#though i have been known to forget a pot on the stove and have it overflow and smoke the entire house

[shadowsegregious]

not. the greatest cook (still comic under cut <3)

[zedif-y]

it's gonna hurt like hell (to become well)

Cross posted on AO3 (mind the tags)

(Part 2/5)

NOTE: This story is likely going to stay UNFINISHED, so read at your own risk!

---

When Skizz wakes, he doesn’t get up immediately. 

He doesn’t have to, to be fair. It’s the weekend. But it’s more than sleepiness and a comfy bed keeping him there. 

Skizz sighs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His arm stings.

Another thing he doesn’t want to deal with. Ugh.

Gaze trailing the wooden grain of the ceiling, Skizz’s thoughts drift– though he doesn’t fall back asleep. He scoffs. Of course he wakes up early when he can actually sleep in. Of course.

Dried blood sticks to his arm, staining his sheets brown. He keeps them wrapped around him anyway.

He doesn’t feel very rested.

Skizz lets out a sigh. You’d think that being visited by your Guardian Angel in your dreams would, you know, at least restore your energy, but Ren doesn’t seem keen to get off his ass–

Skizz stops that thought right then and there, breathing in deep, then letting it out. Yeah, no. No. That won’t lead him anywhere good– He’s just… In a bad mood. That’s all.

His eyes drift towards his bedside table.

The envelope sits innocently next to the rest of his things, though Skizz wishes he’d just dreamt it.

He doesn’t want to think about the letter—hell, can he even call it that? The map—that Tango sent him or what it means. 

And– okay. Part of him knows he’s going to follow it, if there’s any hope that, maybe… 

He shakes his head.

On the other hand, the village needs him. He can’t just leave on some mission that could be some sort of trick. 

His mind lingers on the familiar writing, considering. He doesn’t remember Tango’s handwriting being so neat.

A cacophony of clattering metal and pots banging comes from the kitchen, shocking him out of his thoughts. It’s followed by a string of curses, and Skizz chuckles.

Joker’s up. How long did he lie here thinking?… 

He sighs. Reluctantly, he sits up, pulling the sheets aside. At least he slept some; a couple more hours would have been nice though. His body aches as he stretches the sleep away. Damn the long nights. 

A sharp sting makes itself known again, and Skizz frowns, examining the cut on his arm. It’s a decent size, and man it hurts, but it’s stopped bleeding for the time being. There are scratches around it too, but he’s not worried about those. 

Shrugging, he places his arm back down on the bed. He’s so used to it at this point; he’ll just slap some bandages on when he gets into the bathroom and then forget about it. 

As he swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand, he grabs the map and letter to bring with him for Joker to see. Maybe he’d recognize it. 

…Should he tell him who it’s from?

With his wound wrapped, Skizz heads into the living room. The smell of eggs wafts over to him, and he spots Joker at the stove. He sets the map down and heads into the kitchen. 

Joker glances over his shoulder as Skizz walks in, “Morning.” 

“Mornin’,” Skizz replies, leaning against the counter. 

Joker nods to the bandages. “How’s your arm?”

“Still there,” Skizz retorts, making them both snicker. “All good, we’re running a little low on bandages.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem to get more. Especially for you, Mr. Cleric Man,” Joker teases. 

Skizz grins and chuckles. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Joker turns back to the sizzling eggs and flips them with a spatula. It’s smooth, practiced ease, and Skizz smiles as he thinks for a moment about how much he’d improved. When Skizz first moved in with him, Joker might flip the entire pan over before he could get an egg to flip all the way. 

The thought sobers him, the smile fading from his face. It only reminds him of how much time has passed.

“I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause these are ready,” Joker tells him, reaching for a plate. Skizz blinks, brought back to the present. 

“Ooh, yeah!” Skizz sits at the table and adds, “You know I’m always hungry for your cooking.” 

“Aw, you shut up! It’s just eggs,” Joker responds, but he’s grinning as he sets a plate in front of Skizz. 

They’re prepared just the way he likes it, the yolk still runny and the edges crispy. Skizz chuckles, Tango always liked them near burnt—

The thought hits him like a whip. Skizz almost groans.

Can he not catch a break? For two seconds?!

It’s only then that he realizes Joker’s looking at him weird, he’d been quiet for too long, just staring at the food. Right.

He starts to eat as Joker sits down across from him, clearing his throat, “Well, they’re delicious.” 

“Thanks,” Joker squints at him, “Are you okay? Is it Ren?” 

Skizz shakes his head, “No, it’s…”

He thinks about the letter again, the stupid thing glaring at him from the living room. He needs to show it to Joker, but he almost… doesn’t want to. It can’t become a problem if he just ignores it, right? 

He grits his teeth. Right?

Skizz sighs. 

…He knows that’s not true. Unfortunately. 

“Jokes, you remember that letter I got yesterday morning?” 

“Mhmm?” Joker hums, mouth full. 

“I opened it last night. Didn’t wanna wake you to show it to you, but I need to when we finish breakfast,” Skizz says, then takes a sip of his drink. Mostly to hide his face. 

They’d gotten good at reading each other over the years. Skizz doesn’t want to worry him too much. 

“Alright,” Joker shrugs. “I’ve been kinda wondering about it anyway.” 

It doesn’t take them long to finish eating, Skizz’s thoughts occupied as he scarfs down his food. He helps put away the dishes, his body on autopilot– it takes nearly slamming his face into a doorway for him to snap out of it.

“Dude,” Joker says, eyebrows raised. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

Skizz grimaces. He doesn’t reply.

Instead, he beckons Joker over to where he left his things, a hand smoothing at the wooden table.

“C’mere.”

“That’s… worrying,” Joker frowns. Skizz huffs out a small laugh, though it’s more like a scoff. Yeah, no kidding. “What is it?”

“It’s a map,” Skizz says as he grabs it and unfolds it, “but I don’t know what it’s showing. The only other thing that came with it is a note that says to follow it.” 

Skizz lays the map on the table. Joker hums, looking over it. 

“I’m not super familiar with anything either, but… I think I recognize this one town.” Joker taps a dot near the bottom of the map, “Heard about it somewhere. It’s a good ways north of us.” 

“How far we talking?” Skizz asks, apprehension prickling at him. How far was Tango—supposedly Tango—asking him to go? 

“If you make really good time, maybe a week. I’d guess more like two, though, but even that’s optimistic,” Joker answers, not looking up from the map. “Who was this from again?” 

Oh, here we go. 

Skizz fiddles with a string on his shirt. Joker looks up, narrowing his eyes a little, “Skizz, who is this from?” 

“Uhm, it’s— it’s from Tango,” Skizz blurts out. Joker’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Tango?” 

Skizz grimaces. “I was surprised too. I— we’ve had no contact since… y’know.” 

“And you’re going?” Joker asks, baffled. “Skizz–”

“I’m not sure yet,” Skizz admits, looking back at the map. “I just don’t understand. Why is he making me go all the way out there? Why didn’t he leave me a letter?” His eyebrows scrunch up, frustration flaring in his chest. “I… You know me, Jokes. You know me. And you know part of me still wants to go, but– that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

He folds the map again, fighting the urge to crumple it up. “It might not even be Tango,” He says, just to try and believe it. To try and make it true. “It could be someone else. But why would they use–?” He flops down on the couch with a groan. He looks up at Joker, a quiet plea in his voice as he says, “Dude, tell me I’m being crazy.”

Joker stays silent, a frown on his lips.

“Tell me that—” Skizz swallows, “Tell me you think this isn’t legit. That it’s not worth it, and I should– I should throw it away and burn it.”

Skizz’s hands shake, “Please.”

Joker sighs. “I wish I could lie to you, Skizz,” Skizz holds his breath, "It looks legit. But at the same time, I’m not saying it’s worth it.” 

But… Skizz breathes out, shaky. “I mean, if it’s legit, then—” 

“He’s not giving you a reason, dude. Just ‘follow this’?” Joker cuts him off. “For all we know, it could be a trap. That you’d be walking blindly into.” 

“It’s him, Jokes. At least, it says it is.” He still doesn’t want to give himself hope, but it lingers anyway, “And if it’s not him, then… surely it’s someone who knows him. But if it is really him—” Skizz clasps his hands together, stop shaking. ”Dude, I have to go. I have to. I’ll take any damn chance, you know I will.” 

Joker is quiet. Skizz can practically hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to talk him out of this, worry written on his face.

Skizz sees the exact moment he gives up. His shoulders deflate, resignation in his eyes.

Then, “Yeah,” He sighs. “Yeah, I do. Unfortunately.” 

Quiet falls again. Skizz starts to fidget— the silence is uncomfortable, tension hanging in the air. He knows Joker’s not mad, but frustration shows in the furrow of his brow. 

“I know I can’t- I can’t stop you from going,” Joker says. “But at least think for a second. What if it is a trap, or heck, even something happens to you on the road? It’s a long trip, dude.” He shakes his head, “The village needs you. You’re the only cleric.” 

“I’m not! There’s—” 

“Well, yeah,” Joker grumbles, “There’s the crazy one that no one goes to and he complains constantly about it. He doesn’t count and we ignore him. You’re the only real cleric.” 

Skizz pokes at the rug with his foot. Joker’s right, he knows he is, but— 

He’s gotta go. Doesn’t he?

“There’s one more,” Skizz says slowly, almost reluctantly, “And I don’t wanna put this kind of pressure on her, but…” 

“Your apprentice?” 

He sounds disbelieving. Skizz suddenly feels defensive, twisting around, “I know she just started recently, but she’s got skill. She’s learned so much! And she’s a fighter too, so she can protect the place way the hell better than I ever have—” 

“I’m not doubting Gem’s intelligence or skill,” Joker interrupts, softer this time. “And I know you’ve trained her as best you can. But she started months ago. Dude, how long did you take to become a full power cleric? Years? Half your life? There’s only so much of a skill you can learn at one time, man.” 

Skizz falters, deflating. That’s– yeah, okay.

He twists his hands, “I guess you’re right,” He mutters, ignoring Joker’s huff. “But I… I feel like I need to go.” 

