hasn’t begged for anything as much in her life that even Ijichi looked a little uncomfortable at her open desperation. Please, she pleaded, I can’t I can’t I can’t. Even the static from the flimsy internet connection wasn’t able to drown out the slight hitch in her voice towards the end, the nervous glint in her eyes as she stared straight down at Yaga; trying to channel some of that fondness he knew he reserved for her. He did waver a little, then, a small shred of hope slithering its way through her when she saw him do a double-take, assessing the request again, eyes flickering briefly to the higher-ups peering over his back. 

Only someone—one of Gakuganji’s grandsons, Utahime tells her later—coughs very pointedly. Yaga turned to her then, his own brand of pleading projecting its way through her laptop screen wordlessly.

Shoko was running out of options. “S-sensei,” she manages to rasp, weakly, voice almost going out from weeks of misuse in her isolation. “Sensei, please. My condition—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yaga cuts her off, as gently as he could. From their side of Tokyo she could see the lights flickering and more voices in the background growing agitated. Even the connection was starting to taper off. “He asked for you, Shoko. Just you.” 

Shoko considers this. “He’ll be safer there.”

“It’s okay, Ieiri-san,” Ijichi manages to inch his way to the screen, half his face showing. “He’s still good to travel as far as our on-site physicians have decided. We should be able to get him to you by tomorrow morning.”

Shoko is still breathing unevenly, trying to get her nerves under control. She’s thankful only the top half of her face was showing, otherwise the tremors wracking through her hands and shoulders are the easiest tell they’d know just how far she’d withered since they exiled her. Consecutively maxing out your cursed energy for days on end without giving your body a chance to gain back its reserves will do that to you. It’s half the reason she was forced to go under hiding to recuperate in the first place. 

“I can’t be responsible—”

Yaga is quick to end that line of thought as soon as it came. “You’re willed in, Shoko,” he says, making a point to look at her directly when he said so. “So like I said, it doesn’t matter. He bound it with cursed energy to make sure his will is going to be executed either way.”

Shoko counts to three in her head. “I was his witness,” she manages to get out evenly, trying for logic. “Won’t that—I don’t know—complicate things?”

“No,” Yaga shakes his head, knowing where she was going. “Otherwise any of our healers here would have been able to start working on him as soon as he got unsealed.”

Shoko blinks at the screen, stuck.

She doesn’t think anyone was getting the gravity of what they were really asking of her: that Gojo, so sure his end would be as brutal as it would be, willed her into his will to make sure she’d be the last point of contact before he was cleared for battle. She had said yes when he asked then, forever ago when Megumi was just shy of finishing grade school and Gojo was starting to take guardianship seriously, after hours at their favourite izakaya: Oi, he said, You don’t mind being my last healer right? Kinda like a last-ditch effort to save me or something? She just scoffed at him, high on the victory of saving her first transfigured human that day and feeling like she could take on the world. Ha! she said. Do your worst.

No one ever counted on her starting to develop permanent nerve damage in her hands from excessive cursed energy usage at 28. Twenty-eight. For a doctor, this is career suicide. For an RCT user, she might as well have let her patients bleed out on her operating table.

“He asked for you at death’s door,” Yaga brings her back, a note of finality in his voice. “The least you can do is grant a man his dying wish.”

-

Ijichi is the one to drop him off the next morning. 

No sooner than the car rolls in by the empty parking garage in one of their abandoned safety houses, the passenger door shoots open in a loud clang and she hears footsteps thundering their way across the stone path.

Shoko rushes out the door no sooner.

A flash of white hair and blue eyes. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

“Gojo,” Shoko calls out, putting a hand out to stop him. “I can’t save you.”

Only whatever she was expecting to see after weeks of no contact with anyone—least of all Gojo—it wasn’t this.

Twenty days might as well have been twenty years, all the good time graced Gojo with in concealment, and good it did: he was taller, leaner, bulkier somehow. The already wide span of his shoulders tapered out narrowly at the waist, giving the impression he’d just come back from a weightlifting competition and not proverbial hell. His hair was slightly longer at the edges, wilder. Even the set of his jaw morphed into something more mature looking, like an early glimpse into how he’d grow into his 30s if he ever made it. Even his uniform changed. This war had weathered them all somehow, but Gojo annoyingly took the best parts of it.

“What the fuck,” is all she can say, disoriented and feeling like his 18-year-old verbal sparring partner again. “Have you been working out?”

The tension in the air immediately evaporates. Gojo, who halted midstep as soon as he heard her voice, breaks off the stunned expression on his face into something more familiar, warmer; the corners of his mouth tugging up in amusement. Shoko feels a screw in her soul unbound a little at seeing it again.

Gojo takes the last few steps to her slowly, almost a little hesitantly. He stops just a foot away, still sporting the same shit-eating grin. “Miss me?” 

“No, you idiot,” Shoko punches his shoulder. He doesn’t even budge. “Annoyed is more like it. You willed me in?”

Gojo shrugs casually, the folds of his white yukata moving along like silk against his frame. “Had to make sure you’d agree somehow.”

“You couldn’t have asked like a normal person?” Shoko glares up at him, annoyed. “I’m one of five on your medical team. You didn’t think I’d check on you either way?”

“Would you have?” Gojo puts his arms on her shoulders, guiding them back inside the house. He looked back briefly to give Ijichi a thumbs up. “You wouldn’t have pawned off my potential life-altering treatment plan to the first four?”

“I can’t save you,” Shoko repeats, trying to glance at him from her shoulder.

“So you’ve said,” Gojo hums, assessing the rest of the house. “How long have you been here?”

Shoko looks dicey at the question, moves out from under him to place more distance between them again. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Three weeks, give or take.”

Gojo raises a brow at the timing. “Same time I was sealed?”

Shoko just shrugs, still looking anywhere but at him.  

Gojo was given the footnotes on everything that’s happened since he was sealed, despite Yaga initially worrying he’d be overwhelmed with the information. There are harder pills to swallow that he still feels lodged against his throat—Sukuna and Megumi, Nanami and Nobara—that he can’t look straight at for too long otherwise the ground would start crumbling, and hasn’t he failed everyone enough that he needs to pick it up back again? Some other inconveniences: the Zen’in being their usual entitled and narcissistic selves, Maki and Mai, and Yuuta; all very important and crushing and apocalypse-inducing. Yaga finished the spiel slightly winded and breathless, the tone of the room expectant. 

But Gojo had only been half-listening, making a mental list of everything he’d wanted to know about as soon as he got out. When he meets Yaga’s eyes and it’s made clear he was done and there was no more to follow, and he was simply waiting for Gojo to digest; Gojo does anything but. 

Because, because—

“And Shoko?” he summoned enough bravery to ask, giving himself a five-second lead to brace himself for whatever answer he’d get. “How is she?”

Yaga looked relieved at the question, if not a little confused. “Fine,” he manages to say, but there’s distance to it, something to prod against. “She can’t do RCT right now, but otherwise she’s fine. We’re keeping her in an undisclosed location until further notice.”

This had disoriented Gojo more than anything. “What do you mean?”

Yaga seemed to have been internally calculating just how much he wanted to reveal, but one look from Gojo was all it took to realize he was going to walk away with all the answers even if it meant prying it out from him. Gojo was already a stickler for not following enough rules, but where some people were concerned, law didn't even exist altogether.

“The day you got sealed,” Yaga explained carefully, wrily. “She was cornered in Shinjuku. Mahito’s creatures were gaining on her so she had to convert most of them on the spot, used up a little too much of her energy at once and was unconscious for a week after. RCT is fickle, as you know.”

���Transfigured humans?” Gojo asked, confused. “But that’s her specialty.”

Yaga only shrugged, letting loose some of the tension in his shoulders at having someone to finally volley his concerns with. Gojo remembered then, how little of a circle they were running at that point; how really, at the end of the day, what little survived of them.

“Everyone has a breaking point," he surmised darkly. "Things got less stable when you were declared sealed."

And as Gojo stares on, at Shoko so obviously down a few sizes and an uneasy gait to her normally calm demeanor, and sees then: how the war has eaten her too.

-

It takes Shoko three tries to click the penlight on, and only after Gojo gently guides her hand steady, for her to start peering into his eyes.

“Sorry,” she says after a while, prodding at his eyelids. “It’s been a while.”

Gojo just hums, still holding onto her elbow. “Take your time.”

He can almost see the exact moment Shoko slips into that clinician role, feel the then unsure lines of her shoulders morph into its usual rigidness as duty that’s been bound into muscle memory takes hold. It’s still there, Gojo thinks, that knee-jerk reaction to save. Peering up into her face, he sees her features sharpen into that tell-tale precision of assessing and monitoring and documenting. A knife to a hilt. He wonders briefly if she needs this more than he did.

“Oi,” Gojo breaks the silence, if anything out of boredom. “You should tell Yaga if you’re running out of food here.”

Shoko manages to scribble down a few notes on his patient file before glancing back down at him. “Sorry, what?”

Gojo squeezes the flesh on her elbow. “Food. Here. If you’re running low, I’m sure he won’t mind sending someone over to replenish your supplies. We could be feasting here right now!”

For a moment, Shoko just looks confused. She still has one arm hovering just a few inches from his face, and he’s trying hard not to think too much about how less than an hour into his check-up, he can already feel the muscles in her arm trembling just so. She could usually last hours and days and even weeks; but maybe, he thinks, noting how his fingers can engulf her bony hand so easily, that maybe that was the problem. That she ever had to.

“What do you mean?” Shoko puts down the penlight, gesturing to the pantry by the hallway. “This is a safehouse. This will always have enough food for an army.”

Gojo traces her line of vision to a small door just outside the kitchen, slightly ajar and obviously bursting with so much food he doesn’t know how he didn’t notice in the first place. He zeroed in on how flimsy Shoko’s sweater engulfed her and how papery her hand felt in his and that was it.

“So then what is it?” he asks instead, facing up at her. Why are you letting your body break down? 

“What is what?” Shoko’s brows furrow even more. “Listen, are you hungry? Cause I can—”

Gojo stands up abruptly, waving her off. He can feel her growing agitated and the tell-tale need to slip into that savior complex again. “No, sorry,” he says. “Forget I asked.”

Shoko was still looking at him weirdly. A little guarded. Her body was the first to go after Getou, hadn’t it? Gojo was too drunk in his grief to do anything about it then; but hadn’t hell himself spat him back out this time around? He’d been searching for the reason all this time, not exactly knowing why. 

But maybe:

“Anything else you need from me?” Gojo turns to look at her, trying to force a casual smile. “Blood? Saliva? A lock of my hair for cloning purposes?”

The guarded look on Shoko’s face doesn’t let up completely so, but her usual exasperation at his sarcasm at least still lives. 

“Lay down on your back,” Shoko tells him, arranging the living room couch into something of a makeshift bed. “We have to make sure your muscles aren’t atrophying.”

-

ii. you can put your strength down.  i'm sitting here with you at your kitchen table. you don't need to say anything.

-

After, when the tests have been done and samples have been taken and Gojo has managed to coax at least one smile out of her and Shoko has stopped threatening him with bodily violence every half hour, they’re in the kitchen finishing the last few bites of their dinner in silence. Gojo cut up the ingredients, Shoko cooked, and somehow they managed not to burn the entire house down. A second pot of tea was brewing in the kettle and they hear the goisagi make their nightly rounds of lullabies in the forest, this side of the world moonlit and calm and peaceful. Uneaten. 

Shoko, surprisingly, breaks the silence first. 

“Were you scared?”

Gojo moves around his hands to get warmer in the mug. “Yes.” 

Shoko hums in agreement, looking past the open window. “More than Okinawa?”

Gojo considers this a moment, staring down at the tea leaves in the mug. Strands of hibiscus floating merrily around a muddy stream of water. “No,” he finally lands on, leaning back into his chair. “Okinawa was scarier.”

“Okinawa was really scary,” Shoko pats his shoulder gently. “Sorry.”

Gojo just shrugs, picking up her feet to place on his lap. He starts idly massaging them before asking, “How about you? Were you scared?”

Shoko looks at the way his long fingers knead through her Achilles heel for a few seconds. “No, not really.”

“Liar,” Gojo teases. 

“Between the two of us,” Shoko points out. “Who is it that refuses to watch horror movies alone?”

“Anyone who can watch any horror movie alone is a psychopath,” Gojo huffs, pinching and releasing her toes. “You have to be truly messed up in the head to enjoy that kind of torture.”

“Are you saying Megumi is psychotic?” Shoko muses, reclining further back into her chair no more a few inches from his. The side of her shoulder touching his body so. 

“Well,” Gojo turns, smiling fondly. “He grew up under my roof didn’t he?”

Shoko returns the smile slightly. “I think he grew up okay all things considered.”

The smile on Gojo’s face falls a little. “Listen,” he starts. “Speaking of Megumi—”

He can feel Shoko’s legs tense up from his hold right away. “No,” she says, urgently, meaning to draw her knees back. “I’m sorry, Gojo, but—”

“Okay, alright, sorry,” Gojo is quick to amend, gently disentangling her arms from under her knees and guiding them back down his lap again. “Another day then.”

Shoko still looks torn. “Why me?” she asks, a little breathless, a little desperate. “Why not Yaga?”

“Megumi trusts you,” Gojo supplies matter-of-factly.

“He doesn’t know what trust is,” Shoko parrots right back.

Gojo laughs, an airy thing. “True,” he relents. “Think we should have sent him to therapy instead of a jujutsu highschool?”

But Shoko doesn’t bite. He can still feel her eyes drinking him in, assessing and tracking and documenting, dissecting his words with that knife-like precision. Megumi was always a touchy subject, and he knows Shoko never knew what kind of role to slip into his life when he gained legal guardianship: big sister? teacher? doctor?

Instead she settled on, like she always did, simply with: “I’ll take care of him.”

Gojo meets her eyes and sees some of that indecisiveness thaw, and knows how monumental a step it is, her acknowledging there will be an after after this where she’ll have to take care of him. An after after this where maybe he can’t anymore. In case something happens. In case he’ll be in a situation where something could happen. He’s at death’s door now, isn’t he? And hadn’t he heard Yaga say something about granting men their dying wish?

“Thank you, Shoko.”

-

“So were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s the second day of his comprehensive medical check-up, and Shoko currently has both her hands guiding his bicep to do a rotation and keeping an eye on the muscle movement there. He’d already been cleared by a physical therapist for field combat, but apparently that bit of information didn’t make it’s way over their side of the world. Gojo has changed into sweats, but somehow, somehow; the chill of her fingers douses him in kerosene. 

“What?” asks Shoko distractedly, eyes tracking the line of his shoulder. 

“Your hands,” Gojo looks down at the tiny fingers holding unto his upper arm. He can feel them gripping harder than usual to offset the tremors, almost unconsciously. “How permanent are we talking here?”

Shoko immediately withdraws contact, bunching her fists together as she hides them behind his patient file. 

“I told you as soon as you got here,” Shoko wrings out of her, with some effort to look him in the eye. “I can’t save you. And like I keep telling you, if you’re this worried about it, then any of the hundred doctors in Tokyo can easily do this without shaking.”

 Gojo tries to level with her. “None of them are in my will.”

He thinks he can hear her swear under her breath something like this fucking will, before righting herself. “Just—” she says, already slipping into a savior, stepping closer to him again. “Just leave it, Gojo. It’s fine. I’m not the one being examined for a physical.”

Gojo eyes her still. “But it’s not like you’re retiring or anything?” he asks. “Right?”

Shoko doesn’t answer, just starts probing his arm again.

Gojo swivels to look at her properly, trying to catch her eye. “Right.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Gojo,” Shoko surrenders, exasperated. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Staying out of the danger zone isn’t so bad as I’ve come to realize these past few weeks. Less blood on your hands, less guilt to throw up your lunch over.”

“But..” Gojo shakes his head, confused. “But you’re a healer. An RCT user. A jujutsu sorcerer.”

“All the good that does,” Shoko almost hisses at him, a small layer of shine pooling at the corner of her eyes. She seemed so papery, then. “When you have about a hundred teenagers in your clinic all bleeding to death but you only have 2 hands to work with. All the good that does: when you’re called in the middle of all this only to be told your last friend from highschool just got sealed into an impenetrable fortress and no one can get him out and it’s likely he’ll never get out.”

Gojo is stunned out of replying. 

Shoko was the best at compartmentalizing out of all of them. And for her to unravel all of this so openly, so desperately—

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to grab one of her hands and trying not to wince at how hard the tremors have gotten since her spiel. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, massaging her tremors. “I’m sorry,” he says, quieter this time, coming up to hold her shuddering form against him and feel her just fall apart right then and there.

Gojo was right. Shoko needed this more than he did. 

-

iii. i will fold the clean clothes. i will wash the dishes. i will never again dream of having the whole world.

-

The morning he’s scheduled to leave, they take their breakfast out to the small rock garden by the backyard and bask in the early morning warmth. Little sakura petals grace the tatami, flowing with every step of their foot on the mat and following them all the way to the floorboard as they settle themselves just outside the sliding door.

Gojo is the first to break the silence this time.

“Megumi. College. Thoughts?”

Shoko swallows an edamame before replying. “Non-issue,” she says. “He’s going.”

"Maa," Gojo hums his agreement. “Exactly what I thought.”

The sprawling forest in Mt. Kobo is unusually chipper this morning, birds filtering about with the sky so open and blue. Even the wind feels a little cleaner, less heavier to lug around. Gojo leans back on his palms, breathing in as much as can and closing his eyes to let the sunlight filter in through his eyelids.

“We could do it you know,” Shoko says quietly. “Just stay here and grow old.”

When he doesn’t reply right away, he can feel her placing a hand on top of his. Then a voice, soft like liquid silk: “You’ve given enough, Gojo.”

And there it is, as still as a riverpond in the summer, the ghost of a smile on his face. 

“Just a little more, Shoko,” he says. “I promise.”

Shoko withdraws her hand hesitantly. 

Gojo cracks one eye open to peer down at her. “You wanna do it here then?”