A beat. Joker’s fingers tap against his chin, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Tell you what,” Joker says, moving to sit next to Skizz on the couch. “Go talk to her.” 

Skizz blinks, “What, really?”

Joker’s lips twitch into a smile, “Really. I’m sure she’ll understand a weekend interruption for this. Ask her if she thinks she’s up to it, and if she is, then you can think more about leaving.” 

Skizz studies him for a moment. Joker’s still pretty tense, but…

“Yeah,” Skizz sighs. “Thanks, homie.” 

“Of course. Someone’s gotta be the smart one in this relationship,” Joker replies with a smirk.

“Wh— Relationship? Buddy, that ship has sailed long ago–” Skizz teases. Joker barks out a laugh, “And, uhm, hello? Who’s the doctor? I am not calling you smart—” 

Joker grins. “And between the two of us, who touched hot oil to see if it was ready–?” 

“We don’t talk about that!” Skizz sputters, then coughs, “But you did, obviously. You did that.” 

“Sureee. We’ll go with that,” Joker snickers. He slaps Skizz on the thigh, grinning as he yelps, “Now go talk to your apprentice!” 

- - - - -

Once Skizz gets properly dressed and ready to socialize, he heads out and makes his way to Gem’s place. It’s a cute cottage, luckily not too far from them, with a small stable next to it. Tall, light-speckled trees hang over it, creeping vines going up the side of the house. Overgrown berry bushes frame the outside, just the right amount of wild— but Skizz is pretty sure all the greenery is a style choice. 

The berry bushes are smart, though, good at keeping mobs away. Brains and brawn, indeed.

Skizz steps up to the door, anxiety swirling in his stomach. Gem was going to indirectly make this decision for him, and he didn’t know if he hoped for a no or a yes. 

He knocks. Barking comes from inside in response, then footsteps. 

The door opens, and Skizz waves, “Hey, Gem!” Her eyes go wide, a giggle on her lips as he opens his arms for a hug, “How are ya?”

She accepts it easily, giving him a squeeze. “Hey, Skizz!” She chirps, “I’ve been doing good, how–” More barking cuts her off, and she looks over her shoulder into the house, “Hush, Winnie, it’s just Skizz!” 

The dog barks a couple more times, then stops. Gem turns back to Skizz, grinning sheepishly, “Sorry about that.” 

Skizz shakes his head, “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend.” 

Gem steps back, waving a hand as she replies, “It’s alright! How can I help you?” She holds the door open, “Come in! We can talk inside.” 

Skizz follows her in, taking a seat on one of her couches. The living room is a cozy, warm space, beautifully decorated… Though maybe he could make do without some of the animal heads.

(Gem’s awesome, really. Gem is great. Just uh… What’s her deal with beheading things?)

Skizz tears his eyes away. Above the fireplace sits a large, heavy-looking iron sword. He doesn’t need magic to tell it’s enchanted– it shimmers as he looks at it, thrumming with power.

She sits on the other, looking at him expectantly. Ah, right.

Here goes nothing.

“I received a letter,” Skizz says cautiously, “And I might need to go somewhere. I haven’t decided yet, though. It’s a week or two just to get there, and I don’t know how long I’ll stay.” He pauses, gauging her reaction. “And if I do go, I need someone to take care of the village.” 

“And I’m the candidate to fill that role?” Gem guesses. 

Skizz nods. “You’re… the only other skilled healer, even if it’s only been a few months. I was wondering if you’d be willing to take my place for a bit, dude.” 

A few moments pass, each second making his anxiety ratchet up like crazy–

“Okay,” Gem says, making him blink. “Yeah, yeah, I think I could do that,” She adds. “I mean, I know how to do all the day-to-day stuff, and you’ve taught me well.” 

“Are you sure?” Skizz asks, honestly a little baffled. He’d thought it’d take a bit more than that— “It’ll be a lot more work, and if anyone calls on you for an emergency, you have to be prepared.” 

Gem is nodding before he finishes. “I know, Skizz,” She replies, smiling. Gods bless her, “I got this! I’ve… kinda been wanting a chance to really test myself, you know? Not that I want anything to happen, just… I’m here if you need me to step up.” 

Skizz chuckles. “Alright! Well, this is that chance, for sure. If you do come across anything you don’t understand, especially magic-wise, feel free to drop by and borrow some of my books. Joker will still be home, he can point you to the ones you need. You can use my office too!” He pauses, then, “Uh… don’t worry about the paperwork. I’ll get to that someday. Oh, and—” 

“Skizz!” Gem laughs, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I can do this.” 

Skizz relaxes, laughing with her. “Thanks, Gem. This helps a lot.” 

“Of course! I’ll make sure everyone here is nice and healthy, don’t worry,” Gem assures him. 

Skizz smiles. She’ll make a perfect cleric. 

“Okay! Yeah, I think I’m good!” Gem tells him, “I’ll go over the supplies this afternoon, so you don’t need to worry about that, either.” Skizz nods and stands, stepping towards the door.

Gem follows, waving him goodbye as she says, “Be safe out there, Skizz. And enjoy your trip!” 

“Seriously dude, thanks,” Skizz says, giving her a smile as she closes the door. His heart clenches as he walks away. 

Enjoy your trip. 

He’d try, there was bound to be a lot of new scenery, with that long of a travel. But… Something tells him it’s not gonna be all butterflies and roses. 

Something twists and writhes in his chest, anxiety bubbling in his veins. Skizz steels himself, letting out a breath.

“Of course it’s not gonna be easy,” Skizz mutters to himself, rolling his shoulders, shaking his head. “But you know what? You know what?”

He furrows his brow, “I can take it. Whatever happens, I can take it.”

I mean, come on, Skizz thinks, eyes trained forward. It’s not like I’ve lived this long and learned nothin’!

And then, quieter, it would’ve haunted me anyway, if I didn’t go. The last thing I need is another regret.

The anxiety doesn’t fade, not by a long shot. But as Skizz trudges back home, he finds it isn’t enough to stop him, worries and what-ifs be damned. A small smile tugs at his lips.

He’s always been pretty stubborn, huh?

- - - - -

Packing is a quiet affair.

Skizz doesn’t waste any time, counting his clothes and supplies, his mouth set in a line. Does he need more bandages, potions? Food? 

He bites his lip. He’d packed more than enough, but just in case…

Skizz huffs. If there’s anything to thank his past for, at least it made him more careful.

And finally…

Skizz grunts as he heaves up his shield, the weight of it familiar, almost soothing. He turns to his mirror. He moves his shield this way and that, watching the light catch on the iron details, the carved wolf head, the polished ‘blood’ dripping down. His emblem.

His spell focus, a gift from his Guardian. Just in case.

He turns back to his things– a backpack of supplies, a bedroll strapped to it, and his shield. Magic hums in the air as he waves a hand over them, a thin net of light hovering over the items before they start to fade, pocketed for him to summon whenever he needs it. Skizz grins.

Magic’s awesome.

He takes a good look at himself, breathing in deep. His wings— too small, though they don’t look like it— are folded at his back, his clothing light enough for a journey, but comfortable enough for when things start to get colder up North.

(It covers up his arms, which is good, though the age-old urge to tear his sleeves off still itches at him— some habits never truly die.)

He exhales, rolling his shoulders. Okay. He’s got this.

He looks himself in the eyes, summoning all of his strength. The map appears in his hand.

“Ren,” He says, his voice low in prayer. “Angel of Winter, Protector of Hounds, lend me your guidance,” He closes his eyes, “Lend me your strength.”

He’ll need it.

The shield glows for a moment in answer.

No problem, dude!

- - - - -

As Skizz gets going, seated on his horse as he rides out of the village, he wonders if he should have left the next day so he’d have a full day to travel. It would’ve been smarter, maybe, but… 

He’s itching to leave. Either to find out where this leads or so he doesn’t have time to change his mind, he’s not sure. Maybe it’s both. 

Skizz sighs, stroking Gluestick’s neck. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, boy. I hope you’re ready.” He adjusts his hold on the reins, musing, “It’s been a while since we had an adventure, huh?” 

Gluestick snorts. The clop clop of his hooves turns softer as the road becomes more of a path. Skizz reaches behind him for the map, folded in a pocket of his backpack. He’s stared at it for so long already, but still he opens it, scans it— none of it is recognizable yet, of course, but soon, soon it will be. 

At least, he really hopes. 

The sun hangs above him in a clear blue sky, a light breeze in his hair as he takes it in. Skizz grins— it’s a great day for traveling, lucky him.

He watches villages pass, many of which he recognizes, some he’s only heard of in passing. The hours stretch on until the bright blues of the sky soften into oranges and pinks, blending seamlessly into the dark purple night. He stops when he has to, going through the motions of eat, sleep, pack up, repeat.

It’s been a minute since he’s done this, but it’s not really the sort of thing you just forget. 

Hours turn into days. Before he knows it, a week has passed since he’d left, and he’s– Skizz squints down at his map. He should be a bit over halfway there. At the rate he’s going, Joker would be right, it’d take him about two weeks.

But… Hm.

A sinking dread has followed him all day, no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it. A heavy feeling that sits on his chest, making his ribs groan under the pressure. Something is wrong, that much he’s sure– but Ren stays silent for the whole day.

He sets up camp as the stars peek through and begin to sparkle amongst the night sky, the long shadows cast by trees and branches making his skin crawl, just a little. The feeling grows tenfold, crashing into him like waves against the shore—

Skizz grimaces, tossing and turning as he wrestles himself into sleep. What the heck, man?

Eventually, his breathing evens out, his expression smoothing over as he drifts off, the evening breeze cool against his skin.

Late in the night, his emblem begins to thrum a holy white.

- - - - -

When Skizz opens his eyes, he’s met with snow.

And not the nice kind, either. It’s a howling, stinging force that prickles at his skin, a stabbing cold into his flesh. He can feel his wings behind him, and he tries to move them–

He whirls around. His wings, white and massive and strong– are frozen numb, a thick sheet of ice covering his feathers. Dread pools in his lungs.