“Why not?” Shoko shrugs. “The forest has clean water. We’ll never run out of logs for when it gets cold at night. If we run out of food, we can always catch fish.”

“No can do,” Gojo closes his eyes again, waving her off. “I enjoy meat too much.”

Shoko laughs, a little bell of a sound. “You’ll live.”

Gojo opens both eyes to find her looking up at the sky, a little more unmoored now, less set in the apocalypse she just braved through; now with just the same sheen of oceanwater sky mirrored back into her eyes. So clean, so light, so uneaten. 

“I’ll try my best,” Gojo tells her. 

Shoko turns to face him slowly. “You’ll—” she starts, unsure. “You’ll be okay after this? Out there?”

Gojo feels the wind lap against his skin and sees a single sakura petal weave it's way into Shoko's hair as he smiles down at her.

“I’m okay here now.”

[bonkleton]

SOPHTEMBER: Boing

Sophie totally meant to do that! She's called Springer, after all! Sophie's body can best be described as rubbery, having high mechanical elasticity and limited ability to extend or reshape compared to many other Bendies. While still beyond the limits of any normal human, by Bendy standards, she could be considered rather "stiff" or "tight". This means she cannot extend very far, and her limbs become very tapered and thin when extended to their limits, making it harder for her to keep her balance at the extremes of her stretching ability. However, the trade-off is that she has a very firm and springy texture, allowing her to rebound energetically from impact, instead of spreading out into a mushy pancake on impact like a looser-bodied Bendy might. If Sophie can learn to harness this kinetic elasticity, she might be able to unlock many extremely useful movement options! But for now, it's more often a source of awkwardness and embarrassment than anything else, since she's still clumsy with her new body. Holly calling her "bouncy-butt" isn't helping her confidence either.... I've been meaning to do something like this for literally 4 years, ever since I first revealed the current version of Sophie in 2020. The tricky thing with illustrating Sophie's powers is that since they are kinetic, one drawing usually won't convey it effectively, so I would need multiple drawings to show her bouncing in an ideal way. But with the limited time I have to give to drawing and my desire to focus on writing when I do get creative time, this has been difficult for me to do previously. This piece took a long time, but for Sophtember, I wanted to do at least this one, a big high-effort piece to really show how her powers work exactly as I see them in my head, like the Phoebe building-wrap from last year, so here you go! One unexpected thing I had to deal with was her hair - I haven't drawn hair in motion very often, and Sophie's hair is very thin and floppy, so this presents a challenge, but I think I got the idea across! I have at least one more thing planned by the end of the month, which I plan to share on the 30th, so stay tuned! : ) Hope you enjoy! ~ Bonkie

Posted using PostyBirb

[bucksangel]

Until We Meet Again

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter (mentioned)

Word Count: 7k (im not sorry)

Summary: The Blip changed everything and everyone. With Bucky now gone, and a toddler to raise, you find yourself leaning on Steve for support, as he does with you. What happens when, five years later, Bucky returns to find his best friend and best girl raising a kid? His kid.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, passing mentions of death, grieving, a whole lot of angst to start off with, but then a whole lot of fluff, and then a sprinkle of more angst and then some more fluff, angst with a happy ending, mentions of smutty times

Tip Jar | masterlist

a/n: this was a request by an anon months ago that i just remembered to finish!! i hope you like it anon!🤍🤍

June, 2018

“I love you, Jamie,” You whisper, pulling back from his lips only a millimeter to mumble your love before diving in for one last kiss.

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

Finally, Bucky pulls away from you fully only to drop down into a squat so he can pull your son into a hug as well. It’s scary, having to bid goodbye to your husband who you might not ever see again. It’s even scarier knowing you have a two year old son with said husband. The thought of having to raise him on your own, of having to tell your boy that his father, his favorite person and best friend, is gone has been eating away at you ever since you were told about the upcoming war.

Vaguely, you can hear Grayson, your two year old, telling Bucky how he loves him, and how he better be back soon because Spongebob comes on after dinner time. And you hear Bucky tell him that he will, in fact, be home by then, fully knowing that he might not be able to keep that promise. But he can’t say that, not to Grayson. So he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses the boy on the forehead and stands to full height to press one against yours as well.

And then he leaves, walks out the door to Steve and Sam waiting in their car and leaving behind the two most important people in his life.

And he doesn’t return.

January, 2021

With a gasp, you’re torn from your slumber by a cry, loud and shrill. Sitting up, you’re quick to throw off your covers and jump out of bed, racing down the hall to Grayson’s room where you find Steve. He’d beat you there, now sitting on the edge of the four year old’s bed and holding him tight as your son’s cries taper off into soft whimpers.

Standing near the doorway, you watch silently as Steve presses kisses to Grayson’s hair, cooing at him until finally, the boy stops all together.

“I miss daddy,” Grayson mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear. And your heart breaks. Because, while you miss Bucky immeasurably so, you know Grayson must have it harder. Bucky was his best friend. And no matter how many pictures and videos and stories you show to him, nothing compares to the real thing. You know it. Grayson knows it.

Steve knows it too. And you can see him visibly sigh, can tell that his heart is breaking too. Bucky was the one constant in his life, the one person he’d give up the world for. But you know he’s been putting on a front, a façade for you and your son. He’s been vital to your recovery, has been at your beck and call trying to ease the pain and carry the weight. It’s worked, but even he knows it’s not enough, only enough for a distraction from the never-ending heartache.

“I know, buddy,” Steve murmurs, rubbing his hand across Grayson’s back. “I miss him too.”

“Why did he leave?”

And that’s the question you both have been dreading. Neither of you had known what to tell him, only that daddy had to go save the world and couldn’t come back. Grayson had taken that excuse as best as you would expect a two year old to take the news. But you knew eventually you’d have this conversation. But just as you were about to make yourself known, Steve speaks up again.

“He left because he loved you. Because there was a bad man that wanted to hurt a lot of people and your daddy didn’t want him to hurt you.” Steve pauses to sniffle, quickly masking it with a clear of his throat.

“Your daddy loved you so much, I remember how happy he was when you were born, how he wouldn’t stop kissing you and telling everyone how you were his best friend.”

Grayson sniffles too and lifts his head, Steve brings a hand up to wipe away some of his tears.

“So… he left to protect me?”

“Yeah, buddy. He did.”

That seems to placate the boy, and you thank every star in the universe that Steve was here, able to care for and console a child that isn’t even his. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to, he didn’t want all of this stress to fall on you when he was perfectly capable of helping wherever he could.

And right now, he’s helping more than you could ever have imagined. As he presses a kiss to Grayson’s forehead and tucks him back into bed, whispering something into his ear that causes your boy to let out a watery giggle.

Soon, Steve stands to full height, turning and stopping, looking like a deer in headlights at the spook your silent presence caused him. Upon seeing your soft smile and teary gaze, he smiles too, quietly moving both of you out of the room so you can pull the door partially shut.

Both of you are quiet for a long moment, simply staring at each other, before you surge forward and wrap your arms around Steve’s torso in a bone-crushing grip. This doesn’t seem to affect him, of course it doesn’t, as he wraps his arms around you too.

“Thank you,” you mumble against his chest, sniffling and tucking your head in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Of course,” He mumbles back, running his hands up and down your back in an equally tight hug.

Eventually, you pull away fully, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand while you mumble your apology for ruining his shirt.

He laughs softly, shaking his head and insisting that it’s not a big deal. And that’s the thing with him. It isn’t a big deal. It never is. Not once has he complained about his situation, about sleeping in the guest room nearly every night so he’s already here in the morning to help with breakfast. He never complained when he needed to take Grayson to daycare because your schedule wouldn’t allow you to, never complained when he came with you both to Grayson’s karate class, nor did he complain when he had to spend nights consoling both you and your son.

He’s everything you need right now, and that’s eating away at you.

It’s been two years, nearly three, since Bucky left, and while you don’t miss or love him any less, it’s been getting easier to deal with. A big part of that, one which you don’t want to think about, is because of Steve. Some nights you lay awake, missing Bucky with your entire soul, crying into your pillow over losing your soulmate. And some nights, you lay awake being eaten away by guilt.

Steve, while being a big help while raising your son, is doing a pretty good job at worming his way into your heart. You know him well enough to know he feels the same. But you also know him well enough to know that he’d never, in his life, act on it. He’d never betray Bucky like that, he’s only here to help you. Neither of you can help it, though. It’s not like you want this to happen, it just happened.

Tonight, you decide you need to talk about it.

Grabbing Steve’s hand, you pull him towards his room, silently asking for him to follow you. He comes with you immediately, he always does, he always will. Once you reach your bedroom, you continue to pull him towards your bed until you can both sit on it crisscrossed and facing each other.

Neither of you speak for a while, you’re only fiddling with Steve’s fingers while looking at everything except him. But then, Steve brings his other hand up, fingers underneath your chin and tilting your head to face him. After a minute of silence, you sigh.

“I love him,” You say firmly, or, as firmly as you can while filled with emotions and nerves.

“I know.” Steve says, both of you knowing you’re talking about Bucky. Because he knows, he knows that you love Bucky, you probably always will. It’s the same with Peggy, how he’ll always love her but knows that it’s over.

“And I’ll never stop loving him.”

“I know.”

Both of you go quiet again, staring into each other’s eyes full of despair and, dare you say it, hope. Longing. And that look, well, you haven’t seen a look like that in years. Not since the day Bucky left.

“If we… do anything-” You stop yourself, a waver in your voice as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t a betrayal. Bucky’s gone, no one can do anything about it. And you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would want you to be happy, whether or not it’s with him.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Steve says quickly, turning his hand over and grasping yours. “If you don’t want to do anything about… this, then that’s fine. I’m not going to pressure you or do anything that would make you or Grayson uncomfortable.”

“I know,” You say back, just as quickly. Looking down at your hands and then back up at Steve, you gulp. “And I guess that’s why I’m feeling like this. You’re so kind, so generous and helpful beyond belief. And while you can’t replace Bucky, I know you don’t want to. I don’t want you to either, but I - I want you to be something new for me, for us. I don’t know how it would work, and we wouldn’t tell Grayson until we figured everything out. But, I still want you.”

Steve breathes in sharply, grasping your hand a little tighter before bringing your hand up to place a lingering kiss to your knuckles. He nods, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb as he contemplates your words.

“I want you too,” He says finally, resolutely.

Quiet consumes you both once again, processing the situation for a few long minutes. Would this be so bad? Would you be able to love Steve like he deserves? Maybe so, or maybe not. But you know you’re willing to try.

“Okay then.” Nodding, you sigh softly and shift so you’re sitting closer to Steve, threading your fingers with his and bringing them to rest in your lap.

“What do you want to do now?” He asks softly, shifting so he’s closer to you as well, letting you rest your head on his shoulder so he can press a kiss to the top of your head. You think for a moment. What do you want? Apart from the obvious - wanting Bucky back - you really just want to sleep. You haven’t had a good night's sleep in years, and you’re hoping Steve’s presence can help with that, so you shoot your shot.

“I want to sleep.” Steve nods and starts to move, presumably to leave, but stops when he feels your grip tighten and your head shake. “Ca-Can you hold me? While I sleep?” Your voice comes out soft, almost pleading, begging Steve to comfort you.

And, of course, Steve nods with a soft smile on his face. With a squeeze of your hand, he helps maneuver you both so you’re lying down on your sides, facing each other. It’s awkward for all of two seconds before Steve shuffles closer and lifts an arm, ushering you into his chest. You go easily, snuggling as deep as you can and letting his warmth consume you.

It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in what seems like forever.

____________

A low rumble reverberates against your back, the arm around your waist tightening as Steve starts to wake. You’ve been awake nearly five minutes, laying on your side with Steve at your back. The bright morning sky shines through the window into your room, giving a rather rude wake up call. And as you glance out of the window at the trees, watching as birds land in the bird feeders, you’re able to pretend that it’s Bucky behind you. That it’s Bucky’s arms around you and Bucky’s hot breath hitting the back of your neck.

For five minutes, you pretend that everything is normal, how it should be. That Bucky will wake up any minute and shower you in as many kisses as possible before Grayson decides to come barging in for his share of kisses. The fantasy is short lived however.

Because it’s Steve’s voice that whispers out a ‘good morning’. And you can’t help the tears that come to your eyes, nor the choked whimper that escapes your lips.

At this, Steve rises to rest on his left elbow, his right arm gently twisting your body so you can lay on your back with him looking down at you. There’s a furrow in his brow, a slight frown on his lips that turns deeper now that he’s able to see the tears threatening to pour out.

“Honey? What’s wrong?”

Another choked whimper floats through the air, your hands coming up to clutch onto Steve’s shirt, whether to push him away or pull him closer you’re unsure of. You decide on the latter, tugging him so he’s resting almost all of his body weight onto you. You feel him start to lift, to take off some of the pressure, but you tug him back down. The weight is grounding, brings you comfort and helps to forget about the million thoughts you have running through your mind at all times.

Steve, bless his heart, just lays there, letting you slink back into reality while clutching him like a lifeline. A few short minutes pass before you allow him to lift off of you, but he goes just enough to be able to see you, still shielding you from the bright sunlight. Slowly, he leans down to place a soft kiss to your forehead, causing you to sigh wistfully and nudge your nose against his jaw, placing a timid kiss to his cheek.

You can feel him smile, causing you to smile as well. Gently, you press your hands flat against Steve’s chest and guide him back. He goes easily, and you sit up too so you’re both resting against the headboard.

“Sorry,” You say softly, looking down at your hands resting in your lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve shake his head, his hand reaching for yours before pulling back just as quick.

“Don’t be sorry,” He says just as softly. “Do you want to tell me why you’re upset?”

For a moment you want to say ‘no’. You don’t want to hurt Steve by telling him that it was Bucky you were imagining. But then you remember, out of everyone still alive, Steve understands you the most.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you, I swear. But I feel that complete honesty is best.” You pause for a moment, thinking over your words carefully before continuing. “I miss Bucky, and I guess I was just thinking of how it used to be him in my bed, and him I saw when I first woke up.”

Steve stays silent for a minute, taking in your words carefully. “I understand. And I don’t have to sleep in your bed if it’s going to upset you, I promise I won’t be offended. Like you said yesterday, I can’t, nor do I want, to replace Bucky. I’m just here to make things a little better, to help you and Grayson.”

Another pause, and you reach over to take Steve’s hand in yours while looking up into his eyes. They’re sad, a mix of sympathy and rejection shining through, but his smile is genuine.

“I’ll admit, I have liked you for a while. I’ve always cared for you as a friend, you know that. But since we’ve gotten closer these last two and a half years, I knew early on I would care for you in a different way. I tried to fight it, I fought so hard because I never want to upset you, and it felt wrong, so wrong. But, I can’t deny it anymore. I care for you much more than a friend should.”

Steve sounds so sincere, pouring his heart out for you to lay witness. He chuckles lightly, and you do too. Because in hindsight, this has been a long time coming, both of you repressing any feelings you might have had for each other in lieu of grieving and parenting.

“But that doesn’t mean I expect you to reciprocate any of those feelings, because I don’t. If you do, then we’ll take this at your pace. We do what you’re comfortable with when you’re comfortable with it. If you don’t, then this is the last we’ll speak of it. Nothing will change, I’ll still be here to help with anything I can for both you and Grayson.”

Your smile widens, quietly sniffling and chuckling when Steve brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Finally, you nod, content with his response.

“You’ve helped us so much, much more than I’ll ever be able to thank you for. You’ve helped Grayson with learning how to read, his karate classes, hell, you’ve taught him how to swim. But you’ve helped me too. I don’t miss or love Bucky any less, and you know and respect that. And that’s probably what has made these last couple of years easier. You’re not rushing me to move on, you lift so much weight off of my shoulders by just being you.”

This time, it’s your turn to pull Steve’s hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles and smiling when he laughs softly.

“I do want this, more than I’m willing to admit, I think. But I do. And if we do this, then there need to be rules.”

Steve nods resolutely, listening to everything you say with rapt attention.

“Honesty is the most important. I’ll be honest about my feelings and wants, and you need to be honest with yours as well. No beating around the bush, no tip-toeing. I want us to be open with each other.” Your voice is firm, because even before everything happened, honesty has been your number one rule for everyone.

“I can do that,” Steve comments, squeezing your hand briefly.

“Good. The second rule is that we need to be careful around Grayson. I don’t want him knowing anything until we go further, if we do.”

Again, Steve nods.

“The third is that you’ll still be sleeping in the guest bedroom. I think you saw this morning how I feel about you sleeping in here, and by no means was it intentional, but we’ll need to work up to that. You can come stay with me if I need or want you to, as long as that is what you want as well.”

One more nod.

“And I know we’re going at my pace, but you’re important too. If you don’t like anything we’re doing, tell me. As much as you don’t want to hurt me, I don’t want to hurt you either. This is about both of us, you and me. We’re a team.”

Both of you go silent, letting everything sink in. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this. And as much as it kills you to say it, you’re not as torn up about the conversation as you thought you’d be. It is nowhere near easy to decide to date your dead husband’s best friend, just like you’re sure it’s not easy for Steve to date his best friend’s wife.

But fate can be funny sometimes.

“Well,” Steve says timidly, voice cutting through your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. “Whenever you’re ready for a… real kiss, you know where I live.”

Both of you laugh, your head leaning back and giggles floating from your chest as you contemplate his offer. While you know it may be a poor decision, you can’t deny the fact that his lips look very inviting. The plush, pillow-like softness entices you in a way you haven’t felt in quite a while.

So, deciding to say ‘fuck it’, you twist at the hips, facing more towards Steve as he does the same. You can feel nerves settling in the pit of your stomach, some of them good, some bad. The lingering feeling that you’re hurting Bucky hasn’t gone away since you started this conversation, but the softness in Steve’s eyes gives you hope that you’re not doing the wrong thing.

Steve lets you lead, lets you be the one to lean forward and tilt your head up. His head tilts down until his lips are about two inches from yours. You vaguely register that neither of you are breathing, waiting for the other to pull away, to say ‘sike’ and pretend that this was all one big joke.