It’s only then that he properly takes in his surroundings. He’s in the middle of a snow storm, kneeling on what looks like a small platform, smooth, cool deepslate forming a large circle all around him. It prickles at him, teetering on the edge of familiarity…

Ren appears in front of him in a coat of red. Skizz’s breath catches in his throat.

Oh. Oh no.

“No,” Skizz rasps, his wings weighing him down like lead. He knows better than to try and stand. “Not again,” His throat is tight, tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t have lost someone already, I just left–”

A flash of light blinds him, just for a moment. The dread in his ribcage spreads into a sinking pit. 

Ren’s axe appears in his hands. The cool, dark steel weighs heavy as grief, thrumming with divine energy. His eyes swirl with a deep sorrow, like the bottom of the sea, like the vastness of the abyss. His crown, his halo– it drips with blood.

Terror grips him in a vice. The last time he saw this, his entire village–

“How many?” Skizz asks, looking up at him, snow piling at his feet. “Who?” Ren lets out a sigh.

The sound reverberates throughout the land, the wind roaring in sympathy. Skizz can feel it rattling through his bones.

“One,” Ren replies, his voice echoing in his ears. Blood pools down the altar, seeping into the snow. “Someone you thought you had already lost.”

Skizz grits his teeth, “You can’t just give me that–!”

“I am sorry, Skizz,” Ren tells him. Even amidst the storm, his coat does not move. Pinpricks of ice solidify on Skizz’s cheeks.

“Just tell me who it is,” He begs, pleads. “Tell me– Is it Tango? Did he– Was I–”

Was I too late?

Ren winds his axe back to swing, ignoring Skizz’s protests. “His soul remains troubled. I beg of you, give him peace.”

“Wait–!”

Ren brings down his axe.

Skizz gasps awake. A searing pain rips him apart, a burning line from his right shoulder to the left side of his waist. A scream tears itself from his throat.

He swears he can feel the blade against his torn flesh, cleaved in half by the divine.

He expects his hands to come off bloody, his clothes soaked in crimson– but he is clean, and the pain claws at him, burning him like a thunder's strike. Skizz feels set aflame, like his skin is melting as he thrashes on the ground, writhing in agony as the wound– now a scar– glows a faint white.

Every movement is agony– his vision blurs, losing consciousness only to be jolted back awake, his throat raw and bloody. Dirt and blood cakes under his fingernails.

Through the haze, the screaming and the tears, Skizz grasps for an anchor. But there is nobody to steady him, no one to hold him– Skizz thrashes, alone as he’s ripped apart and welded back together. 

He doesn’t know how long he lay there, eyes screwed shut through the pain.

It feels like years before he can really move again.

His chest heaves, a sheen of sweat on his skin. His clothes are all soaked, which is. Gross. Skizz lets out a weak groan, salty tears seeping into the grass. He needs… He needs to get up. He’s gotta.

For Tango.

Skizz grunts as he heaves himself up–

A lancinating pain makes him cry out, curling in on himself and making it worse. An ugly sob crawls up his throat, snot and spit dripping down his face as he clenches his teeth, doing his damn best to keep it together, keep it together.

He’s stronger than this, Skizz reminds himself, half-delirious with pain. He’s stronger than…

Coherent thought flits away, his head swimming as he tries to focus on breathing, each gasp of breath grating against his throat. Skizz’s shoulders hunch in, too exhausted to keep himself upright.

Years, days, hours pass. He’s not sure which.

Skizz sniffs, his eyes stinging and sore. He tries to speak, “Gosh,” He winces, clears his throat. “Bet I look real pretty right now, hah.”

It’s silent. Skizz can feel a sob working its way up his lungs, bubbling in his mouth. His expression crumples. His body, exhausted as it is, trembles like a leaf.

He wishes, more than anything, that he didn’t have to do this alone.

- - - - -

The next few days are nothing short of hell.

His travel speed is halved, his movements sluggish, his body more prone to fatigue. Skizz grits his teeth as he pushes forward, exhaustion bleeding into his very bones. And it’s not like he can just stay in some village and recover, either– he’s gone far enough that the nearest town is his actual destination.

His head swims, vision blurring for a moment before clearing again. The clarity is almost painful.

Skizz swallows his nausea, clammy hands gripping tightly on the reins. He can do this, he thinks, his thoughts muffled like he’s underwater. He can…

The world tilts.

Skizz sways and then jolts, a hand reaching out to steady himself but it’s too late–

Skizz screams.

His shoulder hits the dirt ground with a thud, searing pain shooting through him like a thunderclap. Gluestick whinnies, stopping as he writhes in pain. Black spots grow and dance across Skizz’s vision, his expression all scrunched up as his mouth opens in a wordless scream. His throat feels scratched raw.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Tears sting at his eyes like magma, a burning line down his face when he manages to sit himself upright. It’s the middle of the day, but he can’t– he can barely even stand through the pain, so he does his best to set up camp for the night, his fingers shaking and breathing ragged. He slumps against his bedroll.

Skizz shudders, eyes screwed shut and tasting bile. Gods. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking of who it is he lost.

When Skizz dreams, he sees an empty, starless sky.

- - - - -

He stops pushing himself so hard, after that. He takes more breaks, even if it kills him a little that it’s slowing him down. He regains his strength over time. Little by little until he can almost move without much pain.

Skizz sucks in through his teeth as he gets off of Gluestick, his shoulder throbbing as it’s jostled. Almost.

Days pass until two weeks become nearly three. He should be near, he should be, and anticipation grows in his veins, swelling when Skizz sees the faint outline of a town over in the distance— finally.

Skizz damn near cries again. Can you even blame him?

As he gets closer, he frowns, squinting at the faint fog. He sees the outline of a handful of people, going about their day– but they seem pretty sparse for a town this large.

He slows his pace when he enters the village, hand steadier on Gluestick’s reins. There’s still so few people.

“Excuse me,” Skizz says, catching the attention of one of the townspeople, a heavily-scarred man with a cane. “Is this Frosthaven?”

The man gives him an easy smile, “Well hello there!” He greets, his voice bright, cheery. “Yes, you are within the humble town of Frosthaven, a place for the weary to rest and the rest to enjoy!” He says with a flourish. His cane, a sleek wooden thing with gold trims, shimmers a little under the light.

“I am the proprietor and proud namesake of GoodTimes and Co, Scar GoodTimes." He extends a hand. "And who might you be, new friend?"

He likes this guy already.

Skizz shakes his hand with a grin of his own, “Hey, Scar! Name’s Skizz, nice to meet’cha,” He replies, “Could you point me in the direction of the tavern? Oh, and the stables.”

Scar hums. He turns, gesturing, “If you keep going forward, you’ll find the town square. Then head left to find the tavern, the stables are right by it,” Then, he hums, “Interesting. It’s been a while since old Frosthaven saw any visitors, and now we’ve got two!”

Skizz goes tense.

“Two?”

Scar nods, “You should see him at the tavern, he only arrived a day ago,” He tells him, and before Skizz can ask any more, “Anyway, I gotta go. If you need anything, from magical items to winter gear alike— there’s my shop, right across, ol’ GoodTimes and Co.” He says with a wink. Skizz nods, smiling.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He says, “Thanks, Scar!”

“Not a problem!” Scar chirps, before Gluestick trudges forward, hooves clip-clopping in the direction of town square. Exhaustion creeps up onto Skizz like a vine.

It doesn’t take long for him to get Gluestick settled in with the other horses, and Skizz lets out a breath as he hands over the payment, finally making his way over to the tavern.

A wooden sign hangs over his head, Bite & Brew.

Skizz sucks in a breath. Here goes nothing.

He doesn’t let himself hesitate, the wooden door creaking open…

A wide brown eye meets his own, the other covered by a patch. He freezes, his glass of mead halfway up to his lip. 

Skizz’s heart leaps into his throat.

He’s different from how he used to look, but Skizz could recognize him by presence alone.

Two horns, standing proud. Short brown hair, now a bit longer, in need of a trim. The same large frame, a scar on his right eye, peeking out of his eyepatch.

No, Skizz thinks, backing up a little against the door. No, no. What?

“Impulse?” He asks, hoarse. “Dop?”

[pricegouge]

alright.

cw: price x trans!reader. no gendered terms used so you can be trans in any direction you want. attempted deadnaming.

he knows something's amiss the second he opens the door to the pungent, chemical scent of too much cleaning product.

it's not that you don't keep a tidy house. some clutter, maybe, but only enough to feel homey, and he's never once found fault in the level of dust or dirt build up, even with his heightened standards after so many years in the service. but this level of cleanliness, the pristine shine of counters, and the cheery scent of orange peel and anise in the simmer pot on the stove. it could only mean one thing.

you're nowhere on the ground floor, though his search reveals more bleached grout, shampooed carpets. john calls up the stairs for you sweetly, a warning of his approach just a much as a barometer by which to gauge your response. he's never shied away from conflict, but he's only made it this far in life by being smart, never going in half-cocked, or with bad intel. he curses silently when you don't play along, either not having heard him or just outright ignoring him.

it's not looking good for him, that's for sure.

"sweetheart?" he tries again, beginning the ascent to your shared room. abject fear doesn't set in until he hears you banging around, taking out whatever pent up aggression you still haven't worked out on his things, by the sound of it. he scrubs a palm over his whiskers, checks the calendar on his phone to ensure he hasn't missed an important date by mistake. he doesn't truly start to panic until he hears you mutter an honest to god 'lousy good for nothin'.'

whatever he's done, there's nothing for it but to take your anger on the chin and start groveling.

you don't even give him time to greet you when he opens the door, spinning around to level him with that same look you use on the boys when they're being insufferable. it transforms you into some wild thing, fiery and tempestuous with sweat caking your hair to your temples and your breath puffing your chest up. he's half a mind to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he's a little afraid you'll make him swallow that swiffer duster if he does.

"dove -?" he tries and you huff before he can even finish, turning away to continue your tirade, mumbling incoherently all the while and he must have a death wish cause he follows after you, hands gentling on your shoulders even as you try to shrug him off. "love, look at me, please. what's wrong? hm? have i done something?"

cagey and stiff, you fight him even as he envelops you, hissin' and spittin' the whole way.