Neither of you do either of those things. No, you stay like that, gazing intently into each other’s eyes, before Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, a shuddery breath escaping his lips when you move in closer so your breaths can mingle. Another moment passes.

And then Steve pushes his head down ever so slightly, taking the jump and placing the softest of kisses on your mouth. He’s about to lift away when your arm shoots up so your hand can rest on the back of his neck. The small tug pushes him further into you, into a little bit of a harder, deeper kiss, one that sparks passion.

It lasts for all of five seconds, five blissfully ignorant seconds, before you pull away, chuckling when Steve involuntarily leans forward to peck your lips again. The hand on the back of his neck slides down his neck, down his arm, and takes his free hand. With both of his hands now in yours, you squeeze them tightly.

“Now, you start on breakfast and I’ll get Grayson ready.”

Steve nods, quickly giving your hands a squeeze as well, before departing from the bed.

And as you watch Steve walk out of the room, your gaze drifts down and lands on your left hand, the beautiful, simple diamond band still resting on your ring finger. Then, your eyes turn to your nightstand, a framed picture of you in the hospital bed when Grayson was born, Bucky perched on the edge and smiling so brightly at the bundle of joy that rests in his arms. Slowly, you reach over and pick it up, bringing it close to you so you can inspect it.

The happiness, the innocence, you can still remember it like it was yesterday. Fighting down the rising sadness, you pull the frame up and place a kiss to Bucky’s form.

“I love you, Jamie.”

____________

February, 2022

“Be good for you grandma, okay?” You hold Grayson’s arms, kneeling in front of him as you tell him not to cause trouble for your mother, where he’ll be staying for the weekend.

“I will, mommy,” Grayson sighs, clearly ready to leave because he just knows he’ll be able to trick your mother into giving him all the junk food he wants. You know this too, but you don’t say anything, you never do. Ever since The Blip, you’ve been more lenient on things Grayson can and can’t do. You want nothing more than to keep him happy.

“Okay, baby. Go have fun.”

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Grayson then moves to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist in a tight hug.

“Bye mommy! Bye uncle Steve!” Grayson calls, already dashing out of the open door and to your mother where she’s waiting by her car.

You see as she hugs him tightly, a smile on your face when she looks up and waves to you. You wave back, and you look to your right to see Steve at your side also waiving to the pair.

Soon, your mother drives away and you both go back into the house. As soon as the door closes, a quiet tension settles in the air. You’ve been alone with Steve in a less than platonic setting before, you’ve gone on dates both in and out of the house. But tonight is the night. You’ve finally decided you’re ready to take the next step in your relationship. The nerves swirling in your stomach have been there since this morning, has had you on edge the entire day. Because it’s not just one night. Grayson will be gone until Sunday afternoon, leaving two whole days for you and Steve to be by yourselves.

“Honey,” Steve’s soft, smooth voice cuts through your thoughts. “I can practically hear you thinking.”

Chuckling, you turn to face him, a shy smile on your face as you watch Steve slowly approach you. Once he’s in front of you, merely an inch of space between you, he peers down at you, a smile of his own etched onto his face. His hands come up to hold your face delicately, gingerly lifting your head so he can place a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Remember,” He mumbles, pulling back slightly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. If you just want to cuddle on the couch and watch those horrible action movies you love so much then we can do that.”

Rolling your eyes, you throw a weak jab at his stomach.

“They’re not horrible, you just don’t like them because you’re a stickler for detail and they aren’t always accurate with the action. And that’s what makes them good!”

Both of you laugh, one of Steve’s large hands traveling down your body to rest on your waist. He squeezes the area, fingers digging into the flesh momentarily before relaxing again.

“But I am ready, I want this. We just - We need to take it slow, okay?” And now you’re not timid when you ask these things from him. By now you’re very well aware that Steve would never be offended or hurt by anything you could tell him, and that knowledge brings you comfort.

“Of course, honey.”

Smiling, your arms come up to wrap around Steve’s waist, lifting up onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to Steve’s lips. Now, both of his hands are on your waist. They squeeze softly before traveling around to rest on your back so he can pull you further into him.

The kiss goes on for minutes, hours maybe, you’re not too sure. Your lips glide across his, chaste pecks turning into Steve poking his tongue out to tease along your bottom lip. And you can’t help the small whimper that escapes you, nor can you help the way you completely melt into the warm, solid chest pressed against yours.

But, before the kiss can continue further, you’re pulling back, turning your head when Steve dives back down for another kiss. This causes you to giggle and press your hands on Steve’s chest to push him backwards.

“Come on, I don’t want our first time to be in the hallway.” Both of you chuckle, but then Steve’s eyes darken at the realization that this is really about to happen, he’s going to get you under him, around him.

This excites him, as it does you, so you both are quick to make your way to your bedroom. Once there, you notice the candles on any available surface that won’t be a fire hazard. The lights are dimmed, and a plush blanket lays on the bed, waiting for you to sink into.

“Do you like it?” Steve asks from behind you, and you can hear the nervousness in his voice. A large smile makes its way on your face, and you nod, pleasantly surprised at the romantic ambience.

“So, this is what you were doing when I was packing Grayson’s things?” There’s humor in your tone, something that puts Steve at ease.

“Well, you deserve the best,” He murmurs, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you. “And I want to give you everything you deserve.”

There’s a skip in your heartbeat, feelings of adoration flood you as Steve starts running his hands up and down your sides. Then, you raise a hand, your left hand, intending to cup Steve’s cheek from behind you. But, the candlelight causes a sparkle on your hand, and you remember your ring still sitting on your finger.

Something, maybe heartache, courses through you. Slowly, you pull yourself from his hold and move towards your bedside table, the same one with Bucky’s dog tags and framed picture. Subconsciously, you reach out to run your knuckles along the picture, and ghost them over the dog tags. Your hands shake as you bring them together, touching the ring in an attempt to remove it.

It hurts, it kills you, and Steve must notice because he comes up behind you once more. This time, though, his hands settle on your arms. After a moment of silence, Steve sighs.

“You don’t have to remove it if you don’t want to, I swear it won’t hurt me.”

That’s a lie, you know it will. And that hurts too. You’re not fully over Bucky, you don’t think you’ll ever be. And that causes tears to blur your vision. You care for Steve and, dare you say it, maybe even love him, so that seems to make this decision even harder.

Sniffling, you shake your head softly, and with one final longing glance to Bucky’s picture, you gain enough courage to remove the ring and place it on the table.

Everything is silent for a long moment, neither of you speaking, simply letting the reality of the situation wash over you two. Then, you turn to face Steve, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks. Leaning up on your toes, you place a soft kiss to his lips before leaning back.

“Make love to me, Steve,” You whisper, eyes gazing into Steve’s in a pleading manner. “Please.”

____________

March, 2023

Steve had been gone for nearly a week, something about the rest of the living Avengers needing his help with a mission.

When you woke up this morning, you’d expected to have a relaxing Saturday, cuddling with your son and maybe even going out for ice cream at some point. You didn’t expect for Steve to come home with a confused, wild look in his eyes, gently ordering Grayson to go to his room. Nor did you expect the bomb he just dropped.

“We might be able to get them back.”

Your world turns upside down, they could bring everyone back? They could bring Bucky back?

“Oh.”

That’s all you’re really able to say, to think. With your mind having gone blank, you’re really not sure how to feel. While you want absolutely nothing more than to have Bucky back, you’re not too sure what would happen between you and Steve. It doesn’t really seem to matter though, because Steve’s next statement floors you even more.

“Scott managed to come back, I don’t even fully understand it, and I’m not sure how to tell you without it sounding crazy but I’m going to try.” He pauses, thinking over his words carefully. “We went back in time - or, actually, to different timelines. We’re collecting the infinity stones, and we’re close to figuring out how to use them to bring everyone back.” Again, another pause.

“Natasha… she died getting one of the stones.”

Now, you’re acutely aware that you’re crying, nearly sobbing actually. Everything seems to be too much. Your friend is dead and your husband might come back. What the fuck is happening?

Suddenly, Steve is next to you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to cry your heart out. It feels good actually, to finally let go and sob after years of bottling up most of your pain due to needing to care for Grayson. Steve’s arms shake under your weight, presumably because he’s trying not to cry as well.

Maybe twenty minutes pass before you finally calm down, your cries turning to whimpers, and eventually sniffles. Sitting up, Steve’s hand comes up to wipe away your tears, thumbing them away gently before leaning down to kiss your forehead. He sighs shakily, pulling back slightly to stare into your eyes.

“You know I love you, right?” He asks, almost desperately.

“Of course,” You nod. “I love you too.” Again, Steve sighs.

“When I went back I - I was trying to hide from some guards. I snuck into an office… It was Peggy’s”

Now you understand why he’s been so tense, not only because of the death of his friend, but because he saw his first love. And your heart sinks into your stomach as you nod knowingly, swallowing down another whimper.

“I saw her and - and I just got this rush of feelings. I haven’t seen her like that in decades, I didn’t know it was possible, it shouldn’t be possible. But there might be a way for me to go back and-” Steve cuts himself off, turning his gaze away from you.

“You want to go back, don’t you?” This is the first time you’ve spoken more than one word in the entire half hour that Steve has been home. It hurts, of course it does. You’ve grown to love Steve. Maybe not exactly like you love Bucky, but not any less powerful. And knowing that Steve wants to go back to Peggy hurts you more than it should. You have no right to ask him to stay, and you know for a fact that if Bucky is able to return, you’d probably go back to him in a heartbeat.

Still, it doesn’t make it easier, especially when Steve nods sadly.

“If it’s possible, then yeah. I do.”

____________

April, 2023

It’s been a long fucking day. Well, days. Steve and the rest of the living Avengers had left a day ago, leaving you to stew in your anxiety. Comforting Grayson was a big part of it too. After having to bid goodbye to his father, he knows that this might be the last time he sees Steve too. He was in tears, begging Steve to stay, to not leave him.

Steve was also crying, consoling your son and telling him that no matter what, he loves the boy, he’ll always love him. This does little to quell his sadness, and eventually you have to pry Grayson off of Steve in order to let him go.

Steve had given you a tight hug, a desperate kiss, and a whispered ‘i love you’ before he left. And once again, you bid goodbye to a lover you’ll never see again.

It’s two days later when Steve returns, with a clear heaviness on his shoulders. For a moment, when he comes through the door, you’re disappointed, heartbroken even. As Steve walks further into the house, you prepare yourself for the worst, while Grayson comes bounding down the stairs shouting Steve’s name excitedly. And when Grayson gets to the living room, he flies towards Steve, the latter catching him and hugging him tightly.

Once they pull away, Steve smiles at you and moves towards the couch, still holding Grayson, and says ‘in here’.

And for a moment, you’re confused as to who he brought back to your house, but then, your heart is racing, so many emotions flooding your veins that you feel you might pass out. Because the man in your home, standing in front of you, is Bucky. Your Jamie.

“Hey, sunshine.”

And for a moment, everything is silent. But then, a choked whimper escapes your lips as you lunge forward, grasping onto Bucky like a lifeline as you sob uncontrollably. You feel his arms come to wrap around you as well, holding you flush against his chest and burying his face in your neck.

It feels like hours before you pull away, eyes searching his body frantically as though he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. And just like your eyes, your hands move on their own accord as they run all of Bucky’s chest and arms, whimpering further when you feel that he’s real, he’s solid, he’s here.

“Jamie,” You whisper, a wide, watery smile never leaving your face even when you remember that Steve and Grayson are sitting a few feet away on the couch.

“Daddy?” A small, quiet voice speaks up, and Bucky’s head whips to his left to see his son, no longer the small boy he was when Bucky last saw him.

Now, it’s Bucky’s turn to cry, a shaky gasp leaves his lips as he reluctantly pulls away from you to drop down into a crouch. You nod towards Grayson, prompting him to get off of Steve’s lap and walk nervously towards his father.

“You’re back?”

Bucky can’t seem to help the single sob that forces its way out from his chest, the realization that he really did miss out on five years of his family's lives.

“Yeah, buddy. I’m back.”

Then, Grayson flies forward, throwing himself into Bucky’s open arms. Both boys are crying into each other, Grayson is finally seeing his father again, and Bucky is trying to catch up with the news that his boy, his best friend, lost him for years.

Sniffling, Grayson pulls back and rubs at his eyes.

“You missed spongebob.”

Bucky smiles sadly, hands resting on the boy’s sides.

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry.”

____________

April, 2023

The couch isn’t big enough to fit three grown people, so you and Bucky sit on it, leaving Steve to rest in the arm chair. Everyone seems on edge as Steve explains to Bucky how it’s been five years, even though it may have only felt like a minute for Bucky. He explains how they brought everyone back, how Natasha died getting one of the stones, how he’d been living with you and Grayson for a few years to help you both.

Then, he tells Bucky about your relationship, albeit timidly. Bucky sits silently, merely listening to Steve explain how no one ever meant for it to happen, that, at first, neither of you wanted it to happen, it just did.

“So,” Bucky whispers finally, slowly thinking over his words. “You two are… dating?”

Both you and Steve sigh, and you decide it’s your time to speak.

“Like Steve said, we didn’t mean for it to happen. After you died, we leaned on each other for support. But I need you to know that I never stopped loving you, ever. I love you more than anything but -” You stop yourself, scared and unsure how to tell him that you also love Steve.

“But you love Steve too.” He says it like it’s a fact, not a question. And he’s right, it is true.

“I do.”

Bucky breathes in deeply, before nodding and hanging his head. His head turns to the right, eyes landing on your left hand. Slowly his own hand reaches over and grasps yours, running his thumb along the space where your ring should be.

“Do you love her?” He’s asking Steve, though he’s still focused on your hand. Another long, quiet moment passes before you see the blonde nod.

“I do.”

Again, Bucky nods. Once more breathing deeply before he looks up into Steve’s eyes. He must find something there, because Bucky smiles sadly.

“Thank you.”

You both know what Bucky is really saying. Thank you for taking care of her. Thank you for taking care of my son. And you can’t help the way your voice quivers in your next sentence.

“There’s more.”

Bucky turns to look at you, worry flashing across his face as he glances down at your stomach, probably assuming that you’re pregnant with his best friend’s kid. Quickly shaking your head, you grasp Bucky’s hand in both of yours.

“Before Steve left to bring everyone back, we talked. If you were able to come back, and Steve was able to actually go back in time, then we’d part ways. Yes, we love each other. But I don’t love him like I love you, and though Steve has been the best partner he could be, he doesn’t love me like he loves Peggy. And that’s okay. We had each other for a time, and it was wonderful. But we’re not soulmates.”

You pause, letting Bucky process the news while you reach into your shirt and pull out the necklace hidden under the collar, showing your wedding ring hanging off of it.

“You are my soulmate, Jamie. For forever and a day.”

The sad smile Bucky wears turns happier, more grateful. Hearing you, his wife, telling him how you’d never stopped loving him even after five years and having dated someone else brings him a sense of peace and comfort. Because he feels the same. He knows that if, God forbid, you were to die prematurely, he’d never be able to move on fully. You’d always have his heart.

“You’re mine too.”

A watery chuckle floats through the air, a smile so wide etched onto your face you wouldn’t be able to get rid of it even if you tried. Both of you are gazing intently into the other’s eyes, trying to convey every emotion you’re unable to bring into words.

Then, Bucky surges forward, free hand coming up to the back of your neck and pulling you forward so he can place a deep, passionate kiss on your mouth. And again, you can’t stop the tears from gathering.

“I love you,” Bucky mumbles against your lips, causing a happy giggle to come up your throat and get consumed by his mouth.

Because Bucky is home, he’s real, he’s here. And you’re never letting him leave you again.

[littlemisslipbalm]

Bottlerock - Part 3

Josh Kiszka x Fem!reader

Summary: A move to Nashville brings Josh and his journalist closer together than they've been in years. Can they fix what was broken in Paris or is it just safer to keep their distance?

Finally posting the last part of this...its been done for about a month but I just couldn't muster the courage to post it. I think this part is only 10k

Warnings: angst but fluff as well, cigarette smoking, drinking, language, idek at this point.

Let me know if you Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/N debated texting Josh about the job offer she had received in Nashville as a content writer at Rolling Stone – a gateway position to her dream job – in June. Then she debated texting him about it in July when the job was finalized. By the time she was rolling her suitcase out of the airport in the balmy humid Tennessee air in mid August she figured it was too late. 

Her heart still ached for Josh whenever his name flashed on her screen but she was able to compartmentalize him far easier than she used to be able to in college. She mostly felt saddened by how it ended, how she had ended it. It had been almost a whole year since they had talked in any substantial way. She chalked it up to both of their busy schedules and had also convinced herself that it was better this way. Neither of them were ready to settle down, neither of them wanted to hold each other back. It no longer had to feel like a knife stabbing her heart repeatedly after every time she had to say goodbye to his beautiful smile and kind eyes. She no longer had to endure the painful anticipation of the rusty sting of the impending cut. 

But sometimes she thinks about what their life might have been together, if she hadn’t insisted upon them breaking it off. She sometimes wished she hadn’t, maybe it would’ve been better. Sharing their love of music, cooking together at each other’s homes, stolen kisses and conversations that didn’t make sense to anyone but each other. 

She didn’t let herself think too hard about the fact that she and Josh were going to be living in the same city for the first time ever. She also didn’t let herself think about the post the band’s Instagram had recently made saying that they were taking a well-deserved break from touring and music making, with plans to just live their lives. She always stopped herself and reminded herself that it had been two years, Josh likely had moved on and despite the proximity their jobs might allow them she still figured it was a long shot that she would run into him while living in a big city like Nashville. 

She and Sam rarely spoke either, their communication tapered off gradually after Paris and she figured it was due to Josh, but she wasn’t resentful of it, she understood. If they did message one another, it was just a few check-ins and memes across social media, not anything of consequence. But her fingers still hovered over his contact after her first night alone in Nashville. She knew nobody there besides the band as of right now. Her first day at the magazine wasn’t until September. 

Four days after her move to Nashville, a Thursday night, she finds herself tapping her foot at the bar of a relatively empty pub in a seemingly busy part of town, waiting for someone. Waiting for Sam, who rounds the corner just about five minutes passed the time they had agreed upon. His lanky figure trots himself across the floor and he looks almost exactly the same as he had in Paris, the last time she had seen him in person. He kept his hair trimmed to stay just below shoulder length. Danny was with him, too. His bangs and hair color were also neatly kept in a similar way as she had seen in Dublin. It was almost like no time passed between their last meetings but she knew better. Appearances wouldn’t fool her, a lot can change in two years even if your hair stays the same.

He grins unabashedly before leaning in for a hug and murmuring into her ear, “Sorry, I mentioned this to Daniel and then…” He trails off as he pulls back from her. “Well, better just tell you now. Everyone is coming!”

Danny smiles in greeting, and she flashes him a smile before fully immersing herself in the words Sam had just uttered. 

“Everyone, everyone!?” 

“Yeah, it’ll be just like Napa!” Sam tries to reason as he ushers her to a booth that would work for a large group of people rather than the bartop that she thought would have been sufficient if it was just going to be the two of them, like they had planned. He runs a hand through his hair twice in a row, neither of the times necessary. 

Her brows raise in shock as she is hustled into the booth and Sam and Danny sit across from her, leaving the seats in the center open, meaning they’d all have to get up sooner or later for ‘everyone’. 

“You, me, Daniel,” He pauses again, gesturing at Danny who smiles again, albeit a little more sheepishly. Her eyes are wide on both of them, in shock. “Jake and Josh.” Sam rushes the last part of his sentence. 

“Sam,” She says warningly, “Please tell me you are joking.” 

“Huh,” Sam pauses, eyes not meeting Y/N’s, instead scanning around the pub. “Oh, there they are. Over here guys!” Sam stands and makes a beckoning motion with his hand.

And then it’s all happening too quickly again. Her eyes widened further, like a frightened animal fearful of death and that’s exactly how she felt, like she might die. What was supposed to be a solo drink catch up with Sam had suddenly turned into an entire reunion, including Josh. She wished she would die in that moment, be struck down by god for all her sins in this moment, before he reached her. Before he could say another word to her. She couldn’t take it. She simultaneously begged for and despised having any more of Josh in her life. Okay, so maybe she definitely couldn’t be normal about Josh still. 

Josh says her name and she can’t help the butterflies that flutter at the sound. Just the syllables coming from his mouth was enough to make her swoon and she feels barely 21 again, his hand brushing over hers as he looks at her intently, kindly. When those warm brown eyes had seen her for some of the first times ever. When it hadn’t hurt like this. But at the same time, it felt almost relieving to feel like the last two years hadn’t happened. But two years had certainly passed, his hair was an indicator. It was like he was growing out an interesting cut he had previously, the sides were shorter than the top, but it was still similar to how it had been the last time she’d seen him last. 

“Josh,” She breathes and it’s almost relieving until the moment shatters. She feels her throat tighten up and she wills herself to breathe evenly, act normal. 

His smile looks genuine but Y/N knows better, the slightly pained part of it is clear when the corners of his eyes don’t crinkle like she remembered so well. 

A pair of eyes appear behind Josh. Jake. Jake grins and he approaches with open arms, prompting her to stand and give him a friendly hug back. The squeeze on her body from Jake’s arms makes her feel like they were closer than they ever were, but she reminds herself that it truly was the Kiszka nature, even with the quietest one. 

“Good to see you, journalist. Sam told us you’d moved out here for some big job and we had to come hear all about it.” He claps a hand on her shoulder.

She mutters a hello to Jake and then casts a look to the bar. “I’m going to get a drink,” Jake says to fill the silence. She grimaces and lets him go. She needed a fucking drink, too. 

There’s another prolonged silence and everyone’s standing there awkwardly because no one is exactly sure what to do. Sam and Danny cast glances at one another. Josh is standing there and Y/N won’t meet his eyes but she can feel his stare on her as she watches Jake walk away. 

Sam quirks his head before deciding something rather quickly, feeling the tension only grow thicker. “Jesus, we’re in a pub and we haven’t got any libations. I’d get them myself, but –”

Y/N cuts Sam off from continuing, “We can get them together, Sammy. You can open a tab.” The wink and the grab of his wrist is a little too forced but any opportunity to get away from that table, from Josh, even for a few minutes, was something she couldn’t pass up. 

Jake passes by them on their way back, with two drinks in his hands. Sam waves Y/N off, saying quickly that those were both for him. She laughed and darkly replied that he had the right idea. Sam looks at her curiously before ordering a round for the rest of them. 

She takes a deep breath while the bartender prepares the various drinks, some IPAs and one salty dog. She almost couldn’t believe Josh still drank those, but she figured he was nothing if not consistently himself. She bit her tongue when he had said that was what he wanted. Instead, she smiled kindly and nodded, ushering Sam ahead of her to the bar. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Sam inquires seriously as he sees her steeling herself.

“Maybe a bigger heads up than 30 seconds or possibly a little consideration about how inviting everyone would affect me would have been nice?” She questions back a little harshly.

His eyes are wide as she speaks to him and he nods, a softness in his eyes in realization of how painful this might be for Y/N. It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it, but he had been hoping for the best, that she wouldn’t feel how she used to for Josh. It was clear to him that that wasn’t the case. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam shakes his head and his hair falls forward from his shoulder and he flips it back with a sigh before beginning to ramble. “I should’ve told you but it was so last minute and I tried to tell Jake that it probably wasn’t a good idea but he insisted. I really did want this to be just us, but excited and told Danny, not really thinking…” 

“I’ll live, I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She supplies. “I wish you’d told me, but I’ll live.” Her mind was reeling, word vomitting about the situation silently. Over the past two years she had learned to stop doing it aloud. She was more reserved now, she didn’t like people to see her mess anymore, preferring to keep it hidden and avoid the vulnerability. She had found comfort in someone and then she had to let him go, she couldn’t put herself through that again.

Then she adds, “Your tab might be as large as one year of tuition at a state school and I am not paying for my ride home, but I think those are reasonable stipulations, no?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Sam does a funny voice and then chuckles, just happy she isn’t running out of the room. “Deal.” 

She smiles in spite of herself. He was just so Sam and she found immense comfort in that after not seeing him for so long. 

Back at the booth, Sam and Y/N place down the drinks and slide into the remaining seats on the two edges. Maybe Sam thought he was doing her a kindness by taking the spot next to Josh, but in fact it actually gave her the perfect view of him. The memory of when they had gone to a similar pub in Dublin and sat in a similar booth itches in her mind. When she had been nestled next to Josh with her hand on his thigh beneath the table. She forces her eyes from him. 

“So,” Jake smiles, uncharacteristically breaking the uncomfortable silence, picking up the slack for his twin. “Tell us all about it. How’s the last two years treated ya’, kid?” 

She turns her head to look at him as he speaks and she realizes he’s being genuine. The same softness in Sam’s eyes was there in Jake’s and if she looked closer she’d see it in Danny’s too. She couldn’t bear to look at Josh, though, god forbid he have that almost pitying look she felt them giving her. She didn’t deserve it, but time had made everyone a little kinder. 

Everyone was staring at her and she felt like if she didn’t speak up now she might implode. 

“Um, well, basically in short, good. In a little longer, I finished up at school, worked my ass off at my first job out of university and then my boss there helped get me through the Rolling Stone’s door. They wanted me in Nashville, so here I am. And my job is kind of going to be finding and interviewing bands and artists that should be getting coverage.” She left out how integral and instrumental her article with Josh from Bottlerock had been in finalizing the offer from Rolling Stone. They had liked her writing style but they had been blown away at her ability to get an impressively in-depth interview with such a famous artist all on her own. 

“And who would you say is the hottest band right now that Rolling Stone should be covering?” Sam inquires, slightly smug, much like he was when he asked why she had wanted to initially interview them. It all felt rather deja vu, beside the fact that Josh wasn’t by her side, smiling and reassuring her that everything would be okay. 

“Well,” She chuckles awkwardly, feeling still too entirely in the hot seat. “Stop me if it starts to sound like I’m pontificating too much.” 

A surprised chuckle sounds from Josh’s lips across from her and the expression on his face shows that he had shocked even himself. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since they had arrived and everyone had graciously not mentioned it. She arches a brow at him and his head shakes from side to side infintismally, trying to communicate he hadn’t meant to laugh as he had. The reason for it was stuck on his tongue, he couldn’t bring himself to speak for fear of making absolutely no sense. He knew he could ramble, it wasn’t like he was oblivious, but unlike most times he cared about seeming relaxed, subdued, in control. 

She finishes her thought. “It’s my job so I kind of have a lot to say about it, but you can tell me if I’m being annoying.” 

“We’re all musicians,” Danny is quick to stop her from continuing to self-deprecate. “We talk music way too much all the time.” 

She smiles thankfully at him and he smiles back. Then she laughs at herself, “This really does feel like we’re back at Bottlerock and you guys are all stoned giving me the third degree to discern whether or not I’m a groupie or not.” 

“You never really explained what got you to bring me back,” She looks at Josh and his eyes flash wide, racking his memory for whether he had or hadn’t. They both knew he had, but there she was asking anyway. 

Josh twitched a smile before controlling his features into a neutral pleasant expression. The memory of Bottlerock on his mind as well. The memory of first meeting Y/N flashing before his eyes. 

“You were clearly intelligent and ambitious. I just had an urge to see you do well after our interview.” He shrugs afterwards, once more falling silent and then thinking better of it. “Congratulations on the job, s– Y/N. You’ve come a long way since then, but I knew you were deserving all along… We all did.” 

She feels herself biting her lip, biting back a smile, as Josh slowly works through his thoughts and turns them into those initial two sentences. Some things don’t change. His eyes darted around the table. When he spoke his congratulations, Y/N met his eye for the first time in the night. Her lips spread out in a close-lipped smile and she ducks her head and takes a sip of her drink when his gaze feels too intense. 

“Thanks, Josh,” She mutters and tries not to think too hard about the extra ‘s’ Josh had said before her name, as if he had planned to call her something else. She couldn’t think too hard about that. 

The rest of the night lightens, if only slightly. The rest of the band had seemed to relax after Josh had spoken and not word vomited everywhere. Y/N calmed as the alcohol Sam was steadily supplying her soaked into her bloodstream. 

Around her eighth drink, –  Y/N had switched from IPA to whiskey and coke at the halfway mark, both didn’t help with her keeping her mouth shut – she was having a hard time keeping her tunnel vision off of Josh. Josh’s hands were on the table, tapping randomly, and she had to convince herself, bargain with herself, to not reach out and take one, just to feel his soft skin once more and soothe his clearly anxious self. 

And before she could stop herself, Y/N was swallowing her drink and asking the question that had nestled its way into her brain. “So anything new with you boys? New people? Jake, how’s the girl?”  She tries to keep the intentions of her question underwraps but with that much alcohol in her it was relatively obvious. 

Jake nods in slumped confirmation, just hearing his name and not really the question. Y/N can see Josh’s drunken flush on the top of his cheeks darken as he looks off into the rest of the bar as if hoping a distraction could be found. 

Sam’s eyes light up as well in realization of the topic at hand and how quickly it had changed from Danny’s and his animated discussion of when they were going to have a puppy playdate with some of Sam’s neighbors.

“Nobody new. Just the big band break, I think.” Sam supplies. 

“I saw that on your band’s Instagram. Why is that happening again?” She tries to ask innocently.

Danny shrugs, Jake doesn’t even look up this time. Sam’s response is too quick and Josh is still looking around the bar, avoiding the conversation. Clearly, something was different. 

“Just need some downtime.” Sam smiles, but she sees the tell tale sign that it’s forced. 

His smile makes Y/N want to violently throw up all of the alcohol she had consumed this evening. She had an uneasy feeling about this, but she reasoned that she couldn’t be upset that they wouldn’t spill all their secrets to her after so much time apart. When her eyes flash to Josh, she is at least placated by the fact that he seems a little green as well with the fact that they were clearly being distrustful of her.  

“That’s great,” She tries out before standing up abruptly and holding a pack of her favorite cigarettes, still crumpled. “Any of you still smokers? Jake, you still being pretentious with that tobacco pipe?” Her eyes look to him and he once again turns back to the table’s conversation. 

He grins at her words and shakes his head. “Not tonight, I’m not.” 

“I could use a smoke,” Josh speaks up and she feels dizzy enough to fall down, but she maintains a neutral face. “Chance to sober up, too many salty dogs.” 

He untangles himself from his place in the booth and Sam stands quickly, flashing his eyes between his brother and his friend. The nod Josh gives Sam must communicate more between the brothers because Sam is sitting down and starting up a conversation with Danny again. 

Unfortunately, yet naturally, the old couple stumble their way outside from the side door. The cold night air does little to ease her wavy mind and Josh being close enough to smell now doesn’t help. His arm reaches out to press the door open even though he insists that she go out first, making them be in each other’s personal space, closer than they’d been in years. 

She’s quickly fumbling her cigarettes out of the pack, but Josh stops her. His hand touching hers, pushing her fingers away from opening the carton is their first touch. She gasps softly at the soft skin of his fingers and her eyes dart to his face, he makes no movement to show that he heard her breath. He smiles back softly at her before removing two cigarettes from a carton he had produced from his own coat pocket. 

“When’d you start smoking cigarettes again?” She remembered that he used to vape last time she saw him. While she found it annoying with most people, she’d let Josh get away with murder and certainly toting around a puff plus was a far lesser crime. 

He shrugs noncommitally and places both the cigarettes in his mouth before flicking his lighter and lighting both of them. His neck is strained and his eyes are concentrated on his work. The light is dim on the side of the bar but the two red cherries hum alive under his watchful eye. She feels her eyes half lid at the sight and she begs her drunk mind to look anywhere else. He takes the second cigarette and moves it to press the filter to her parted lips. They are clumsy and breathing heavily when her lips brush Josh’s fingers ever so slightly. 

They both puff away at their cigarettes for a while side by side in silence. The smoke fills her lungs and warms her in the chilled air. She hadn’t been very cold but feeling Josh’s heat beside her makes her grateful for the cigarette’s warmth, it keeps her from wanting to lean into him. Instead, she leans against the wall of the bar, taking comfort in its sturdiness. The silence is both tense and calm. It was like they were simultaneously the closest people in the world and complete strangers. 

“I’ve been trying to take your advice,” Josh’s voice is raspy with the smoke lingering in his lungs, breaking the silence. 

She hums in confusion, eyes flickering to his face that is cast in shadows, making him look far gaunter than he really was. His eyes are staring at his feet as he taps the ash off of the cigarette, jaw clenched, lips pursed. 

“Your letter,” He croaks, almost like he can’t bring himself to say more, but now that they’re alone he feels like he can actually speak. “You told me to try and move on, find someone who loves me. It took me way longer than it should’ve, a year and a half to be exact,” He laughs at himself. “But I started going out with the intention of finding someone.” Josh laughs darkly, in spite of himself. “But then here you come again. You’re fucking standing right in front of me, Sunshine.” 

“Don’t call me that, Josh,” She says quickly even though it physically pains her to tell him so, especially when that wasn’t the most worrisome part of what he’d said. “It feels wrong.” 

“What?” Josh blows more smoke from his lungs before dropping his cigarette butt and stubbing it out with the toe of his sneaker. His tone still bitter. “That you’re still my sunshine?” 

“We’re not the same people.” She feels like she’s ripping her own heart out. Why was she telling Josh to let her go? It didn’t feel right, but she was too afraid now that things wouldn’t be the same. Even if his eyes still looked at her just as kindly, his smile still made her swoon. He was still Josh, but she couldn’t let him back in after what she had done to him before. She was punishing herself. “I’m really sorry, for everything.”

“I’d say we look pretty similar.” He ignores her apology.  

“That’s not what I meant.” She pauses, flicking out her own cigarette, the conversation paired with the fresh air had sobered her up significantly. She knew he chose to blatantly ignore her apology, so she pushed the sting away. “I did miss you,” She admits, deciding to say what she really wanted.

“I know,” Josh thinks of that first letter once more and shakes his head slightly at the sky before turning his face to her. “I missed you too.” 

They stay silent for a bit longer. The silences, even one like this, were always easier with her. 

“Can we be okay?” She tries, eyes fixing on Josh’s face, searching for his true emotions. “Now that we’re in the same city for the first time ever, I’d love it if we could be friends. You know, like we said we’d be.” 

“You have to know by now that the answer is ‘of course’,” Josh says after a moment. Didn’t she know that he’d always do whatever she wanted? He took a deep breath and petted at his hair to make sure it was relatively in place. “You know friends hang out and stuff? Are you prepared for that?” 

She laughs, almost unbridled, her head falling back on her shoulders, the alcohol was still dampening her more fine motor skills. She hadn’t forgotten how effortlessly Josh could make her laugh, but it still surprised her at just how endearing she found him after a few years apart. 

“Only if you are, Kiszka.” 

He nods and they both straighten as if they’re going to head inside, but Josh tilts his head after a moment and stops her from pulling the door open. “That’s new.”

“What?” Her eyes widened at the prospect that she potentially has done something to herself in the past few years since she’d seen him and he noticed. 

“You calling me ‘Kiszka’,” His tone is funny, almost teasing but more so hurt? She couldn’t quite understand it. 

She laughs, trying to keep things light but her mind is still drunk and reeling. “Yeah, well, we’ve never really been friends before. Josh obviously works still, but didn’t think your full name or Joshy really fit anymore.” 

He notes that she doesn’t even say ‘Joshua’ and it warms him to know what a respectful human she was, not even daring to cross a boundary she knew she could so easily breach. He would applaud her if they weren’t who they were. If the situation was actually as light as they were trying to make it. 

“Got it,” He breathes and finishes with her name, opening the door for them to reenter the bar. 

She nods affirmatively at Josh calling her by her name and he just motions for her to go inside. They return to the table with smiles on their faces and everyone seems pleased that they have returned in better spirits than before. 