"it's nothing, john. can you -?"

his eyebrows nearly escape the confines of his forehead. "nothin'? that why you damn near polished a hole through the dining table?"

a sputtering sound, somewhere between a cough and laugh. it's all he needs to breathe a bit easier. if it had been something he'd done, you'd have mouthed off about putting a hole in him next time. he guides you to the bed, shoves the wadded up pile of dirty linens you'd clearly intended on laundering up the mattress to clear a spot for you. the smell of febreze wafts around you as you sink into it, not an inch of the house having eluded your wrath. "alright. it's alright now. c'mere, look at me," he coos, waits for you to abide before giving you an overly sweet smile. "now, what's happened?"

you sag, cut strings, the tension in your spine leaving you entirely the second he guides you through one long breath. unexpectedly easy, as if you wanted to be settled and soothed. "got a holiday card from my dad," you grumble, voice muffled somewhere in the pocket of his neck and shoulder.

he hums, the nature of your frustration starting to take shape. your father - absent the entire time he's known you, at least, though from what he gathers that hadn't been a recent development even back then. you exchange texts sometimes, often laugh when he forgets your birthday. chew john's ear off when the man has the nerve to say you're absent from his life when you fail to wish him a happy easter. he waits for you to elucidate. offers some semblance of a truce when he waits too long. "that was nice of him?"

a scoff, some wriggling. you produce a folded up drug store card with a chicken in a santa hat printed on the front. "misspoke," you croak, shoving the card into his hands. "he wrote someone a holiday card."

john sighs, presses a kiss to your scalp as he drops the card right back onto his lap. he doesn't need to open it to know what he'll find, though he's honestly surprised you'd even bothered to tell your father, not when you speak with him infrequently enough that him knowing your preferred name even seemed to matter. but it was your call and if you'd done so, only to have your wishes ignored, he'd half a mind to find this man and unload some built up issues he'd been collecting and ignoring ever since you'd first asked him to leave it.

"oh sweetheart," he murmurs, follows it with your preferred name because he wants you to know how much he likes it. "i'm so sorry. but you know who you are, even if he doesn't accept you, and -."

he stalls out when you squirm away from him, pluck the card right back up from the floor where it had fallen to press it, open, into his face. you're angry again, stalking around the room before he even realizes you've stood.

"you're sweet, but too optimistic, john." the accusation nearly levels him, not one that's ever been laid at his feet. it's a shock that only festers, bottom giving way when you continue, "that motherfucker wishes he'd deadnamed me."

well. doesn't that just pique the curiosity. he's not sure what he expects to find when he uncrumples the card. a medical bill, maybe - your father deciding that all these years of separation ought to be repaid literally. maybe the fool had gone and had another kid, sent you the ultrasound like you were all still one big happy family. he's decidedly not expecting to see the damn thing addressed to someone else entirely. so much so that he nearly asks who it's for before taking a second look, reading it over again.

wrong name. wrong deadname. a slight variant of your legal, christian name. and not even a matter of getting you confused with another family member because as far as he can remember, no one in your extended shares this name. and he can certainly remember more of your family than your damn father can. no, the man had simply forgotten what was on the birth certificate he'd signed. close, though.

"well, he's got the first syllable right," john hedges, folding the card carefully closed along the same seams you'd pressed into it. you don't find him funny, barely even acknowledge he's spoken as you continue to pace. he tries again, casting desperately for an excuse he knows the man doesn't deserve. "is he... unwell?"

"he's fucking fine, john. he's just an ass."

"he's getting up there," john counters, standing, creaky kneed, to trap you in his arms again. "you haven't seen him for years, right? maybe he's -."

"he's fine. called him to thank him for the card," you scoff, take a minute to resettle yourself before speaking again. "i was thinking maybe the same thing, you know? not unreasonable. but he's completely fine. even asked to speak with his girlfriend, just to be sure she hadn't noticed anything either. fit as a fucking fiddle. just forgot what he fucking named me."

without the distraction of cleaning, or pacing, or cursing, your frustration has nowhere to go except tears. he holds you, presses kisses to your crown. calls you by your name - your real one, the one you chose - just to make sure you know someone remembers it, he supposes. honestly, he's at a bit of a loss. not something he's overly used to, people's ability to surprise him having long since worn off. but this is a new one. or, at least not one he's equipped to handle. fathers forgot their kids all the time. forgot to go home after that trip to the store, forgot to call on their birthdays. his own old man had forgotten plenty in his time, too. but he's still fairly certain the man would have been able to recall what he'd named his son right up until the day he'd died.

by the time you've calmed down you're ready for a shower. he'd join you, but he hears the way your stomach growls, food evidently forgotten all day. so he pulls the curtain closed on you after one last kiss and picks his way to the kitchen where he starts first by sifting through the trash, finding the merry red envelope addressed to the wrong person at the bottom, buried under all the waste you'd excised during your cleaning spree. he takes a picture of the corner, tastefully crops out the name that had given you so much grief. sighing, he returns everything to the bin and washes his hands, careful to ensure he won't accidentally scald you.

the rest of the evening moves easier. there's nothing that can be said and you both know it, so you don't. he can let it settle as long as you want, doesn't mean to keep scratching at a fresh wound. so you eat dinner in relative silence, and you sit in relative silence when he lets you use him like a pillow on the couch after, your favorite comfort film playing softly. and that's fine. the next bit he can do alone, anyway. got your father's address tucked safely in his pocket already.

he just thinks someone should make sure the man's okay, is all.

and if i write a comfort fic where your daddy as hell boyfriend takes care of you after you open a card from your flesh and blood father to find it addressed to the wrong fucking name, are y'all gonna be super chill and never ask what inspired it?

[morganofthewildfire]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CW: mentions of miscarriage

~1.3k words

inspired by the song Bigger Than The Whole Sky by Taylor Swift

an: no idea if this is good or not, but it was very therapeutic for me to write, not trying to say that this is what the song is to taylor, but from the first time i heard it this is what i connected it to

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was too quiet. 

That’s the first thing Rowan noticed as he parked the car, helping Aelin out and in through the front door. She’d accepted the hand on her back with listlessness, not a single word leaving her mouth as she headed down the hallway, disappearing into their room. 

There was another door she passed to get there, but it remained closed. Rowan should thank the gods for that simple favor, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not after everything they’d taken away.

With a heavy sigh, piercing the thick, almost dusty, air of their dream home, he headed into the kitchen, doing the only thing he could think of: making her food. He wasn’t sure his fireheart would want to eat, or be up for eating, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

He didn’t know how to fight the gaping hole ripping through both of them.

Rowan grabbed a pot mindlessly, getting some soup to heat up. It was monotonous, something he’d done a thousand times whenever it was cold out, or whenever Aelin was having a rough night. Her parents had always made soup for her when she was sick as a kid, and now that they’d passed it was a tradition he’d continued for her. It was her comfort food. Something she’d need now that -

His train of thought stopped with an aching blow to the heart, and he scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to spill. He’d kept them in all day, ever since Aelin had woken up in the middle of the night before to piercing, bloody pain. 

He had to be strong for her. He had to. 

Even if he felt sick with the sadness seeping in him, the sadness that spread to wherever he went, whatever he touched. His whole body was aching, like a chunk of him had been ripped out completely, and he braced himself against the kitchen counter, squeezing his eyes shut like he could stop the physical manifestations of grief. 

If he could forget the future that they’d dreamed of, and finally had gotten, only to be whisked away like it was never even there.

Rowan stood there for who knows how long, only emerging from his hazy state of being when he realized the soup was bubbling over. His arms suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, but he managed to get a bowl, scooping some of the soup into it. 

Some of it splattered onto his skin, but he couldn’t feel it, even as it bubbled and turned his tan skin an ugly red. All he did was idly wipe it off, before turning off the stove and turning to head down the hallway toward their bedroom. 

His feet stalled by that damned closed door, and Rowan stared at it for an unknowable amount of time, a wave of what should’ve been spilling through his mind. 

Bringing their daughter home for the first time, setting her down into the crib Aelin would’ve painstakingly painted. She wasn’t super crafty, but she would be so determined to make something unique for their child. 

All of the three AMs, pushing open this very door and letting Aelin sleep, lifting their daughter into his arms, comforting her until she fell back asleep. Aelin would already be doing so much, he’d been fully prepared to lose his sleep in favor of hers. It was the least he could do. 

Even later, years down the line, when their daughter would be older and it wouldn’t be cool to hang out with her parents anymore. She’d still be in this very room, through this very door. 

Now he’d never even get to meet her.

The first ultrasound had only been last week. They’d only known Aelin was pregnant for two, though she was already fourteen weeks along. Two weeks of happiness, before everything had been washed away.

Rowan turned away from the door, trusting his feet to mechanically take him towards his own bedroom, where he knew his wife would be. The door creaked softly when he nudged it open, striking another dagger into his heart. All of the doors creaked in this house; he’d been planning on fixing them all before the baby arrived, so they didn’t wake her up in the middle of the night.

There was no need to now.

In fact, the slight sound grounded him in a way as he walked toward the bed with the soup in his hand. Aelin was laying on her side, a blanket tossed loosely over her legs. She was turned away from him, but she wasn’t moving, so Rowan padded softly around to the other side, kneeling in front of her.

Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. One hand was tucked under her head, but the other was holding something he couldn’t see, hidden under her pillow. 

“Hey Fireheart,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you up for eating a little bit? I made you some soup.” 

Aelin didn’t move. Her face was just blank, her eyes closed, like she couldn’t even try to face the world, knowing the only thing she’d find was pain. 

He couldn’t imagine how she felt. It was devastating for both of them, no one could discount that, but she’d been the one to carry their daughter, the one to feel it as she left the world too early. The one who certainly now felt like it was her fault. 

Aelin had always had self deprecating tendencies, and no matter how many times he’d already assured her today that it had nothing to do with her, that there was nothing they could’ve done, he knew she didn’t believe him. 

So all he did was set the bowl down on the nightstand, moving to climb onto the bed behind her. He hugged her loosely over her waist, holding her securely against him. The least he could do was offer her whatever comfort he could.

They laid their in silence, just breathing together, until -

“Why?” She whispered, her voice full of tired pain. “What did I do to deserve this?” 

Rowan’s heart shattered. 

He pressed kisses to her temple, like he could piece her back together with sheer will. “Absolutely nothing,” he promised her, “this is not your fault.” 

“It hurts,” she said tightly, her body shaking. He held her tighter. 

“I know,” he breathed, “I know.” 

And in his arms, she let herself break. 

Rowan held her as she cried, spilling out every shattered piece of her soul. And eventually he cried with her, a few stray tears slipping down his face. But he sniffed them away, not letting her see. 

It took a while, but Aelin cried herself out, slipping into a restless sleep. He wanted her to eat, but he also wanted her to sleep, so he let her rest, slipping out from behind her to go get her a glass of water. But first, he went to go grab the soup bowl to take back to the kitchen, but not before leaning down again, pressing a feather light kiss to her forehead. 

She murmured a little in her sleep, shifting on the bed, and her hand slipped out from under the pillow, allowing him to see what she was holding. A shuddering breath escaped him at the sight. It was their first ultrasound picture, the one they’d barely been able to let go of for the past week. 

Aelin had made it her phone lockscreen, and so had he. She’d gone around and shown it to all of their friends, excited that it was finally happening. They’d been trying for a baby for so long. 

Maybe eventually they’d be ready to try again, but for now, all they could do was try to get through the days. While learning how to live without something they’d never had.

----

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[wizkiddx]

your voice

angsty vibe, requested by @hollandlover19 than you for th rq and hop this doesn't disappoint too much :)))

summary: tom says something so stupid and has to deal with the consquences

warnings: a bit angsty, but ends in fluff! argumnts and raising voices, I guess could be associated with panic attacks tho not written with that intention

//////////////////////////////////

“Oh, Y/n er sorry.” Harrisons morning dulcet tones were what you were awoken to with a groan.

Everything was achy, and your head was pounding, making you grumble in discontent as you shifted uncomfortably on the technically too-small-to-sleep-on sofa.

This was not the morning you’d foreseen even 12 hours ago.

Lockdown had been difficult for everyone, even removing the tragic health crisis. Being locked in with your boyfriend and his brothers and friends was, for the most part, amazing. Lots of laughs, lots of beers and lots of quality time that you usually didn’t get. But it was also intense.

Without a doubt, since you first got together, this was the longest time you’d ever had with Tom. And it had been brilliant, your relationship getting so much closer and just learning the subtlest intricacies about the other. In fact, when lockdown had been announced, you’d never lived together (the most a week-long holiday).

Though it was also like a pressure cooker, Toms rented house. When one of you were in an understandable but stubborn lousy mood, it affected the whole house.

Yesterday night had been the perfect storm. The weather was unbelievably scorching; your work had announced that they had to let some staff go because of the financial implications of the pandemic; a ‘mole’ had released personal details of your relationship.

And it was like a pot on the stove; everything went from controllable to violently boiling over in a matter of minutes.

Honestly, you didn’t even know why you had started arguing - it was that pathetic. And yet you’d both said pretty horrible stuff - though it was Tom who had crossed the line. Frankly, the way he’d spoken to you was almost unforgivable.

You’d both known instantly too, all his anger at you had immediately evaporated when he’d realised what he had said. It took no time for him to become a grovelling apologetic mess, however even that- it was already too late.

It might sound feeble, but honestly, you’d run and locked yourself in the downstairs loo. You’d cried on the inside- whilst from the other side of the door, he had been begging and pleading with you.

After an hour though, Tom finally gave up - hence why you’d had a pretty uncomfortable night on the sofa.

This brings it back to Harrison, the early riser of the house, barrelling into the living room after his morning run. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, except also slightly terrified looking as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“I’m up now” You sighed, dragging yourself into a sitting position on the sofa whilst massaging your crooked neck.

“You er…. you fell asleep watching the TV?” Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the blonde, even if his poor acting was a little entertaining.

“Are we both pretending that you don’t know what went down last night?” Of course, Harrison knew. The walls were thin, you’d been screaming and he was Tom’s best friend. No doubt, Tom had immediately gone to him for help and advice last night.

Harrison held his hands up in response, caught in the act, and clicked his tongue. “What he said was bad. You shouldn’t be the one ending up with the sore back.” He wasn’t wrong.

“And yet here I am…” With a sigh you smiled which he returned with a sickeningly empathetic one “Anyway, don’t let my sad self get in the way, did you come in here for anything?”

Now, because Harrison was mentally a five year old, that’s how you ended up sat crossed-legged on the floor, clutching a wii remote and angrily shouting at yoshi on the mariokart screen. The whole household was competitive as hell and you were no exception - so some rouge elbows were flying when he viciously knocked you off the track.

Slowly Harry and Tuwaine filtered in and picked up remotes too, so the quiet morning was very quickly switched into a tense atmosphere of yelps and shouts. None more so than Tuwaine, who was possibly the worst looser you had ever met.

Really, you knew all the boys were only doing this as there way of showing you they were with you. That they also thought Tom was a massive raging dickhead. And you appreciated it more than they would ever know. Locked down in Toms house, very much not mutual ground, having three stupid boys behind you meant everything.

Just as you got on to the 18th and final race of the house’s mario grand prix, another voice cut across the tense silence as you waited for the coutdown to turn into ‘go’. Naturally, you flipped round to see Tom, looking as though he literally just rolled out of bed with puffy eyes and messy hair and no top. The sight made your heart flutter, to the point you had to consciously check yourself - refusing to smile softly at him like you usually would, instead narrowing your eyebrows and looking back at the TV.

Tom had so desperately hoped that when he came down this morning, everything would be better. That all it’d take would be a quiet conversation for the two of you to make up - for him to have you in his arms again. Primarily as he had heard your excited laugh echoing through the halls in reactions to Tuwaines yelps of protests - it made him hopeful. Waking up to a cold and empty bed was almost soul-crushing this morning. He did not want it to ever happen again.

Which is why his heart sank so much when all you gave him was a scolding look, before turning your attention to the TV. Admittedly, he was naive to think that what he’d done last night would be an easy fix - he knew it too. So with dropping shoulders, Tom silently took a seat on the sofa, watching from afar. You spent the rest of the race more absent, not joining in with the Harrison or Harrys trash-talking, acutely aware of Tom’s eyes burning the back of your head.

Then came Harry’s celebrations as the overall winner (only just) and when Harrison suggested another game Tom piped up again.

“Give me a turn Harry.”

The three boys kneeling next to you all stiffened, looking immediately to you for what seemed like consent - as if they were engaging with the enemy. (At least it was good to know everyone was on your side).

“I’m gonna go prepare for my meeting anyway.” You spoke quietly, already placing the remote on the floor and standing up.

“Y/n I don’t mind swappin-“

“No. Thanks, H but no.” You weren’t being selfless and giving Tom a turn. You were running away from seeing him.

And Harrison was still really angry at Tom. He’d been so selfish and insensitive and had hurt you- someone who Haz also cared a lot about too. Yes Tom was his bestmate, that he’d grown up with and known for years - but Haz really liked you too, in fact all the boys did. So they were almost as pissed with Tom as you were.

So while you threw the cushion you were sat on back on the floor, Harrison shot Tom the filthiest look and practically shooed him away.

“come on Y/n … just one more? Then you can do your boring work.” You were about to refuse when Haz tilted his head toward the door, only then noticing that Tom had slipped out the room. Now that he was gone ,yes, just one more wouldn’t hurt. The meeting prep wasn’t time pressured; it was an excuse for an escape.

Tuwaine whooped a little when you nodded, planting back down and ready for the first race. Yet apart from that, the room was still a little awkward, you being the first to break the silence.

“Actually Haz, would you mind giving me a lift today?”

“What to the shops?

“Um no not quite.” Tuwaine laughed in his usual innocent and infectious style before asking more.

“Seriously? You know we’re locked down? Boris won’t be happy if you going mad and leaving the house.”

“Just to Y/f/n’s. She lives on her own so it’s legal.”

“She lives just down the road right? Can’t you walk?” Harry was confused, making him look away from the screen, ultimately leading to his ‘diddykong’ falling off the track.

“I’ll have my bags. I um… I think I’m going to stay with her till lockdown eases more.”

As soon as you said that, Harry pressed pause on the race, all three boys looking at you mouth-opened.

“For real?”

“Yeh I um… think me and Tom need some time apart and being locked in isn’t helping.”

“I’m not saying to forgive and forget what he said… but he is really sorry.”

“The twats literally kicking himself.” Tuwaine added, making you smile a little for calling Tom that.

“I know just… I need some space and-“

“Are you breaking up?” Harry almost announced, cutting you off. He would miss you too.

“No! Nono I … well I don’t know. I just- we both need this.”

The boys all nodded, looking at the floor for a moment before Harrison’s blue eyes were back on you.

“Course I’ll drive, but… but I’ll miss you.”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You’d left merely an hour later, whilst Tom was holed up in the garden doing what looked like an almost unbearable work out. It meant he was also out your hair and you could throw all your stuff into two suitcases without him being any the wiser. It was probably pretty cowardly to leave without speaking to him, but you couldn’t. It would hurt too much and you didn’t want to break down in front of him. No doubt as soon as you had got to Y/f/n you did - into a blubbering mess of tears - but Tom hadn’t seen so it was okay.

Speaking of. Tom.

Tom was not in a good way at all. He’d been trying really hard to curb his’ short fuse’ lately- all of which had been well and truly blown in the past 4 hours. After finally being realised from meetings, which he’d not been able to concentrate on anyway, Tom had mentally prepared himself for a lot of grovelling. Once he’d vaguely hunted the house and not found you there, he naturally asked Harry and Tuwaine (both of whom were in the living room) if they’d seen you around.