After that night, Y/N stays in touch with the band far more than she could have ever expected to when she had taken the job that brought her to Nashville. Now that they were on this big break, the boys were desperate to lead regular lives. Sammy wanted to go thrifting and antiquing with her every free chance she had. As well as morning walks with his dog that Y/N only ever agreed to when coffee was included. Danny liked to get lunch with her and show her his favorite spots around Nashville: movie theaters, records stores, cafés and bars. Jake even tagged along on a few driving tours of the city that Danny wanted to do with her so she could start to get to know the city better. She and Josh would do similar activities as the ones she did with the rest of the guys as well as some yoga and other physical activities (not the ones she longed for, let’s not get ahead of ourselves). But their solo hang outs were always a bit more intermittent than the other guys – except for Jake. Saturday nights were also exclusively for group activities like drinking or drinking and some other activity, like bowling or eating. As long as drinking was involved it was greenlit. 

Truthfully, she was endlessly thankful for the four tour guides who were insistent upon showing her everything they knew. She also thought that maybe they liked the feeling that they really knew the city, so much so that they could introduce someone else to it. No longer strangers to it themselves. It also gave them a reason to do things to occupy their time rather than accidentally begin starting to write a hit album. Her journalistic curiosity constantly had her prying at them for even an inkling of whether or not they were at least toying with anything for a new album. Each of them told her the same thing, absolutely no song writing. Of course they all continued to practice their instruments just to stay sharp but no official band meetings were occurring for the time being. She was certainly shocked, but at every group hangout never once was their own music or Josh’s poems that could be counted as lyrics brought up. 

One such group hangout was about to occur at the request of one, Samuel Francis. After a long week of actually working, which Y/N had been doing for the last month now – making this her second month officially in Nashville, she was deeply tired. When she had tried to bail, Sam had offered that Josh would be her chauffeur for the night, alleviating the burden of driving or paying for an uber to take her to and from this evening. 

Josh standing in her studio apartment as she finished getting ready was testament that this offering had been enough to placate her. If she thought too hard about it, which she tried not to, Josh looked perfectly in place in the apartment. It was small but it was cozy and she liked how she had set it up. 

“You never showed me these?” 

“Huh?” She turns around from fixing the flowers in the vase she had left on her nightstand for one too many nights. Josh being the first guest in her studio apartment was strange, especially with how things currently were. But this is what friends did, showed each other their living quarters before they carpooled to an event together.  “Oh…yeah.” 

Josh’s hands were ghosting over the pictures within one of the homemade collage posters on her wall. They mostly consisted of magazine clippings and prints of art she liked, but occasionally she included photos from her own life if she felt like they fit. There was a photobooth printout of her drunk and in New York for her 21st birthday, some of her more serious film photography, and there beneath a cut out of some blue and yellow flowers, Josh with his arm wrapped around her, his lips on her cheek and a surprised look on her face, surrounded by art. It was the photo he’d insisted they take in the Dublin Museum. More stealthily hidden within the collage was another picture she had taken of Josh as he marveled at the art, looking up at it with a hopeful yet slightly perplexed expression. 

“I only got prints at first and I didn’t bring them to Paris,” She starts, standing beside him to look at her collages. “By the time I got them scanned…” Her voice trails off, she kicks her heel with the tip of her other shoe that was untied and looks down at them, her arms instinctively wrap around her frame. 

Josh tilts his head to look at her and he smiles softly, that same smile where just the tops of his top row of teeth show, but his eyes sparkle with the mirth that was so characteristic of him. He nods his head slightly and she smiles back timidly. She didn’t need to say it, he understood. 

“Thanks for including me in your art,” He turns back to her walls, a different tone in his voice, putting more distance between them, not physically but she could feel it. “I still can’t believe you just make these for fun.” 

She shrugs and takes a step back from the wall, finishing up her readying before they are set to leave. “It’s not like I make that many, I’ve only got these because I forced myself to put something on the walls and didn’t want to spend money on expensive prints.” 

Josh’s arms cross over his chest casually and he looks at the several large poster collages on the wall. He counted ten fully unique and interesting collages, each one with a different color scheme and mixed media elements like stamps of anatomically correct hearts and skeleton hands traveling throughout the pieces, making them still fit together despite the different colors. He flips his hand out unconsciously and points at them while he turns his head to look at her once more. 

She’s fixing the tongue of her second boot that’s still untied on her foot, concentrating on securing the ties tightly but she lifts her head up to glance at him when she feels him waiting for her attention before he spoke. 

“But these could be expensive prints. I’ve never seen anything like these in a gallery before, but I’ve certainly seen stuff worse.”

She scoffs a laugh and shakes her head, returning her attention to tying a bow and then a double knot. “Stop the flattery, Kiszka. It’s just magazine scraps and photos, nothing revolutionary…Plus,” She stands, straightening her ensemble. “I’m already doing my dream job – kind of, remember?” 

“I know,” Josh huffs, almost like he’s suddenly frustrated, but then he takes a deep breath and turns around fully, dropping his arms to his sides and taking a seat on her bed. “You’re right. Still, would you ever think about making one for a friend or something?” 

She giggles, “I see, you just want one and you thought the easiest way to get one, rather than ask, was for me to give up my day job and become a collage artist full time and then you’d buy one from a gallery that picks up my prints.” 

“Naturally,” He shrugs and his smile is now that grin that takes up his full face, just a little bit mischievous. “It was the obvious answer.” 

“Obviously,” She repeats back to him before she feels like she’s mapping his face for too long. Her eyes lingering on his lips and rosy cheeks and wiry facial hair. She turns on her heel and busies herself by putting all of the snacks and drinks she said she’d bring to the picnic dinner thing Sam had insisted everyone attend at the park by his house. 

“Thanks again for driving,” She mutters quickly, almost breathlessly when she realizes that Josh is in her personal space – or at least closer than before. 

“Not a problem,” Josh replies quickly, using his arms to lift himself to sit on the edge of her countertop right beside her. “I’ve recently found myself with a lot more free time on my hands and what are friends for, if not an occasional lift?” His tone is light but Y/N can tell the way Josh just said that sentence was extremely intentional. The way he had moved closer to her, and leaned forward on his hands, the smile in his voice. Something was up and he wanted her to ask about it. 

Having Josh back in her life for the last month had been relatively painless. At least, compared to years ago when they would meet up, have an intense whirlwind romance in some unknown location and then be torn apart by schedules and life. Now, after the initial shock of seeing him again, all she had to deal with was Josh being…Josh. Undeniably charming and kind, a little flirty and mischievous, constantly talking in circles in an attempt to be understood and an endless supply of thoughts that went nowhere. Pure unadulterated Joshua Michael Kiszka. He was just this guy in her life and she was actually really grateful for him because he had been so helpful with her move. It had seemed like he had been able to grow pretty grounded here in Nashville so she leaned on him for recommendations and queries she had about the city. 

But the way he said what he just did, gave her stomach a flutter reminiscent of days gone by. She barely registered it since the words were rather innocuous, but something was there. She had a gut feeling, but knowing better than to take the bait, she just nodded in agreement and held out a package of Lagunitas IPAs – her and Danny’s favorite brand, for Josh to take. 

“Roll out, Kiszka.” 

The scenery outside passes by quickly as Josh navigates them easily to Sam’s home where he parks his car. There was some bickering over what music to listen to, which had never happened before Y/N’s move to Nashville, but since then it had been a regular occurrence with Josh. It made him content to see they had changed a little, it actually delighted him. 

His eyes shuffle across the front window every few minutes to glance at his companion. His journalist. He wouldn’t say he felt content, but it certainly felt lighter since she had gotten into town. Into his life once more. The first night had been filled with moments where it felt like he was drowning, almost gasping for air, scrambling for purchase on a ledge. But now, it was back to being familiar. There was a calmness that had overcome the rapids, melting into a flowing, babbling brook. 

“You know I saw a Fleet Foxes show when I came home,” She addresses the music Josh had played in the car as they walk from Sam’s house over to the park. They were late. “Robin?” She questions what the lead singer’s name was as she wasn’t all that invested in the band other than their music.

Josh nods. 

“He doesn’t control his voice all that much live. He sounds like Kermit live.” 

Josh laughs and glances over at her again, she’s smiling at herself and her joke, proud to have made him laugh so genuinely. 

“Don’t you love the Muppets?” 

She chuckles, surprised he remembered that random off-hand fact she had supplied once, “Yeah, but that’s beside the point. It was distracting, sometimes I couldn’t help but laugh. It’s all these deep intense songs and then it’s…Kermit. Then he’s kind of obnoxious in between songs.” 

“I agree, Josh is obnoxious in between songs.” Jake’s voice sounds as he overhears the last part of their conversation as they come upon the group. 

“She wasn’t talking about me,” Josh rolls his eyes before setting down the case of beers. 

“Sounds like a muppet and is obnoxious in between songs? I think she was.” Jake smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he sits in a lawn chair. 

She laughs and shakes her head before dropping down to the blankets spread across the lawn to unpack the snacks. She let the twins bicker rather than getting involved. She felt less of a need to prove herself to them now, just simply comfortable to let them be. Sam comes jogging up from some unknown place with Rosie in tow. 

As an amazingly well trained dog, she doesn’t go for the food when Sam lets go of her leash, but walks over to Jake, sniffs his pant leg and curls up at his feet. He absently scratches inbetween her ears while still ribbing Josh. 

“Glad you made it,” Sam hugs her when she stands up and she smiles sheepishly. 

“Drive a hard bargain, Sammy,” She tilts her head towards the twins. “You said he was already on his way when I tried to deny any chauffeuring.” 

Sam shrugs, “It’s the end of summer, we’ve got to enjoy this perfect weather in between blazing hot and brisk autumn. Did you know Nashville is actually unbearable in July? Absolutely abhorrent, I tell you.” 

Her smile is back on her face in an urge to suppress her laughter. “Understood, old man.” 

Danny thanks her for bringing the Lagunitas and she clinks their cans together. She and Danny spend the majority of the night together. There were about fifteen people in total in the group, plus Rosie. Sam would flit around between the smaller groups, insistent upon being the host despite it not actually being at his home. Home adjacent, he had insisted. This leaves Danny and her to chill together. He understood her need to relax after a week of working and why socializing with people she wasn’t necessarily close with would be a burden. 

The fact that once they had arrived, Josh and her hadn’t talked went unspoken. Y/N watched Josh interact with others for much of the night. Her glances were probably done in an attempt to be subtle but Danny noticed them almost right away. Out of the kindness in his heart, he made no mention of it until she got so caught up in watching them that he had run out of things to say and was silent, watching her watch them. 

It was dark now. Her eyes strained to make out Josh and a friend of theirs on the edge of the group, talking quietly to themselves. Y/N was intent on this interaction. A sigh from in front of her brought her back to Danny and her eyes widened in realization. 

“Fuck,” She whispers and hangs her head, adjusting her sitting position to turn further from the couple. “Sorry, Danny. That wasn’t cool.” 

“It’s okay,” He insists and his smile is understanding. 

“It’s not, but I appreciate the kindness.” 

“They’re just friends,” Danny offers. “When the band tours, she does our makeup.”

She nods back, “Does Josh need replacement personal rhinestones now that you guys are on hiatus?” 

Danny snickers, but stiffens at her mention of the break. “Not sure,” He replies quickly before changing the subject to Rosie who is seated beside them. 

The Kiszkas, Danny, and Y/N all walk back to Sam’s house once the rest of the group has gone home. Josh keeps giving Y/N curious looks, but still maintains the silence between them that had existed since arriving. She smiled back at him if she ever caught him staring, hoping to placate his strange expression.

-

Back in Josh’s car, she flops into his passenger seat, exhausted and a little drunk still. Josh smiles at her as she rests a hand over her face and sighs. 

“Stop staring at me,” She groans. 

“I’m not, Sunshine.” He smiles even wider when he sees her try to hide her smile. 

She feels herself warm at the name and at his expression. The nickname she had missed so much. 

“You are!” She laughs loudly and then peeks through her fingers, rolling her head to look at him. 

He exaggeratedly averts his eyes from her once he knows she’s looking. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, disappearing beneath his hair. Eyes wide and bewildered, he was a good actor. She giggles again and Josh allows himself to chuckle too, the faux look on his face dropping. 

“Let’s get you home, you’re seeing things,” He shakes his head and turns the car on. 

They don’t fight about the music, Josh lets her tipsy brain choose whatever she wants. He was expecting her to choose something he liked or something he absolutely loathed, but instead she surprises him with music he was unfamiliar with. It’s soft and sweet and it’s a woman’s voice singing about love – having it, losing it, longing for it, living in it. Y/N stares out the window with it rolled down the entire ride home, watching the dark streets ebb and flow with noise and light as they cross through town. Josh hears her humming the tune a little. 

“She’s good,” Josh notes, casually. 

“It’s the band I’m going to pitch as my next story,” She supplies when they come to a stop in front of her apartment. Her hands move to open the door. 

“Wait,” He stops her before she’s out of the car. “Would you maybe want to get coffee or something, tomorrow?” 

Her mouth quirks into a half-smile, just a little surprised. They’d been hanging out, but this felt different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but the unusual apprehension in Josh’s voice is the first inkling that this might not be just an innocent cup of coffee. If she hadn’t been drunk, maybe she wouldn’t have noticed but it made her hyper aware of all that Josh did. It made her notice more about it, it kind of felt like she was noticing him for the first time again. 

“Only if you bring me any pictures or possible memorabilia from your Muppets days that you want included in a custom collage, Kiszka.” 

Josh cackles too loudly for the time of night it is and she instinctively shuts the door slightly, causing her to lean back into the car. 

“You weren’t talking about me!” 

“But I could’ve been.” She winks, but the way he looks at her, an open-mouthed smile, pure delight shining through the darkness, flusters her and her eyes shift away from him immediately afterward. 

“Fine. I think I can make that happen, Sunshine, but I’m not making any promises.” 

She smiles again and Josh keeps grinning, knowing looks exchanged. “See you tomorrow, Kiszka.” 

He’s unsure if she did it on purpose, but Here Comes the Sun begins to play softly from Josh’s speakers just as she shuts the door and he moves to pull away. She falls asleep smiling. Best outcomes seemed to still be possible. Josh has trouble sleeping that night, eyes stuck on his ceiling. 

She walks to the coffee shop that Josh texted her about, feeling light in a way that she hadn’t felt in a while. The nerves she felt upon first meeting Josh, being the right girl for him, being enough for him, those thoughts didn’t plague her all that much anymore. Walking into the shop, her heart beats a little faster when Josh’s face comes into view. He’s got his curls uncharacteristically trapped beneath a baseball cap but his smile is unmistakeable. 

She bites her lip and raises her eyebrows at her in question when she walks up to him. Josh tamps down his smile and gestures for her to sit down across from him. 

“Trying to keep a low cover today,” He shrugs when she’s still quirking her head at him with a suppressed smile. 

“Low cover?” She tries not to laugh but when Josh smiles good-naturedly back at her, she lets a soft laugh out. “I thought you were a singer not a fucking wanted criminal.” 

“They’re similiar in ways.” He flourishes his hand that isn’t settled around his coffee cup. 

“You’re unbelievably dramatic, Josh.” She laughs, her eyes not leaving Josh’s lips, unable to tear herself away from the way they curl around his face, until she hears her name called from behind the counter. 

When she returns to her seat, Josh is smiling down at his coffee, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Thanks, that was unneccessary.” 

His laugh is incredulous as his eyes raise up to meet her’s. They look especially dark beneath the baseball cap and she can’t help but have a weird feeling about how similar he looked to his brother at that moment. It was striking only because she never saw Jake in Josh despite them being identical, because to her they were so vastly different in a myriad of ways that she never related the two. Jake and Sam, sure. Sam and Josh, sometimes. Jake and Josh, identical of course, but never jarringly like it was actually the other in front of her. Not like now. 

She quirked her head, the latte tasting a little too bitter for her liking. 

“I ordered both of ours under your name, like I said, trying to fly under the radar.” His matching hand motion makes her shake her head in disbelief. 

Instead of jesting with him, she decides to take a different approach. She wasn’t used to Josh wanting to hide himself away from people, but it seemed like since she’d been in Nashville it had been becoming a more regular occurrence. “Why?” 

“I don’t want to be interrupted.” 

“I think your voice and smile are a dead giveaway,” She says unassumingly. 

Josh’s smile reappears on his face, as if he had just won something. “My smile?” He parrots. 

She rolls her eyes, feeling herself growing flustered in his presence once more. “You know. I don’t need to elaborate.”  

“But elaborate, you must!” He’s grinning now and he looks particularly boyish with the hat that she wishes he would just take off. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” She suggests, standing from the table without Josh’s approval. 

He huffs an agreement, clearly unhappy with her disregard for the game he was intent on continuing to play. She peeks a look at him as they walk side by side and she’s overcome with the tension that is clearly still between them, yet she finds it so interesting how they are able just to ignore it for lighter conversation. About Sam’s dog, about the weather, about the newest recipe Josh was going to attempt out of this sustainable cookbook he had found in a book store during their last tour. About her work. 

But then that’s venturing into heavier conversation because the nagging question is on her lips again. She feels the need to try again. 

“I know I’m not really someone you would talk to about this, anymore…But are you ever gonna tell me why you guys are on this ‘break’? You used to be able to talk to me…Haven’t I earned back any trust?”  

“Trust?” Josh stops walking and his eyes look slightly bewildered, “I don’t mean to be harsh, but I don’t think you want to get into this.” 

“I feel like we need to or else we’re never gonna get back to a place where you do want to talk to me about real stuff. Josh, let me apologize. I want to apologize.” 

“No.” 

“No?!” Her mouth is left open in shock. “You completely ignored me the first time, Josh.” 

“I don’t want you to apologize, I don’t need you to apologize. You do.” 

She’s stunned for a moment, left completely speechless as Josh stares at her with a face of almost complete blankness. It is devoid of most emotions beside his eyes, they’re still dark and sad. Just a little watery. 

Instead of getting emotional, attempting to get Josh to listen to her like she might have in the past. She listens. 

“Fine, you don’t need an apology?” Josh nods slightly, his shoulders relax. “Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on with you guys?” 

Josh rolls his eyes and pulls the hat from his head, shaking his hair out ever so slightly. He was too frustrated to try to keep himself under the radar. Stupid hat. 

Josh pulls her gently to the side of the street, effectively bringing them away from the main street. 

“Just because I don’t need your apology does not mean that I’m gonna tell you every bit of my life like before… How do I know you wouldn’t write a story about why we’re on a break the second I told you?”

“Because I’d never do that to you and you know that,” She frowns and crosses her arms across her chest. 

“How would I know that?” Josh asks plainly, still attempting to keep emotion out of his voice. 

In her frustration she doesn’t think before her lips are pressed against Josh’s. She tries to communicate through the kiss her emotions, why couldn’t Josh believe her. She kisses him hard and feels him push his lips back against hers tentatively before she retreats. 

“Because I fucking love you Josh! I would never, ever betray your confidence like that. I would never put my career before our relationship.”

Josh nods down at the ground and she’s unsure of what his silence means right now. “...But you did.”

“What?”

Josh speaks up louder even though they both know the volume wasn’t the issue with his last statement. “But you did, when you said we couldn’t be together, you said it hurt too much but really it was just so that you could focus.” 

She huffs an exasperated sigh, unsure how to fix this. “Well, yeah, I couldn’t focus on the rest of my life because of the pain I was in, that doesn’t mean I would use something you told me personally to gain something professionally. I love you, Josh. Is that not enough? I’ve been so scared to say it, to even acknowledge that it was there and now here I am repeating it… and you won’t even say it back.”  

Her voice cracks in the end, feeling out of options. She’d used her last resort. If he didn’t forgive her or move past this now, she was sure they never would. 

“What?” Josh asks, the way he looks at her with his brown eyes is piercing, his lips open in mild confusion. “You want to hear me say it?”

She nods meekly, but he wasn’t looking for a response.

He sounds like he’s about to cry, his sigh was pained. “Of course, I love you too. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His voice trails off and she finds herself in his arms once more. His hands cup her jaw and their eyes are intent upon one another. Josh’s watery as they stare back at her, longing for the right answer to appear to either of them. It was clear to her now, they had to have this out. It was impossible to move forward with all of this unsaid, but here it was. Laid bare on the table of this side street in Nashville, Tennessee and neither of them knew what to do next. 

She reaches her own hand up to run across Josh’s cheekbone, just below his left eye and he tilts his head into her. It seemed that every touch between these two held so much more than just what was physical. 

“I don’t want to be friends, Sunshine.” He manages. “I should’ve said it in Paris or at the bar, but I can’t do ‘friends’ with you. Not then, not now, not ever.”

She drops her head and he lets it fall between them, his hands retreating down to her collarbones. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the crown of her hair and she sighs against his chest that is now warm against her face. 

“Okay,” She murmurs, grateful for him holding her up. His body, his presence was the only thing keeping her afloat in this moment, otherwise she might have crumpled to the floor by now. 

When Josh chuckles, she feels her tears of sadness quickly turn to barely contained rage. 

“Why are you laughing, Josh?” She grits out, not lifting her head. 

“I just practically proposed and you said ‘okay’. It’s a little funny.” 

“Proposed?” She lifts her head now in confusion. “You said you don’t want to be friends with me. That’s like the exact opposite of a proposal.” 

“Because I want to be your partner, dummy! Get out of your head and listen to the words I am saying.” 

“I just thought–” 

Josh’s hands are cupping her jaw once more, his lips millimeters from hers as he smiles at her adoringly. “No more thinking, you’ve used up your lifetime allotment of thinking. I can’t be just your friend, Sunshine. I gotta be with you every day as your person because I fucking love you, even that incredibly overworked brain of yours.” 

She giggles finally, a smile gracing her lips as Josh’s brush against hers in a softer, less frenzied kiss. 

“You’re gonna have to spell it out for me. Every single time, Kiszka. Just know that.” 

“I’d expect nothing less.”  

-

Eventually Josh tells Y/N why the band was really on a bit of a hiatus. There had been a fight, as bad as it had ever gotten over music before. Sam refused to go back into the studio due to it. Josh said he didn’t blame him for it, Jake could sometimes be unreasonable with his demands for the band. But Josh also said he wouldn’t take sides. He couldn’t leave his twin hanging in the argument, it would’ve been unnatural –Josh’s words. This left them to go on an indefinite break and a strict rule of no band talk was instituted when they were around anyone outside of the band. They didn’t really talk about it with one another either but that wasn’t so much a rule, but a preference. They agreed that they would have a band meeting every other week and see if anyone was ready to talk about it. It had been two months and none of the meetings had lasted longer than five minutes. 

She never pushed about this information, feeling like it wasn’t her place to really ask any of them about it once Josh had shared the truth with her. On the few occasions she had seen Josh after a meeting she knew it hadn’t gone well and allowed him to avoid her question of how it was. 

She presented him with the custom collage he had given her photos for 

As much as she had missed Josh and the physical aspect of their relationship, there is not even a mention of sex with them for awhile. She had a feeling it was due to their time apart and all their issues the first time around. If making it work with Josh was the end goal, sex could wait. 

He surprises her a month after their conversation that led to them being in each other’s lives in a way that was more than friends. She walked into his house expecting another film night, how most Saturdays had been with Josh. They would make popcorn and she always brought semi-sweet chocolate chips or M&M’s to have with the popcorn. Josh would have their favorite drinks already prepped and then they would curl up on his expansive couch and flick on whatever they had agreed upon the prior week. 

Right now, they had just begun working through classic horror films, starting with the oldest release date and working up to seeing something new in theaters the Saturday before Halloween. They had also broken their own rule by going to see Nope during the week because they figured it wouldn’t still be in theaters by the time Halloween rolled around so Y/N guessed she should have seen this coming when she shut Josh’s front door and smelled no popcorn in the air. 

“Josh?” She called down the hall. The warm cream walls of his entryway were familiar now and the dark hardwood was soothingly cool beneath her feet as she slipped off her shoes.

“In here!” He responded and she followed the sound of his voice through the hallways and rooms of his ranch style abode. It was big but not confusingly so. 

She found him in his music room which was a sunken room off of the main hallway. Furthest from the kitchen and dining room, but near his bedroom. The carpeting of the room was unlike any other in the house and his side tables were carefully covered in candles. His hand was pulling away from the last one with a shake of his wrist, effectively blowing out the flame of the match.  

The candles illuminate his face from the bottom up as the evening had already set in with the dying fall light.  He smiles and the apples of his cheeks lift, creating a shadow just below his eyes. The candle’s flame sparkles in his eyes and she can’t keep from smiling back. 

She recognizes Etta James’ voice sounding from the record player and its speakers in the corner, singing sweetly and softly of love. Josh can’t get a word in before she drops her purse to the floor and is wrapping her arms around his neck, tucking her head into his chest. 

“I thought we might do something different tonight.” He comments casually as he holds her tightly to him. 

Her response is muffled against his cotton shirt. “Anything.”

“I want to make love with you, Sunshine.” He whispers this now and she feels a cold air run down her spine, his fingers follow the feeling. 

“I could be interested in that.” 

“Interested?” He questions, prompting her to pull her head back and look at him with a teasing smile on her lips. 

“Yeah,” Her smile widens and he shakes his head at her before leaning in for a quick kiss that lingers longer than intended. 

“People say I’m weird, but I swear if they only knew what a weirdo I’ve got right here, they wouldn’t blink twice at me.” 

“I think people can tell we’re both weird, Josh. But please, let’s discuss this at length,” She runs her hand down his bicep and forearm. 

He rolls his eyes adoringly before leaning back in to kiss her. “It’s like you run your mouth just so that I’ll shut you up.” He mumbles against her lips. 

She presses herself further into him and hums an agreement, losing focus on their conversation and growing enamored with tasting more of Josh and having more of him than she had for years.

-

[some-kindofgnome]

meet me in the afterglow

After college graduation, you took an all-summer backpacking trip around Europe with your best friend. Now you've got one last night together before coming home as lovers.

characters: eijirou kirishima x f!reader

wc: 2.4k

tags: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, quirkless au, implied friends-to-lovers, fluff, mentions of drinking/the sliiiiightest bit of tipsiness, swedish condoms, no beta we die like that bottle of wine

notes: @the-moons-raes and I discussed travelling with BNHA boys at some length a lil while ago, so I wrote this sweet lil scene for her! Consider it a (very) belated birthday present my dear. 💖 xoxoo

MASTERLIST

The sky’s faded from powder-blue to apricot by the time you stumble together into the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you giggle. You’ve been grinning all night, so hard it’s starting to hurt your wine-warmed cheeks. But this is the happiest you’ve been in a very long time.

“That was,” Eijirou starts, “one of the- no, the best meal I’ve ever had.”

“We should’ve ordered another bottle of that wine,” you muse. He’s got his hands on your hips and you twist in his grip, curling your fingers around his palms. His face has gone pink, but his eyes are sparkling and you’ve already decided you want to preserve this feeling for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think you need anything else to drink tonight,” he teases smoothly, pulling you close with his fingertips digging into the gauzy fabric of your dress. He leans down and pushes his lips against yours, the last tartness of the strawberry gelato you finished on the boardwalk still lingering in the tender flick of his tongue.

Tonight falls at the tail end of a long backpacking trip across Europe that you’ve been wanting to take for as long as you can remember. You’d never planned to take anybody with you at all, let alone the man you’d wind up falling for.

But Eiji’s always been pretty good at defying your expectations.

The rest of the summer hasn’t been this glamorous. You’d spent most nights shacked up in rickety little hostel beds, bunking together in rooms of six or camping out in the backseat of a tiny rental car. But the sleepless nights and sore backs and restricted luggage hadn’t changed a thing. You’ve been in heaven all summer long.

To celebrate your last couple of nights in this hemisphere, you checked into one of Naples’ top-rated hotels. It’s still not the most luxurious room on the market, but compared to the military-issue bunk beds you’ve been sleeping on for the past eight weeks, it might as well be paradise.

Especially now, given the changed nature of your relationship.

You got on the plane together two months ago nursing a deep, intense crush on your best friend. You’ve been close with Eijirou since your first year in college together, when he was assigned to the dorm room beside yours. And for as long as you’d known him, you assumed you’d be loving him from a distance.

But somewhere between Brussels and Berlin, the line between friend and lover started to blur. Since then, it’s been completely erased.

“Come on,” you protest, flinging your arms around his neck and clasping them together behind his head. “I can hardly feel a thing.”

He ran out of hair gel two weeks ago and he’s been wearing his hair down ever since, tied into a loose little ponytail at the nape of his neck. The dark roots of his natural colour are starting to show at his crown after going nearly two months without so much as a haircut.

To you, he’s never looked sweeter.

“That’s my point,” he insists, descending into tipsy, cheerful laughter. “You’re so drunk y’can’t feel a thing. C’mere, it’s time to get you to bed.”

His euphoric grin twists around the edges with mischief as he stoops, sweeping you off your feet with a quiet little grunt of effort. You burst out laughing, letting one arm drop around his neck as your head falls back in deepening mirth.

“Take me to bed,” you swoon, dropping purposely limp in his arms. You haven’t been able to do any of this since that night in Athens a couple of weeks ago where you miraculously had an entire hostel bunkroom to yourselves.

Even then, those cots didn’t make it easy.

Tonight you’ve got a king bed all to yourselves, which Kirishima plants you on before crossing to the window and throwing it open. The night air is velvety and sweet, rolling in like heady steam and waking your senses as you watch him ditch his shoes and crawl across the plush bedspread to settle down beside you.

“You are insanely beautiful,” he croons, propping one head on his arm and smoothing his fingers affectionately down your temple. “I can’t believe I get to tell you that.”

He leans in to kiss you after that, tasting you carefully as his hand drifts from your cheek to your neck to your side. He’s a careful kisser, tasting of the last hints of that sweet summer wine that’s filled both your heads.

Picking up on your eagerness, he breaks from your lips to push attentive little kisses down the side of your neck. But as he reaches the hem of the floaty little dress you wear, he pauses and finds your eye.

“Can I?”

He’s already sliding one palm down over the curve of your hip, but it pauses at your thigh, and the earnest little quirk in his brow is so cute you can’t help but giggle.

“Do you really need to ask?” you quip.

He hums thoughtfully against your skin, already mouthing at your collarbone. “Just making sure.”

There are oversized buttons lining the center front of your dress, and he takes his time popping open every single one. He opens the dress far enough that he could have easily pulled it down over your hips, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead, you get to watch as he works open the last button with quiet, deep concentration, and when he finally does, he pushes the folds open around your body with a loving little triumphant smile.

“There’s my girl,” he croons as he crawls atop you once more, shedding his sweaty t-shirt in the process. You’re chest-to-chest when he catches your lips again, and his skin is still a little warm from the afternoon you’d spent at the beach before dinner.

He kisses you long and low and slow, giving you plenty of time to let your thighs fall open around the slope of his hips. Eiji presses naturally forward, pushing the ridge of his pelvis and the stiff denim of his shorts against your flimsy underwear. He huffs quietly into your mouth, and as you shift and squirm beneath him you can feel his cock stirring against you.

“Eiji,” you whimper, turning your face sharply to one side. “Don’t make me wait.”

In the absence of your mouth, he noses attentively down the column of your throat. His eyelashes flutter at your jaw and you feel it when he purses his lips and swallows hard.

“Okay,” he rasps. “Okay, I gotcha.” He rears back, sitting up on his haunches to unbutton his shorts. Before he gets up to shed them, he rests a hand on the plane of your belly, smiling so innocently down at you it shouldn’t make you throb.

But it does.

“Ready for me already, pretty girl?” Eiji muses, and you have to bite your lip hard to keep from rolling over and screaming into your pillow as loudly as possible.

“Been ready for you since the beach,” you tease back, and it works, since his ears are turning red as he slips out of bed. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his undershorts and shucks both garments in one smooth motion, hunching over to let them drop to the floor while he steps unceremoniously out of them.

His cock’s half-hard already, sitting full and heavy between his thighs and swelling self-consciously under your gaze. He’s exactly as big as you always sort of knew he was. He’s not shy about it, either. He can’t afford to be.

But he doesn’t know how beautiful he is, sunburned and sweating in the fading golden-hour light of your last sunset in Italy. You want to pet the soft little bristle of dark hair that dusts his chest, follow the taper of it all the way down to that perfect trail that always used to disappear under his shorts.

Not anymore. You get to see him at his most vulnerable now.

And you will not misuse that trust.

“Come here,” you purr, pushing yourself onto your elbows so he can see the desire burning in your gaze for him.

He leans instinctively toward you, hands twitching by his sides. He snaps out of a little reverie with a hard blink, stooping in front of his shorts and fishing out his slim little travel wallet.

“Hang on.”

He flips through the creased euros and museum tickets, carding out a wrapped condom. He climbs back onto the bed and passes it to you with a shy little grin.

“I know you like to do the honours.”

The condom comes from a packet you bought in the wee hours at some twenty-four hour roadside convenience store before bedding down in a rented car together. The instructions are in Swedish, but you know what you’re doing.

By the time you get the condom unwrapped, Eiji’s on his knees in front of you and his cock is fully hard out of sheer anticipation. You reach between his thighs and wrap your fingers around his warm flesh, making him shudder. And you drop one sweet, warm kiss to his mouth before you focus.

He rolls his hips quietly into your touch as you handle the job with delicate precision, unrolling the condom all the way to his base.

“Ready?” He asks you, but you’re already laying back against the pillows and thumbing off your underwear, slick and aching for him.

“Get over here before I start without you,” you tease, and he is powerless to resist you. He anchors himself on his knees, hooking each of your legs over one of his powerful thighs. He reaches for you and his cock sweeps the inside of your thigh as it bobs between you. You’ve been wanting this from the moment you saw this room, the perfect ending to a life-changing trip.

Eiji sinks lower, letting the barrel of his chest rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath. He reaches between you to line himself up with you, casting his eyes up to yours when he feels you.

“Ready?” He repeats himself, and this time the humor’s gone. You nod quietly against the pillow and reach for his free hand, lacing your fingers together tightly.

You squeeze hard as he starts to slot himself inside you. He stretches you deeply, especially without any preparation. But he knows how to keep you comfortable, moving slowly and smoothly. He braces a hand on your belly as he bottoms out, but he does not pause there. Instead, he starts to ease into a lazy rhythm, sweeping his thumb between your folds to find the swelling nub of your clit.

“Fuck,” you whine, and he flinches a little inside you.

“God,” he gasps, bending over to press his forehead- sticky with sweat- into yours. “Tell me I’m not dreaming, yeah?”

You reach up and lightly pinch his chest with your free hand, and he grins above you.

“You’re good,” you confirm, hearing the breathlessness echo in your own voice.

“I’m not gonna last long like this,” he brushes. You shake your head.

“Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

His brow lifts against yours. After a chuckle of disbelief, he sits up.

“Aye aye, captain.”

He squeezes your fingers tightly and begins to thrust.

He does not hold back with you, keeping the pad of his thumb winding tight circles into your clit as he fucks you with eager diligence. You revel in the slap of your bodies, the fact that you can spread out and make noise, moan for him like you’ve always wanted to. Finally alone together for real. No stolen moments of privacy here. You can take as much as you want.

“Eiji,” you beg, beginning to clench around him as you feel the first twinges of your climax approaching.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he huffs, borderline incoherent as the flush spreads down his neck and chest. “Let go for me, I gotcha.”

In a dozen thrusts he’s got you falling, letting high whimpers escape your throat as your pussy clenches and flutters around his thick shaft. He rubs you diligently through your climax, fucking you steadily until you whine and paw his hand away, overstimulated and sensitive.

“I’m there,” he promises. “I’m there, I’m there, I’m….. f-fuck!” His jaw falls slack as he throws his head back, thrusting headlong into a tight climax that has him trembling against you. His hips go still, but you can feel the way his cock twitches inside your spent walls as he fills the condom.