It was a typical question, the answer he was expecting was that you’d just gone on your daily walk. And yet the response he got was… well a lot more confusing. Harry’s eyes widened whilst T did his awkward-uncomfortable chuckle, the two locked in an intense bout of eye contact. It was as though they were arguing with each, but through the powers of telekinesis... and it put Tom on edge. He was already stressed because you were so angry with him, so not getting a clear answer out of his brother and best mate - lets just say it tested his patience.

“You two need to tell me what the hell is going on right now.”

The two boys both looked panicked to speak to him, which was the opposite of the usual situation. They were some of the ONLY people in his life that would just say it how it is, no sugar coating. Like if he was away and being ‘famous’ was getting to his head; or if he wore the wrong pair of jeans. Even yesterday evenings events, they’d both called him out on what he’d said to you.

So why the silence?

Eventually, it was Harry who spoke up, but in doing so, practically just waved all responsibility on to another innocent party.

“Ask Haz.”

And then Tom knew. He knew this was bad. Immediately his heart was pumping at an alarmingly fast rate, taking the stairs two at a time and not bothering to knock before bursting the door open.

“Where’s Y/n?”

Harrison was reclined back on his haphazardly made bed, laptop balanced on his lap as he looked up with a sigh. He’d known this conversation was coming, but it didn’t make it any less easy. With a sigh, Haz closed the lid of his MacBook and sat up on the bed.

“Tom just-“

“Where. Is. She.”

“She’s gone to Y/f/n’s.”

“Oh… okay.” Suddenly Tom’s voice was muted, thinking he might’ve blown his top at nothing. This wasn’t weird - Y/f/n was in your support bubble and you went to hers often.

Tom was grossly underestimating the situation - and Harrison heard didn’t fancy stringing him along though.

“No like gone. She um… she took all her stuff. I think she’s going to stay there till-“

Tom was already out his room at that point, slamming the door as he did so. Making a beeline for his own room, Tom then frantically started to pull out the draws and rummage around the shelves, confirming what he already knew. Your clothes were gone, your toothbrush and toiletries were gone, you were gone.

It’s important to note Tom didn’t really cry all that much. Or if he did - it was more inconsequential, at a sad movie or one of the rescue dog stories from battersea. Actually, when it came down to it, he didn’t really cry.

Now though, it was impossible to ignore the burning of his eyes, as he sank down onto the bed that now felt twice the size. With ragged breath, he repeatedly fisted his eyes, not actually letting the tears fall - but it was impossible to not acknowledge their presence. Harrison stood wordlessly at the door frame, knowing it best not to interrupt - whilst at the same time knowing Tom shouldn’t be left alone. There was a delicate balance between the two, which he was walking on a knife-edge on right now.

After a short while, Tom looked up with red eyes and nodded at Harrison, effectively granting him entrance. With a sigh once again, Haz moved and sat next to Tom on the bed, clasping his hands together nervously.

“She said you both just needed a break from each other. Think lockdown and everything was just a bit too intense.” Haz had tried to explain, yet it seemed Tom had only managed to lock onto one of the first words.

“A break? Or breaking up?”

“I uhm… she didn’t explicitly say ending things. But I just… I don’t know to be honest mate.”

“You see the way she looked at me this morning? Like she hated me. Wouldn’t even acknowledge that I was there.”

“I don’t know what to say… she needs time and space I think.” Tom was silent for a beat, shaking his head as he cradled his forehead.

“I hate the fact you and my girlfriend are on better terms than I am.” Anddd his voice was back to scathing.

“I’m not on anyones side. But your both my friends and she… she needed some time.”

With that, Harrison made a quick exit out, getting Harry to take over the Tom supervision.

Ever since the atmosphere in the house had been tense. To say Tom was highly strung was an understatement, particularly towards Harrison. Deep down he was thankful Haz was looking out for Y/n: he was glad that Haz was checking she was okay. It’s not like Tom could, because Y/n was refusing to answer his calls, texts, whatsapps, even the slip of paper he’d slipped under Y/f/n’s door in the middle of an especially dark night.

So it was good to know Y/n was okay, but the fact she was going on socially distanced walks with the rest of his housemates was rubbing salt in the wound.

After a week and a half of complete radio silence on your end Tom had utterly worn down. He didn’t have the emotional capacity to be angry anymore, he was just tired. Tired of missing you with every breath, tired of the ten-tonne weight of guilt pressing on his chest, fucking exhausted with being angry at Haz and Harry and Tuwaine.

The best thing in his life and one of the very limited opportunities was quality time with the people he loved more than anything else. He had ruined it all.

And it was the small things. It was waking up to your soft, whispered voice in the morning; it was your infectious giggle when he surprised you with a hug from behind and gentle kisses to your neck; it was your quiet singing in the shower. Especially when he knew Haz, Harry and Tuwaine were all still seeing you and laughing with you. It hurt like hell.

Which is how he ended up hesitantly knocking on Harrison’s bedroom door at half eleven at night, with his tail between his legs. Having been so uber-healthy all lockdown, Haz was already in bed following his sleep cycle, though for Tom right now- he would be awake.

“I’m um… I’m sorry I’ve been a knob. There’s no excuse of anything I’ve just… I’ve been a knob.”

“You’re not wrong.” Harrison nodded in agreement with a sly smile, motioning for Tom to come into the room, after which he perched on the edge of the bed.

“I just… I need to speak to her but I… I don’t want to push her if she’s still hurting and I…”

“You absolutely promise not to blow your fuse? Because she couldn’t handle that.” Tom’s eyes widened, thinking this would be a much harder pitch than how it seemed to be going.

“Yesyesyes i- I promise. I just, I feel broken you know? Even if all I get is the time to say sorry, I-I really need to.”

Harrison released a deep breath, nodding slowly before throwing the covers off himself. Tom watched all his movements with a curious gaze, silently sitting as Haz pulled on a hoodie, then socks too.

“Well? Let’s go.”

//////////////////

Now, what Tom had not in the slightest bit been prepared for was this to happen tonight. Really, he hadn’t even thought Harrison would agree to let him talk to you… and even if he had, Tom not in hell thought it’d be at 11:30 that evening.

His heart was thundering in his chest, trying to hurriedly script how on earth he was going to apologise meaningfully to you - as him and Haz walked the short distance to your friends house. Honestly the whole situation was peculiar to Tom - finding it hard to believe that if you weren’t to answer his texts you wouldn’t be open to an in person conversation.

What Tom didn’t know, was how you’d been texting Haz at a similar point of desperation. You weren’t happy and even given everything Tom had said and acted - you missed your boy. No matter how infuriating he could be when trapped 24/7 - you’d quickly learnt this was the only way you wanted to spend these weird times.

So yes, Tom’s best friend knew you were hardly sleeping either, but needed that little push to interact with you boyfriend. No doubt, you’d still be awake to answer the door.

Once he’d arrived at the apartment block and walked up the stairs to the right floor, it still took some prodding and pushing from Harrison to get Tom to knock on the door. Plainly, because he was shitting himself. Haz hadn’t given him enough pre warning, enough time to work it all out in his head. So it took another encouraging nod from Harrison for him to knock on the slightly rough-round-the-edges flat door.

Y/f/n was single and young, starting her career in Kingston - so the flat she could afford was modest at best. When it was just occupied by a single person, that was manageable - two was a push. You’d only been living with her for a week and a few days but it was enough to know this flat was not ideal for two people in lockdown. You were already stepping on each others toes. It also wasn’t technically legal to move households but Y/f/n had always been in your support bubble as a single household otherwise. And so there was also a layer of guilt to it all.

Naturally then, sharing a bed with someone who wasn’t Tom meant you just were not sleeping. Even if you had both gone to bed early (just to kill some hours in the day) you were still wide awake at quarter to twelve - when a timid knock echoed through the minuscule apartment. Curiosity peaked at who the hell would be calling now; you silently slipped out of bed, managing to not disturb Y/f/n, and closed the bedroom door.

Now you weren’t an idiot. Even though this was southwest london, hardly the capital for crime, Y/f/n lived in a dodgy building with some questionable characters. And it was midnight. Hence why you approached the situation cautiously, tiptoeing to the door and waiting with your ear pressed against the wood.

“I told you she wouldn’t answer!”

“She will! Might just be in the loo or something.”

“Haz this is stupid-“

The air in your chest froze when you immediately recognised the smooth tone of his voice. It was him… and you’d missed that so much. Already there were tears in your eyes and you couldn’t open the door just yet. So no, instead you slid down the doorframe before calling quietly out into the night.

“Tom?”

The bickering on the otherside of the door was silenced, but you heard a quite tap on the door... and could envision exactly what was going on. Tom, pressing both palms and his ear to the door, as Harrison took a few steps back - sensing his work was done.

“Y/n? You there?” He sounded desperate, you could hear the emotion dripping off his voice. It was only when you tried to reply did you realise your own voice was having a harder time speaking.

“Yeh its-its me.” It felt as though this heavyweight that had been pressing down on your chest was slowly lifting, making your voice all cracky and low.

In response, there was a short and sharp exhale. It sounded relieved before some fidgeting as you imagined him crouching down beside the door - mirroring your image.

“Fuck, it… it feels so good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too… I’ve-i’ve missed you.”

Tom snorted at that, a gentle bang allowing you to realise he’d just whacked his head on the back of the wood.

“You have no idea how this week felt.” He was wrong though, you did.

Yes, maybe without the insurmountable guilt that Tom was rightfully feeling, but it didn’t mean that the time apart wasn’t easy.

“I do. This hasn’t been a nice holiday for me you know?”

He sighed, knowing that yet again he’d said the wrong thing. This time though, he didn’t rebut instantly (which surprised you), instead his response was more measured and calculated.

“I am so sorry. And of course, I know because I was the one that hurt you too. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that.” You nodded but given this conversation was happening through a door Tom didn’t see your gentle agreement - opting to fill the silence.

“I um… I’m not good at this whole um… speaking my feelings. But I’ve hated myself ever since I picked that fight with you. It was stupid and uh it-it was all my fault. I’m so so sorry for hurting you.”

“‘Why?” You tried to ask, except the words were stuck in your throat, making you have to clear it before asking again. “Why did you say it?”