When he’s finished he stays there for a moment, shoulders dropping while the rest of his body goes slack. He reaches up, scraping sweaty strands of hair off his forehead before he grins sleepily down at you.

“Did you…” He starts, eyes turning inquisitive. Someday he’ll be able to tell, but for now you’re just glad he’s asking.

“Yeah,” you hum, eyes bright despite the weight setting quickly into your limbs. It’s worth it for the pride that surges visibly through him, and he pulls out of you with a triumphant grin spreading his lips.

“Good,” he gushes, slipping quietly away to dispose of the condom. He’s hardly gone for a handful of seconds, and when he comes back he crawls eagerly up to your side and pulls you into his arms, curling his body attentively around yours.

“This is nice,” you confess, drifting pleasantly in the wine-and-sex-induced fog that rests heavy in your brain.

“Hmm?” Eiji’s already half-asleep above you, eyelids drooping as the light fades from the window beside the bed.

“This,” you prompt again. “Not having to get dressed again right away. We should do this more often.”

“I sure hope we do,” he enthuses. “When we get back, I’m not letting you unpack until we consummate our relationship on the right hemisphere.”

That was the longest you’d gone around him without laughing in a while. Even half-asleep, though, his wisecracks are enough to make you snort.

“Deal,” you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as the world bleeds out of focus around you. It’s not even eight o’clock and you’re sure you’ll have him again before nightfall. But for now, you’re more than happy to bask in the afterglow with the one person in the world you never thought you’d make it there with.

[aching-tummies]

Would you like a stomach ache with that?

My stomach's been rumbling and squelching really loudly as I type this. Literally, if you stood 10 feet away from me you'd still be able to hear it just fine. It sounds a bit like some distressed rodent or something, frequent snarls and squeaks and whatnot.

Since things at work started getting more stressful, my eating habits have been getting worse. I'll swallow maybe three bites of plain instant oatmeal before my shift, work through 6 hours of hunger pangs, frantically eat half a banana if work isn't swamped, work for another four hours, go home and struggle through a singular plate of dinner with my family (a plate that is worryingly small, according to them). My stomach has been hurting pretty consistently immediately after (or during) any "meal" that consists of more than ten bites of food. I guess my coworkers were a bad influence 'cuz it really feels like my guts took a page out of their book and are refusing to do their job properly.

The ache I felt after eating was likely due to my stomach being forced to hold more than it is used to. I don't fill my stomach anymore, I swallow enough to hopefully stave off the light-headedness that comes from being hungry. That meal was my first of the day (day off, I slept in pretty late). It hurt, but no noises or activity accompanied the ache. Almost three hours after eating, it feels like the pressure in my stomach (organ) finally managed to spread out enough to stop causing that that dull, cramping ache. The subsiding of the ache allowed me to finish the rest of my drink (extremely watered down milk-tea...that's more milk than tea...T_T)

The drink might have been a bad idea. Everything is squelching inside of me right now. The noises have been bubbling up all over too. A 'squelch' in my upper left will taper off and harmonize with a rising rumble from the lower right and that one builds but is beaten to the decibels by a rogue grumble from the center of my gut, where I feel a weak twinge that definitely feels like my intestines are squeezing...whether or not stuff is being moved in the right direction with the spasms is anyone's guess. I can feel all of the reverberations as they happen too. It's like my digestive organs are shivering or stuck on a vibrate setting for the two or three seconds all this activity takes place in. It doesn't hurt (yet), but the sensations are toeing the line of discomfort and the uncomfortable sensation is rising very slowly.

Interesting, a little over three months ago this same amount of food would have been barely enough to make me feel sated. I wouldn’t consider what I feel as “stuffed” or even “full”--if it weren’t for the ache I definitely could eat more. But it feels like my stomach (organ) created a new threshold where it’ll start aching at 60% capacity or something, 

Maybe this is also 'cuz it's a day off so I'm not frantically rushing around trying to do the work of 3 people? It might be called 'Rest and Digest' mode...but it feels like my guts have dropped the ball on the 'digest' portion...like they forgot how to carry out their end of the bargain.

It's because my stomach hurts during/after each meal now that I've actually started surviving off of just one meal on my days off. Yes, I get agonizingly hungry by 4AM...but that's 4AM and I'd rather attempt to sleep than run the risk of wasting precious sleep-time on nursing another stomach ache.

Oh...fudge...I just felt another squelch under my hand--this one really felt like something was being liquified inside of me.

If anyone has any ideas for inspiration based on all this feel free to send it to me.

[hollowsart]

OH MY GOD I THINK TUMBLR DELETED MY ASK BEFORE I COULD SEND SO IM RETYPING IT :( BUT THANK YOU FOR THE OVERVIEW ITS VERY HELPFUL. using he/him pronouns for eldritch spamton but feel free to correct me. buckle up

oookay first up: how does he feel things? does he feel directly from his body or is it mainly from the tendril stuff? by extension, would his feeling then be extra vague (like touching things with an oven mitt)? or, would it be perfectly functional; the tentacle stuff is extra sensitive? like how fingertips can discern textures and things better than other parts of a body. if this makes sense

which leads into my next question: what exactly is he controlling? does he control the body, the wiggly insides, both, neither? you mentioned the tentacles seemed to have a mind of their own, but he manages to mostly keep them under control. i understand that they also react to his emotions/unconscious wants (from a post long ago)?

does he have any different disposition compared to regular spamton? i don’t really know what im expecting; he just looks sort of grumpy in some situations.

also: is he waterproof!!! i imagine if you put him in a big pool, he would turn into an funny octopus-esque shape. my thoughts are very normal

OK this version is a little shorter but i still brain-dumped like the world was ending. i know some of this might be up to interpretation but now that i can express my ideas to you confidently!!! yeaaaaaaa. & also i’m okay with this ask being public if you think it’s worth sharing. thank you for your consideration

He/Him for Spamton, yes!

And for your questions:

[under a cut due to length!]

====

First off, though:

They're called Tendrils!

Tentacles are what octopi and squid have, suction cups and all. Spamton's tendrils do not have that. They're black (purple/blueish tint visible only by light) and sleek/smooth all over with twisty little tapered endings. That's why the little Eldritch Spamling I have is called 'Tendril' since that's what he is essentially!

Feelings:

A bit difficult for me to answer (like, I can't give you any explanation as to how it works and all as I have no idea how to MAKE that work.), but he can feel with the tendrils and with the body. You put your hands on his face and he'll melt at the gentle touch. He'll flinch and reel back in his tendrils if he felt you touch it and he wasn't aware that it has wriggled out to see you.

The tendrils are definitely capable of sensing and feeling. Only some are more specialized for different tasks. like the one in his mouth having high dexterity and being able to sense different tastes and all like a tongue. Most other tendrils have a low to medium level of dexterity, think like picking stuff up with your feet.

He can still open jars and hold objects with them. but he leaves the writing and painting and whatever else to his actual hands tho. makes it a lot easier to work with and accomplish things that way. plus, he's more comfortable and familiar with using his hands like he used to rather than trying to rely on the tendrils.

Controlling:

He controls the body and the tendrils. Just like how an octopi's arms have a "mind of their own" his tendrils often move on their own sometimes too, though it's in a similar sense to his heart (which just like my regular Spamton, is separate from his soul). The heart and tendrils tend to react to his emotions, betraying how he wishes to be seen. After all, you don't wanna be seen as needy and clingy when you're so touch starved, right? it feels embarrassing.

Subconsciously they'll try to seek out comfort, something to keep him grounded. When he's asleep they'll relax and if he feels comfortable and safe they'll relax enough that his body may.. slip apart. meaning.. his arms may droop and.. well. Slide off onto the floor. He takes a bit of time in the morning to essentially pull himself back together again. cracking his joints and all to make sure it's all there and how it should be again.

Disposition:

I mean. He's pretty much the same as any.

Desperate, touch starved, got the same amount of energy/enthusiasm, but also a bit closed off and reserved/cautious when it comes to other people.

It'd take him awhile to get used to people actually having feelings for him. if you're outgoing and very forward about your feelings and make your intentions clear, he'll pretty much start overheating and even blue screen like an overclocked computer in response. He doesn't take to easily to such responses, especially considering how he looks. He hates how he looks, uncomfortable and self conscious about his own body. It's been essentially mutilated from the organic Addison body that it used to be, to.. well.. This horrific doll body, a mockery of what he used to be.

(+the tendrils inside for Eldritch, regular Spam is the same but without the tendrils)

Looking grouchy is just kinda his default appearance? It's how the doll-ness of his current body looks. Can't really be helped. He used to look a lot sweeter and more welcoming(?) as an Addison! [seen here] Of course, he was lacking in confidence and all pre-Big Shot era. Whatever he picked up from the Big Shot days has stuck in a corrupt sort of way in his current self.

Anyways, if he found an interest in you, he'd ease himself into returning the feelings. Going all out to try and impress and all. He's not too great at it, but he is trying his best!! He will do whatever he can to try and impress!

Waterproof:

Oh yeah, he can handle water! Just gotta be careful with the water quality, if it's muddy or very dirty? that's gonna be a bit of a problem when it comes to cleaning himself off. As well, just gotta be careful with the cloth, it can be stained and probably already has a bit of discoloring, he does is best to try and keep himself clean (difficult to do when you're living in a dump and diving in trash to make a living).

Just needs time to dry out the cloth part of his stomach. the rest of his body can just be dabbed dry with a rag/towel just like us, but he does need to shake his body a bit like a dog to try and get rid of the extra water that may have gotten inside him. If he had a blow-dryer he could probably dry himself off a bit quicker that way, but usually he just uses the times he can bathe like a special spa day, taking as much time as he wants to scrub himself clean. He takes pride in his appearance to some degree, something he's kept since his Big Shot days.

[epicene-humanoid]

some trans Jeff thoughts:

he realized he was trans in elementary school and just went fuck it I'll just start introducing myself as Jeffery and see if anyone decides to stop me (as we know, jeff winger can get away with almost anything)

he got top surgery the second he could afford it (around the same time he started at his law firm), and probably bribed someone to keep it a secret

"I'm jeff winger and i would rather look at myself naked than the women I sleep with" are the words of a man proud of his transition

he's really insecure about his fashion sense, which is why he mostly dresses like the douchey guys at his firm in the start of the show, he thought you can't go wrong with the sleazy lawyer look

he will never admit it but he feels super good about the dean hitting on him, because the dean is a (cis) guy, acknowledging that Jeff is more manly than him

i think he starts out stealth and comes out to everyone one by one, probably starting with abed because he knows abed won't judge him and will probably just see it as an interesting backstory.

abed just says it's cool and maybe worth a prequel exploring Jeff's transition, and jeff asks him to predict how all of the members of the group will react to him coming out.

abed's predictions:

britta will be over-the-top supportive and do a ton of research about trans history, probably put together a slideshow just to prove how progressive she is, and jeff will be a little bit weirded out, but also touched that she did all that for him, though he would never let her know that

shirley will be confused, because she doesn't know how someone she trusts and knows so well could be part of a group she was raised to hate, but ultimately realizes that there's nothing actually against the lgbtq people in the bible, and, as a cool character development arch, starts to advocate against use of the bible to justify bigotry

troy will just think it over and decide that Jeff's physique and coolness are even awesomer knowing how much work he'd had to put in to be like that, and respects Jeff's manliness even more

annie will give him a hug, say something sweet about how she'll always love him, and worry about his health, because even she read somewhere that taking testosterone makes you more likely to have a heart attack, jeff will explain that the risk is still only as high a cis guy, and she'll be the one to always remind him to take his shots

peirce will say at best say "jeff winger used to be a chick?" and at worst call him a slur, either way there's sure to be a lot of misgendering from him, and pestering to know Jeff's deadname (needless to say, Jeff just doesn't tell peirce)

the whole group goes out of their way to keep their beach trips a secret from pierce (the girls don't want him there anyways, he's too liable to be creepy) even though jeff knows that even if pierce saw his scars, all he would have to do is make up a story about some childhood accident and pierce would never question it

sorry this ended up being super long. can I hear some of your headcanons for him?

YES ALL THIS!!! yes yes i’m fully accepting this as canon oh my god

i’m about to type a whole ass ESSAY at midnight because i have been DYING to talk about this for months ajfdksljk,,, this is going to be obscenely long and i might end up adding even more to it as i continue to rewatch the show because there is truly no shortage of trans jeff content (especially when you’re trans and see transness in every little thing ajdkslfkjs)

spoiler warning for literally everything about this show under the cut <3

i 100% agree, i feel like he realized he was trans super young, especially since in the show we see him as a little kid a couple of times. 

like look at little jeff with the oversized sweatshirt and little ponytail!! that’s childhood trans fashion. not to be dramatic but part of me thinks that jeff’s dad left before he fully came out to his family (which gives him even more angst about it, because until that one Thanksgiving episode, he’s never able to prove to his dad that he’s a better man), but part of me thinks that his dad left after he came out (which adds that spicy i-should-have-stayed-in-the-closet guilt that he has to work through). 

either way, because his dad wasn’t there, he had to base his concept of masculinity on something else, which was becoming a lawyer!! there’s some line that’s like “after the dust and divorce papers were settled the only man i looked up to was [the lawyer guy]”. like, replacing your father figure in your mind with the concept of “a job where you can talk your way in and out of anything and distort other people’s concept of reality”? that’s trans.

 and the fucking THANKSGIVING EPISODE... i struggle to watch it without crying hehe <3 yeowch! the dichotomy of willy jr. being the “wrong” kind of man because he’s “too soft” but jeff also not being enough despite adhering to all the social standards of masculinity... fuck!! this whole scene of him telling his dad “i am Not well adjusted” and talking about how he gave himself an “appendix surgery scar” when he was a kid and he still keeps the get-well-soon letters from his classmates under his bed? oh my god. the implication of people loving him not despite his scars but because of them?? trans. i can’t think about this episode for too long or i’ll start yelling.

OH and this scene? where he talks about how his mom got him a girl costume for halloween?? and everyone said “what a cute little girl” and after a few houses he stopped correcting them?? and “once the shame and the fear wore off, i was just glad they thought i was pretty”?? THAT’S TRANS... the man needs validation oh my god... and then in all the halloween episodes we see he has these ultra-masculine costumes (a cowboy, David Beckham, one of the fast and furious guys even though he never watched the movies, a boxer with his DAD’S boxing gloves... god) costumes are about becoming something else and he always chooses to be hypermasculine and that is trans.

THE PHYSICAL EDUCATION EPISODE!!!!!!! being uncomfortable during P.E. is a queer experience. period. but him being specifically uncomfortable in the clothes someone else is assigning to him? trans. “are we gonna talk about clothes like a girl? or use tapered sticks to hit balls around a cushioned mat like a man?” TRANS. and him eventually stripping in public? celebration of transness. and the fact that he eventually becomes comfortable in both the uniform and his own style!! trans!! god i love this episode. 

AND AND AND!!! the gay dean coming out episode!!! where it’s the three of them discussing the best way for the dean to come out as gay despite not entirely identifying with that label!! so we have both frankie and the dean who are sort of ambiguously queer, and jeff who’s a stealth trans man who’s probably only out to only the study group at this point. this scene where the dean and jeff have this like eyebrow communication while frankie is talking is just so cute. queer-to-queer communication. “I am so curious” “oh?” “intellectually.” “oh...” ajfdksljfk this scene just screams high school GSA to me and i love it so much.

and SPEAKING of the dean!! i totally see you on that. i feel like jeff has some internalized homophobia/biphobia (like he’d throw punches over someone else, but when it comes to himself he has a lot of shame). and also seeing the dean so confident in all his different outfits/costumes has a weird affect on him bc it’s like “okay, the dean, a cis guy, can do that, but i as a trans guy could Not because that’s Breaking the Rules”. which, like, throwback to the halloween thing. of course there’s no right way to be masculine, but mr. winger does not know that.

another thing!! the episode where their emails get leaked? that includes his emails with his therapist. fuck!! he was outed to the whole world in that episode!! no wonder he was so fucking angry!! this whole episode (and really any time he mentions his therapist) is so interesting when you think about them as a person he talks to about his transition. OH which adds to the thing with the dean!! “and you told your therapist you wanted to be alone this weekend” and “not you jeff, i know you’ll be visiting your dad” ”I told you to stop reading my emails”. luckily his study group has his back and just makes fun of him for emailing astronauts lmao

and WHO can forget “they’re giving out an award for most handsome young man!!!!” what else is there to say about this line besides: he’s trans. you know he didn’t get awarded enough for being a handsome young man when he was a kid, and no amount of compliments when he’s fully-grown can really make up for that. some people crash a kid’s bar mitzvah to cope with the fact that they struggled to be seen as themselves when they were a teenager <3

also his weird relationship with pierce? where he kind of hates him (understandably lmao) but at times has this almost-friends-almost-father-son relationship with him? especially in this episode where he’s forced to bond with him and ends up having a good time by accident (at a barber shop no less, the perfect place to Be A Man with your Man Friend). idk what to say about him besides the fact that pierce says his mom wanted a girl when he was born and made him dress like a girl (and his middle name is anastasia!) so if they’re gonna do any bonding over transness it’s gonna be that. 

okay one last thing and then i’ll shut up for the night. this episode kills me (and almost kills jeff hahahahelpi’mcrying). it’s a very Trans thing to not be able to visualize your future self, it just is. growing up trans at the time he did? i don’t know what kind of future he saw for himself, but i’m so happy that he ended up with a group of friends who became his family and love him the way they all do. i’m so emotional over this asshole it’s ridiculous. 

in conclusion:

they’re trans, your honor <3

[terzos-edibles]

Silver Linings

1. Gotta Keep On, Keepin' On

Summary: No kid, no tribe, and avoiding his responsibilities, Din Djarin has gone back to bounty hunting and mercenary work under the watchful eye of Boba Fett. After a job on Ibaar goes very wrong in more ways than Din would like to count, he is forced to flee with a very peculiar New Republic doctor. He is determined to get enough credits and fuel to drop the doctor off on her home planet and be done with it. But will he be able to part ways with her after she finds all the right and wrong ways to push his buttons?

Words: 1.8k

Rated Mature: language, canonical violence, depression, mentions of suicidal behavior.

“I don't know if I'm scared of dying But I'm scared of living too fast, too slow Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go There’s no starting over No new beginnings time races on.” - My Silver Lining, First Aid Kit

Ibaar-

The fist of the Empire reached far, sweeping across the farthest reaches of the Galaxy; the deepest corners seemed to have felt its influences. Even the smallest, poorest planets had Stormtroopers deployed to them - a formality to further oppress the planets’ occupants and show their might - and dissuade any sort of rebellion from sparking. The destruction of the second Death Star and subsequent death of Emperor Palpatine at the hands of the Rebellion had shown that plan hadn’t, well, panned out. Still, in the five years or so after the fall of the Empire, the New Republic was just now starting to finally make its way into the Outer Rim Territories after ensuring that the more strategically essential planets were well taken care of. Remnants of the Empire still clung to those planets, holding out hope that the Empire would somehow revive itself and their loyalty would be rewarded. Many felt that the New Republic had abandoned them, that things hadn’t gotten any better since the Empire had fallen. It would be the same as it had always been. The Outer Rim would continue to be forgotten, continued to be terrorized by Remnant Stormtroopers, continued to be terrorized by pirates, and continued to be terrorized by gangsters. People had given up hope once again.

But, aid was coming. Slowly, but it was coming. New Republic troops were starting to make their way back out towards planets that needed them, bringing with them much-needed supplies and rations. Marshals were installed in the major cities and villages to help keep the peace and bring a sense of law to an otherwise lawless territory. Medical teams were dispatched to provide much-needed tautology assistance to planets that were unable to get the care they needed.

Doctor Gertrude Ásketill was the first in line to sign up for those peace operations. She was coming hot off of her time as a rebel medic. She was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and full of hope as they deployed her to the first assignment. She had an entire team - plenty of assistants and droids to ensure that everyone got the proper care they needed. They were able to start a proper clinic, train the locals, and establish a line to the core planets to ensure they could get all the medicine and vaccines they would need. Trudy felt good when she left that planet for the second.

The second planet saw fewer supplies and resources. She thought maybe it might have been a mistake. This planet had a bigger population than the last. Perhaps they didn't realize they needed to send more supplies, but then the third and fourth planets came. Supplies and resources were stripped as funding got cut, and slowly her team was redistributed to other projects.

And that left Trudy on the fifth planet - Ibaar.

It was just her and a few other doctors spread across the Outer Rim that was left of the program. She was sure that they would be recalled back to Chandrila - the capital of the Republic, but that had been almost a year ago. She had been on Ibaar for about as long. She was alone; at least, it felt that way. The only other two in her clinic with her was an older model R4-7 droid named A9-C that had been reprogrammed to help in the medical field. The humanoid-shaped, bug-eyed droid was built in the early days of the Empire and complained more than he assisted. The other was a teenager named Max, who had taken an interest in medicine. Whether it was because he liked Trudy or wanted to become a medic was to be answered. He was a good assistant and listened.

The only other Republic representative on Ibaar with Trudy was the Marshal: Baxley Morgan. How that man ever got the job of Republic Marshal was beyond her. It was probably why he ended up out here. He had a good heart, but the boy was dumb as a brick, and while she was no fighter - she could at least shoot a blaster well enough to hit whatever she was pointing at. It might not have been where she wanted it to go, but at least it’d hit its target.

The Empire had put blockades up to punish the Ibaarians for being sympathetic to the rebel cause. The aid that had been promised to the Ibaarians had finally come, and it was a little lackluster. The locals were friendly enough, but they felt a little betrayed. Trudy couldn’t blame them.

Trudy had become jaded herself; things were back to the status quo. There weren’t any more Imperial blockades, but with the lack of resources and supplies coming in - there might as well have been.

Ibaar, all-in-all, wasn’t a bad planet. It was a mountainous, temperate planet. The capital village, and the one that Trudy was in, was nestled in a valley - built into the side of the mountain while the rest of the land in the valley was used for farming. The natural cliffs that reached their stony fingertips to the sky provided a natural defense for the village, and the hundreds of waterfalls that cascaded down their sides gave the village and farms much-needed water. On a clear day, you could see for miles around. Though for all of Ibaar’s beauty, the weather was the worst. They could be lucky to see the sun one, maybe twice, per month. The rest of the month was plagued with overcast clouds, fog, daily rain, and nightly thunderstorms. It took some getting used to, and Trudy had ordered extra vitamins to help with the lack of sun.

Despite being the capital village of Ibaar, Laakso Village didn’t even have its own docking bay within the village’s boundaries, especially - making already scarce supplies harder to get. Luckily speeders made that journey a bit less complicated, though it was still rough going. A local warlord and his gang - a former Imperial commander and his troopers - had taken it upon themselves to decide that the Ibaarian Mountains were a great place to hide and run their smuggling business out of, using the old rebel tunnels from the war.

It made things dangerous.

Unsuspecting travelers going to and from the port or any of the other smaller villages in the mountains would be ambushed. Those lucky to survive had their property stolen. The bandits would look for anything from blasters, food, credits, various forms of technology they could get their hands on, and medical supplies. Trudy didn’t know how many villagers and travelers she had patched up in her time there, injured by ambushes. While the gang kept the locals terrified, they still hadn’t been bold enough to make their way into Laasko Village, choosing instead to raid the smaller outer villages - ones not protected by a marshal.

Baxley was having a hell of a time dealing with it himself and had brought up hiring some extra help. Trudy had nipped that in the bud; hiding behind hired mercenaries wasn’t going to do anyone any good - that he really needed to call in support from the Republic. The conversation tapered off after that, and the emergency seemed to have died down. However, as it always did, there was no downtime. The newest crisis cropped up - the report of the flu on a neighboring planet in the same system. A planet Ibaar happened to trade with. Which meant Trudy had to work to get vaccines to Ibaar before everyone was sick. She had ordered them about a month ago. Thank the stars someone was on her side, and the vaccines only took a month to get to her. Someone had made the shipment hastily, and they were currently waiting for someone to pick them up. Trudy couldn’t pull her boots on fast enough when the docking attendant called her to report they had been dropped off. Within fifteen minutes, she was in a speeder with a blaster and Max in the passenger seat. They would get there by nightfall - if they were lucky. Trudy just hoped to the stars above that nothing happened on their way.

----

It seemed as though Trudy’s silent prayers were answered. She pulled the speeder around to the docking bay and left it idling as Max hopped out of it, striding up to the attendant’s office and rapping his knuckles on the glass. He had grown like a sprout since Trudy had been there, now easily towering over her - though that wasn’t exactly hard to do. Brownish red shaggy hair constantly fell into his eyes, much to his mother’s dismay, and he was a lot less intimidating than he liked to think he was, especially with those freckles. Trudy waited as they exchanged words, waving a hand as the attendant poked his head out of his office and motioned to where the vaccines were - clearly annoyed he had been interrupted from his dinner and whatever wrestling match was on the holo. Trudy moved towards the vaccines, scanning them in with the datapad she pulled from her pack and happy to see that they didn’t have to quite rush back with them. Their cooling system had enough charge to allow them to rest a little bit - though they would still have to make the trip back by night. Max helped her load the crates into the back of the speeder and went out front to buy them both some roasted tip-yip and drinks from the food cart out front. Trudy turned around, eyeing the gunship docked in the bay the vaccines had been stored in. Annoyance twisted in her stomach that the valuable vaccines were stored where some random visitor to the planet could just poke through them. Though, the presence of the gunship made her raise an eyebrow. Not many ships like this made their way out here; either the owner was here for a quick refuel, or they were up to something no good. She scowled at it as Max returned with the tip-yip on a stick and a couple of cool bottles of water. “We didn’t get harassed today,” Max observed as he sat down on the roof of the speeder, and Trudy took a seat inside. “You think somethin’ is goin’ on?”

She nibbled at the meat on the stick and offered a shrug, turning to look back at the gunship. “Who knows. I just hope they keep whatever they’ve got going on out of the village. I want to sleep peacefully when we get back.”

You know the phrase famous last words? Those were Trudy’s.

--- Miles away, a Mandalorian clad in beskar armor was about to attempt to take down a stronghold of bandits and remnant stormtroopers all on his own. Maybe Fennec Shand was right. Maybe he was suicidal. ** Chapter 2: But I Ain't Dead Yet Taglist: @novemberrain221, @blackdogdesignuk, @mistyfur5, @thepoisonofgod

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[elisaphoenix13]

When One Works Hard

Commission request from @daisypoisonpen. It was inspired by a TikTok she found and I thought the idea was hilarious. Hope you like it!

Peter knew something was wrong when he got home and fell back onto his bed with his Starkpad when he got home and the internet didn't work. He even tried using the mobile data but that failed to work too. His immediate assumption was that Harley did something, and he got up to walk to Harley's room to confront his brother, but found the older teen looking just as confused. William was sitting on Harley's bed with a book so Peter wasn't sure if he was aware of the issue yet or not, but he was going to hear about it now if he wasn't.

"Hey, did you do something to the internet?" Peter asks and Harley glances up at him from his desk.

"No. I was actually about to come ask you."

Peter shakes his head. "I just got home. Maybe Dad-"

"Dad's not home." William interrupts. "He's had meetings since this morning."

Peter opens his mouth to say something but then he hears small footsteps walking towards him and he leans out of the doorway a bit to find Diana. When she joins him, she holds her Starkpad up to him in confusion.

"Peter, it's not working. Can you fix it?" She asks.

"We're having problems too. The internet is down." He explains. "Maybe Mom knows what's going on."

"Mom doesn't deal with electronics." Harley points out and William closes his book. He wouldn't be getting any reading done until the internet problem was fixed at this rate.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask him anyway. Since Dad's not home, maybe Scott can at least take a look."

Harley snorts. "Dad would break his fingers."

"And Quill will break Dad." Peter says as his brothers get up and follow him out of the room. "And then Mom will find a way to make another time loop and break Quill a million times."

William mutters something about the family being a little too overprotective and psychotic which makes Harley laugh. An angry celestial was very dangerous, but Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit curious how a time looped battle between Quill and Stephen would go. The Time Stone may no longer exist in a physical sense, but Diana possessed its powers so Stephen would probably find a way to use them through her. If he were desperate enough.

Peter shakes the thought away as the four siblings make it down to the living room where they find Stephen in an armchair and calmly sipping tea. At least it looked calm, but the kids knew better. There was no physical manifestation of the angry aura around the sorcerer, but they knew him well enough to know when Stephen was pissed. Another dead giveaway was the fact that Athena was sitting regally by his feet instead of laying, which meant she could sense Stephen's ire and was reacting accordingly. She wouldn't attack them, but she knew now wasn't the time to be lazing about.

Harley nudges Peter closer and he glares back at his older brother before looking back at Stephen. "Hey, Mom? Do you know why the internet isn't working?"

Stephen takes another sip of his tea, looking up at the kids sharply and making them squirm uncomfortably. Even Valerie, who Peter just noticed was a few feet away having a tea party with Levi, was glancing over in their direction nervously. Of course she was also in tune with Stephen, so she also knew something was up, but Peter would bet money she didn't know what. At least not yet. The bottom line was that someone did something really bad, but it couldn't have been Valerie because she would never do anything to anger Stephen and his fury wasn't directed at her in any way.

"Stop right there." Stephen suddenly bites out and the kids all flinch until they realize that Thomas suddenly appeared next to them, holding Lucy.

It still boggled Peter's mind that Stephen was able to see and time things just right whenever Thomas or Pietro were running around. For the most part though, he chalked it up to the fact that Stephen was Mom and moms knew everything. It was amusing to see Pietro adjust to things as quickly as he did, but that was probably because he was tired of being caught by the back of his shirt when he was running where he wasn't supposed to.

"I was being careful! I swear!" Thomas says as Lucy's laughter starts to taper off into giggles. For some reason she loved it when he ran around with her at full speed.

Stephen directs his attention to all of the kids again and leans forward to set his mug down on the coffee table. It clattered loudly when ceramic met the glass surface and there was even a brief screech that made Peter wince. The others didn't react so he figured his spider hearing picked it up.

"I don't ask for much," Stephen starts and folds his hands in front of his face with his elbows on his knees. "I feed you, clothe you, take care of you when you're sick, and countless other things...but even I have my limits." He says.

All of the kids were standing ramrod straight by now. Peter didn't have to look to know that. They rarely saw Stephen seethe like this, especially when it was directed at them.

"I had a very long day of dimension hopping and I was looking forward to getting home and sitting down with some tea." The sorcerer continues. "You know what else I was looking forward to?"

The kids remain silent.

"My triple chocolate cake. You all know chocolate is one of the few things besides my children that I indulge in and I assumed you all knew better to ask when it comes to my chocolate. So what I want to know is...who ate it?" Stephen asks as he sits back in the chair.

Peter finally glanced at his siblings, because he knew he didn't eat it, but he was met with the same questioning and confused glances. Like Stephen said, they all knew better than to eat something that wasn't theirs, especially chocolate. They all knew it was one of the things their mom loved and they all liked seeing Stephen enjoy something because he didn't seem to enjoy a whole lot.

"I... don't think any of us ate it." William says softly.

"Maybe it was one of the team?" Thomas points out.

"Well until they step forward to take responsibility and they replace my cake, the internet will remain down." Stephen says.

Peter frowns. "Why don't I just get you another?"

"Because I don't want the culprit to think they got away with it. As I said before, I don't ask for a lot and someone had the nerve--" Stephen takes a breath. "Either you can help find out who did eat it, or you can join Valerie's tea party."

Athena seemed to like the idea as she finally left Stephen's side to join the little girl at her table and accept the biscuit the cloak offered her. Peter loved his sister and joined her tea parties sometimes, but today he was not in the mood. He had homework to do for one of his college classes anyway and he needed the internet so he vouched to help find the chocolate thief. Diana and William decided to play with her though, so it was up to Harley and Peter to figure out who was stupid enough to eat Mom's cake.

Thomas went back to entertaining Lucy, but if the internet wasn't back up by the time they both got tuckered out, he would probably help them.

Their search turned out to be harder than they expected. Either someone lied, or everyone they asked really was innocent. They first asked Scott and Quill, but Scott was panicking about a deadline with a security project he needed to send to Luis, and Quill basically spoke for both of them.

"Look, I know we have our moments, but even we're not stupid enough to eat your mom's chocolate in whatever form it might be."

Quill had a point, so they moved on after Cassie offered to help. Everyone else basically said the same thing. None of them were stupid enough to eat it, but some of them were a little miffed that the internet was down until further notice. Harley tried asking Friday if she knew anything or if she could turn the WiFi back on, but surprisingly, she didn't know who the thief was and Victor was currently overriding her controls over the WiFi. So the boys had no choice but to go back upstairs and entertain themselves the old fashioned way. Board games, card games, tea party with Valerie…

They tried the tv or offline electronics but Stephen shut those down too. Peter didn't know the sorcerer could be this petty, but whoever the culprit ended up being, he was going to web them to the ceiling with his extra strength web fluid. Although, he supposed the good thing that came out of this was that he spent some quality time with his siblings over board games. He, Harley, Thomas, and Cassie got into a really intense game of Uno, Diana and Valerie continued their tea party with Levi and the pets --Tibbs had joined for treats at some point--, and William bravely put a puzzle together with Stephen while Lucy napped in her playpen.

It was nearing dinner time when Tony got home and Stephen and William were in the middle of making a pasta dish. Stephen was still irked and even Tony could sense his spouse's irritation when he walked into the kitchen.

"Interesting to come home and not see the kids on some sort of electronic device." Tony greets and kisses Stephen. "Hi Duchess. What's wrong?"

"Until further notice, I've shut down all electronics and the internet." Stephen huffs and Tony shrugs.

"You know what? I could use the break. I'll even have an excuse if Pepper sends me twenty thousand emails."

The two oldest boys look up from their game and balk at him. They were hoping Stephen would have calmed down when Tony got home, or that their father would at least get the internet back up, but they were typical parents. If one made a punishment, the other enforced it.

"But I have homework!" Peter exclaims.

"I do too!" Harley says.

Tony takes off his sunglasses. "Well you should have thought about that before you did... whatever it is you did." He looks at Stephen. "What did they do?"

"I'm not just punishing our children. It affects the team too." Stephen says and picks up the pot to drain the pasta. "Someone ate my cake and until they fess up, no one is getting anything done."

"Your triple chocolate cake that you had in the fridge?" Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes! I was very much looking forward to it after the long day I had yesterday and this morning--" Stephen rants until Tony interrupts him.

"You mean the triple chocolate cake you ate two days ago while we were in bed and watching a movie together?"

There was a pregnant pause with only the sound of water draining from the colander until Stephen slowly set the empty pot aside and turned to regard his husband. All of the kids were staring at the sorcerer at this point, and considering the blush that was creeping onto Stephen's cheeks, it was safe to assume that he had completely forgotten.

"I...um...that does sound familiar now that you mention it." Stephen mumbles.

Tony chuckles. "Oh, honey…the mom in you is on autopilot that you're starting to forget your indulgences." He leans forward and gives the younger man another peck on the lips. "Tell you what, I'll order you another piece so you can have it after dinner."

Stephen coughs and turns to look at the kids and clears his throat in embarrassment. "I believe I owe you all an apology...so I'm sorry. Victor, you can turn everything back on."

"Right away, Doctor." The AI responds.

"Considering what you do for us, I think we can forgive you." Peter says with a smile. "If any of us did what you do, we'd probably forget something like that too."

"But we have learned something from this!" Harley says and Stephen raises an eyebrow.

"And what would that be?"

"How petty Mom can get over chocolate." Thomas answers.

Stephen actually chuckled a bit at that, and true to Tony's promise, he got another piece of his triple chocolate cake. Which he enjoyed with a hot cup of tea after getting the girls into bed and the boys were occupied with homework. Peter did hear a quiet moan which was evidence enough that the sorcerer was enjoying his chocolate, but knew it would escalate so he closed the door for the blessed sound proofing.

He knew his parents after all.