“To get a rise out of you. It’s stupid and petty and fucking-fucking dumb. I said it not because I’ve ever thought it, I never ever have, but I knew it’d hurt you. I was preying on your insecurities because I was angry at the world and that was so unfair. “

“No shit.”

Silence reigned as you fiddled with your fingers - specifically with the promise ring he’d bought you a year ago.

“You-you think you could ever forgive me?”

“Thats the annoying part. I want to hate you because you literally stabbed me then twisted the knife but… but all I’ve done this week is miss you. Even when I saw Haz or Harry or Tuwaine. I just fucking missed you.”

“Can you open the door please love?”

Clumsily you scrubbed the tear tracks off your face, scrabbling to your feet so you could thrust open the doors. Because you might still be bloody pissed at him, but at the same time - you needed your Tom. Thrusting the door open, the first thing you registered was being pressed into Tom’s chest. His arms slinked around your waist and held him tight, which you reciprocated, squeezing tightly round his neck. Your senses were all being assaulted by one thing and one thing only. Tom.

He smelt like usual, except maybe the slightest bit stronger than usual - you figured he hadn’t showered in a day or two or bothered with cologne. The top of your forehead was pressed up against his chin, and as he readjusted his grip on you, you felt the scratchy feeling of his unshaven stubble. He kept whispering apologies against the top of your head, almost desperate and religiously.

Arching back, you brought both hands to cup his cheeks, looking into his glassy brown. eyes, which looked so lost and confused.

“I’m still angry.”

“Of course-“

“I’m still angry but I’m going to kiss you okay?”

Safe to say Tom didn’t require a verbal response, taking it upon himself to nudge his lips against yours, yet waiting for you to initiate the kiss. And that you did, everything else about this godforsaken week and a half. His index finger traced the angle of your jaw, whilst he held your lower back tight, pressing himself as close as physically possible to you. Needing you.

Eventually arching back, your thumb ran over his deep and sunken under-eyes, which added so much age to his face.

“You look tired Tommy.”

“Can’t sleep without you telling me goodnight.” That was another tradition you had had. Even when he was away, you’d even set an alarm for whatever bedtime was for the other across the world. Just so you could send a little message or voice not saying goodnight. Was it cringey? Yes. Did either of you care? No.

But since you’d been away all the evening wishes were absent from you. Which hurt Tom more than you may ever know.

“I know you’re still angry but will you please come home to me? I need you to be the last thing I hear at night and the first thing in the morning.”

would love to hear any feedback <333 (but think this is a bit of a shitter so im sorry!!!)

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @pandaxnienke @thegirlwiththeimpala @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @hollandlover19 @hunnybunimdun @crossyourpeter @thefernandasantana@hallecarey1

[thefrontbottomgrowth]

Birthday Dinner (Jotaro Kujo x Noriaki Kakyoin AU)-Part 1

Description: After Jotaro helps Josuke make the streets of Morioh a safer place, he decides to move there with Kakyoin to continue his study of local marine life. It's Kakyoin's birthday and Jotaro wants to celebrate but he knows it reminds him of his lonely childhood, isolated by being the only stand user at his school.

WC: 2560

A/N: I wrote this intending it to be a one-off piece so I have no clue when/if the next part will be done

-----

Morioh is lovely. Right now, the cafe is bustling with tourists. Those boys Jotaro likes to have over stopped by on their way to school to say hello. Moving here was one of the best ideas Jotaro ever had. The day goes quickly with the sporadic rushes we get, vacationers begging for coffee and directions, and a few office workers stopping by on their lunch breaks. The sun is still high in the sky when I start my walk home. My body starts to ache, it’s ached the whole day but it’s only when I can slow down after work that it finally rushes at me and I have to stop. The sun that stretches from the western corner of the sky glitter off the ocean dotted with fishing boats and tourist cruisers. Maybe we can go for a swim after dinner. My body hasn’t been the same since everything that happened in Egypt. Getting nearly blown to pieces will do that, I suppose.  The cool water helps it stop aching so much.

Jotaro is leaning over the stove when I open the door. The whole house smells fantastic, there are pans sizzling on the stove and a large pot of boiling water. He doesn’t hear me enter so I sneak up behind him for a better look at what he’s making and another lungful of all the smells. I wrap my arms around his torso and hug him.

“Oh, there you are, I was starting to worry.” 

I kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. It’s soft between my fingers, like warm strands of dark silk despite being a little matted from his hat.

“Just had to stop for a wonderful ocean view on my way home,” I tell him, only sharing half the truth because he always worries about me. I let go of him to lean against the table and let him get back to tending to everything sizzling away on the stove.

“You’re not in any pain are you?”

“No more than normal,” I shrug, “What’s for dinner? It smells amazing.”

“Squid ink pasta with a special surprise for dessert.”

“Seems fancy, “ I begin to set the table, I like to help when I can, though I have to ignore the way my body aches. “Are we celebrating new species of starfish?”

He grunts a little like it’s a shocking question. We’ve done it before, it was our first fancy dinner in this house. He’d discovered it before we had our table set up so we ate off a cardboard box on the floor. Kujo's Starfish earned him his doctorate in the field.

“Don’t you know what today is?” He sounds a little frustrated.

“Happy anniversary?” I throw out there, though I know our anniversary already passed this year and that it’s in May.

He takes a breath and begins to strain the pasta. His sleeves are rolled up just past the elbow, his toned forearms are battered with scars from the sea and numerous battles he’d gotten in over the years. He picked a lot of fights, using Star Platinum to his advantage before we moved here. Living on the coast has seemed to make him peaceful. 

“Good grief. Today is… it’s your birthday.”

My stomach tightens, good grief is right. I always try to forget my birthday. Actually, I try to ignore it, I pretend it’s not happening. He loves birthdays though, he loves to make a big deal out of them like his mom did for him. 

“Right,” I force a smile, “Happy birthday to me, I can’t believe I’m eighteen already.” I try to joke. Even though we’ve known each other for a decade, sometimes I forget we’ve aged at all. 

“More like eighty, you old man!” He laughs and pokes my side. He is six months older than me I remind him. He’s the old man.

We sit down for dinner. He tells me about his day, mostly wading around shallow waters and sketching the starfish that cling to the rocks. I love watching him talk about it, the way his eyes light up and he gets excited makes my heart thump a little faster. He’s so handsome when he goes on and on about his studies.  By the time he reaches the end of it, I’ve nearly forgotten about my birthday. 

 I tell him about my day and those teenagers he knows, how the one with the pompadour stopped by to say hello. I can never remember their names, just what they look like. 

“Josuke? He’s a good kid, showed me that great Italian place in town.” He sips his tea, then nearly spits it out. “Your surprise, how could I be so mindless? Wait here.”

He gets up and goes to the fridge. The phone begins to ring, and he lets the fridge close, but I swear I catch sight of a delicious-looking cake. And though I want to tear into a slice, I remember my birthday. As Jotaro answers the phone, I begin to feel sad. It’s hard not to think about all my birthdays after my mom stopped trying to connect with me. This isn’t then, I remind myself. My beautiful fiance made me a beautiful dinner. I’m happy now. That’s what really matters. 

“No, and don’t call again.” Jotaro snaps and slams the phone down with enough force, it almost breaks. The whole fuss snaps me back to reality. 

“Now,” he straightens the lock of hair that’s fallen on his forehead, “Your birthday surprise.” He turns to the fridge and takes out a stunning tiramisu lined with cherries, my favorite. 

“Happy birthday, honey. You want to keep it small, I know. I thought we could go to the beach tomorrow and just relax.” 

I leap to my feet and hug him. I stuff my blushing face into his shoulder. My memory floods away, suddenly I understand why he likes to make a big deal about birthdays. I feel like we could be the only people in the world. He kisses me, I'm swept away with Jotaro’s arms around me. Maybe birthdays are so bad.

“You like it?”

“It’s perfect. There’s not a whole surprise party waiting, or something, right?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. I kiss him on the mouth and smile against his lips.

“Aren’t you going to try it? I promise it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever eaten.”

As the cake melts in my mouth, the phone rings again. Jotaro pulls out Star Platnium to send the call to voicemail. He bunches his eyebrow and groans. I brush my fingers over his to try and get his attention. He turns back to me with his face relaxed, but I can still see the frustration brewing behind his eyes. 

“You’re right, this cake is delicious.” 

My body aches a little less with every bite. Jotaro smirks like he can see the relief on my face.  It’s the work of some stand, he explains. Fixes things inside the body. Even now, I’m amazed at how stands are so limitless. They aren’t just for destroying or screwing people over, they’re for healing too. All the same, I know that the cake is only a temporary fix. If not tomorrow morning, I’ll ache the next day. That doesn’t mean it goes unappreciated though. Hell, it could’ve been a normal cake and I’d still be happy when it’s this delicious. 

I know he worries about me, and blames himself even, for what happened. Life got so much better after we won that battle, even if I haven’t healed. Those few weeks turned into a lifetime of something I never thought I’d earn. I know he hasn’t either but he hides the pain well. I know he’s happier now too, and he doesn’t hide that. Sometimes I catch him dancing around the kitchen to the radio, sometimes I catch him looking at me with a smile on his face. I’ve started thinking about what I’ll do when his birthday rolls around. Maybe we’ll go to France and see our friends. 

The phone rings again as we’re settling down before bed. Before Jotaro can groan about it, I hurry over to the phone. He chases after me, pleading me just to let it ring.

I answer anyway. He stands there, I expect he’d be mad and erupt or even knock it out of my hand, instead, he looks deflated; his shoulders slouch and he glances at me. There’s a look on his face like he’s waiting for a glass to fall from a table and shatter but he’s powerless to stop it.

“Son? Is that you?” My mother’s voice comes through, crackling through the speaker. 

“Mom?”

“Oh, I’m so glad I finally caught you. Your friend wouldn’t let me talk to my birthday boy.”

Something in me shatters then. I look at the counter, too frozen with frustration to look at Jotaro. My eyes begin to water, but I refuse to cry over her, over this, over the years wasted. I kick the cabinet, it sends a jolt of pain up my leg so intense I have to lean back on the table for support. 

“What made you change your mind?”

“What do you mean?” She asks. She knows why I hate my birthday. She knows it reminds me of watching all the other kids at school celebrate together, never getting invited to parties. I really didn’t have friends until I crossed paths with Jotaro and the other stand users. Before them, I was alone. Still, she can't stand him, she and my dad think the trip to Egypt turned me gay. Maybe even that made me even lonelier as a kid.

It wasn’t just birthdays that I hated. Back then, it was every day. I always felt like I was reaching at the ocean, watching the secrets to life slip through my grip. It was between her and dad, everyone at school. Everyone but me. They all had something, call it companionship, call it trust, call it understanding, but everyone around me had something with another person, at least one. Whatever it was, it always lingered just out of my reach. I look at the cake plates in the sink. I want Jotaro to swoop in and hug me from behind, to remind me that I’m not alone. It’s between him and me, I remind myself. There’s nothing keeping me from being happy now, no barrier or person excluding me. For years, she had the chance. I haven’t heard from her in years of course like I wasn’t worth the effort. What changed that she suddenly care enough now? 

“What do you want?”

Jotaro comes to my side. He pulls out a chair from the table, then another. 

“Well, I wanted to say happy birthday of course!” Her voice is so cheery, it makes me sick, it feels like fake sugar pooling in my ears and mouth then rotting my teeth. She asks if I’ve met any women, she’s worried about me being alone. At the same time, I want to laugh and hang up the phone. 

“Thank you for calling, I really need to get going now.” Jotaro and I sit next to each other. He takes my free hand and wraps it in his fingers. They’re warm and weathered. 

“Wait, won’t you come home, your father and I want to take you out to dinner.”

“Can I bring a guest?”

I know if I say his name, she’ll roll her eyes, and she’ll call him my friend again. Even if he were nothing more than a friend, shouldn’t he be important anyway? I didn’t have a friend until I was seventeen, I want to remind her she was just worried about me being all alone.

“Just not that tall friend, he’s very rude.” I look at him. 

“His name is Jotaro, he’s my fiance.”

“Don’t say things just to upset me now, don’t do that to your poor mother. I haven’t seen you in ages. Come home for your birthday.”

“It’s late mom,” I say trying to keep my composure. I want to scream at her, I want to remind her why I hate my birthday.  “I should get to bed.”

“Fine, bring your friend for all I care, just, please come home? We’ll pay for your train ticket.”

“I’ll call you back in the morning, and let you know.”

I hang up then and throw the phone across the room. I want to use my stand to smash it into pieces. Then, I break down in tears in front of Jotaro. My face falls against the table, my cheeks are hot. I wish I didn’t exist. He tilts my head up and dries my cheeks. Even all these miles away and she still has a hold on me. I’m like a stupid kid again, waiting to fit into the family. 

He brews some tea and I trudge back to bed.

“It’s not your fault you know, your mom’s a bitch.”

I chuckle at his bluntness. He’s right of course even though I’ve done everything I can to stop them from meeting. She stopped trying to understand me and just started acting as if she did. I know she wanted to help but all it did was make me feel like I had to pretend

I sit in bed and sip my tea in the darkness as he undresses in the pale moonlight sneaking in through the window. His body is softer than it once was, I consider it another welcome change that unfolded over the years. His belly sticks out a little, his arms are still toned. I can’t see it all in the moonlight, but I’ve memorized each curve on his body.

“I’m sorry I made a big fuss before, about you answering the phone.” He crawls into bed next to me. He lays his head on my chest so I can play with his hair. “Every time you talk to your mom, I watch you turn small. I hate it.”

“Do you want to go?” 

“To dinner with your mom?”

I nod. Maybe it won’t be so bad, I tell myself

“And watch you disappear into some lonely kid again?”

I don’t say anything. He’s right, it’s a stupid hope. She gave up on me when I was just a kid, why should I have to keep trying with her?

“If you want to go, I’ll come with you but I’ll pay for the train fare. Okay?”

I want to tell him he’s the best. I want to tell him how lucky I am we found each other, and that he survived my brainwashed attempt at his life. I’m even luckier that he let me stick around after everything was said and done. I want to tell him I love him, but all I can manage is, “Thank you. But I’d rather spend the day at the beach.”

“Sounds good to me,” his voice is deep but soft. His words are almost slurred, I know he’s about to fall asleep.

“Can we get more of that cake?”

“We can get a whole bakery if you wan,” he trails off.

In the darkness, his hand wanders up my stomach, over the cotton of my shirt and the scar left on my abdomen. I weave my fingers between his, I hear him exhale and feel him smile on my chest. Around us, the room is still and silent. If I try hard enough, I can hear the lullaby of the waves crashing on the rocky beach. Mostly though, I can hear the cars rushing around, though Morioh is pretty quiet at night. I can hear a dog barking somewhere nearby. Jotaro begins to snore. I lie awake for a while listening to it all. His head is heavy on my chest, but I feel so light and happy.

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Almost (c.e.)

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~5.9k

Summary: You and Chris were set up on a blind date by your mutual friends. Sparks flew, but you never heard from him again. Two years later, you come face-to-face with him once more for their friends wedding.

Warnings: Some angst, swearing, not much else

A/N: This is a mixture of the movie “Life as We Know It” (mmm Daddy Josh Duhamel 🤤), a dating experience I had, and one scene from One Tree Hill. Enjoy.

My Masterlist

                    Two years ago…

My heart is pounding all the way to my ears. My hands are shaking under the table. My knee bounces uncontrollably as I wait.

I knew this was a bad idea. Why did I let her convince me to do this?

“You haven’t had a boyfriend for as long as I’ve known you.” My best friend so pointedly mentioned when we were out to lunch last week.

 “What’s wrong with that?” I counter.

“I’ve known you for three and a half years.” She deadpans. Even without looking at her, I know she has her eyebrow raised at me and her lips are pursed.

“Your point?” I know she thinks my serious lack of companionship these past few years is wearing on me, but it’s been quite the opposite. Not being attached is freeing. I can do what I want when I want; I don’t have anyone to answer to. If I want to sleep until 3 on a Saturday, I’m going to do it. If I don’t want to socialize with anyone, I won’t. If I want to take a spontaneous road trip, I’m going to do it. My life is my own and that’s how I like it.

“I want my best friend to have someone to experience life with.”

My shoulders dropped, sighing in defeat. There was no way I was getting out of this conversation.

“I want you to be as happy as I am.” I see the love in her eyes as her mind goes to her boyfriend and their new relationship. They’ve only been together for a few months, but I know that this is it for her. She’s a smitten kitten and he is equally as infatuated with her. They’re sickeningly cute. “Which is why I think you need to meet one of his friends-”

“Lemme stop you right there,” I interrupt her, “I hate blind dates.”

“You’ve never been on one.”

“And there’s a reason for that.” She rolled her eyes at me. “They’re cliché, they’re awkward for both parties, and they never amount to anything, thus being a total waste of time.”

She sighed, “Ever the skeptic.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Regardless,” she continues, “I think you’ll really like this guy. He’s already expressed interest in you.”

Like that makes everything better. “Great so now I have to live up to his impossible expectations of me when I know absolutely nothing about him.” As if the idea of a blind date wasn’t bad enough, now it’s only a semi-blind date. There’s no doubt in my mind that she has hyped me up impossibly high, that’s what a best friend is for. However, when your confidence level is next to none and already skeptical of the pending meeting, there’s no way he’ll like who I am in reality.

“I can tell you anything you want to know about him.” She is bargaining with me. She really wants me to meet this guy. She wouldn’t be trying this hard if she didn’t believe we would hit it off.

“Well is he nice?” This was the only real question I had. If he isn’t kind then there’s really no future.

“Incredibly!” She continues to tell me of the many things he has done for a charity he started a few years ago and slowly but surely she was starting to convince me. If he was that generous then he has to have a good heart and therefore is a good man.

How bad could it be?

I check my phone, glancing at the time. Great, he’s late. That can’t be a good start.

Numerous reasons why popped into my head.

Reason one: he saw me and bolted.

Reason two: he got into an accident on the way here and he could be in the hospital.

Reason three: he changed his mind and decided to stand me up.

More and more played through my head as I sipped my drink. 

By the time I was on my second drink, I was convinced he wasn’t showing up. I knew this was a ridiculous idea. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I never should have listened to her.

I chugged the rest of my drink followed by some water before standing up to leave some cash. I was slightly humiliated for actually thinking this would be any different than all of my expectations.

My shoulder rammed into another as I turned to leave.

“Oh my, God, I’m so sorry!” A hand steadied me, gently grabbing the shoulder he ran into. “Are you okay?”

“My already small ego is a little bruised, but I think I’ll live.” I looked up to meet my assaulter’s eyes and immediately I froze.

Holy shit, it’s Chris Evans.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at me, his concern was directed towards me. In all of his charming, ray of sunshine, bearded glory, he was here.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late. Traffic was insane over the bridge. I would have called but I don’t have your number.” He half-smirked but not in a cocky way. I’d seen him do it in interviews before. He could have come up with a lame excuse, but somehow I knew he was telling the truth.

“No, it’s okay. I understand completely.”

He sighed in relief, his gorgeous and perfect smile taking over his features. He looked down at the table and it disappeared. “Were you leaving?”

“Uh,” I stammered, “I was because I thought I was being stood up.”

“I feel awful. Please let me make it up to you. Let’s sit down, have a nice dinner, and get to know each other.”

I hesitate, now even more nervous than I was before.

As if sensing my hesitation, he decided to sweeten the pot a bit to persuade me, “We can even get dessert.”

I chuckle at his attempt. That’ll do it though. I sit back down with him following suit, finally starting our date.

We talked about everything. Anything and everything. No topic was off limits. Hours went by but it felt like minutes. We didn’t even know how long we’d been there until our waiter came to tell us that the restaurant was closed. We left and walked around the city until the night sky was giving way to the morning. He accompanied me back to my car, gave me the best hug I’ve ever received and a kiss on the cheek, promising we’ll get together again soon, and opening and closing my car door for me. I drove away with the biggest smile on my face and literal butterflies in my stomach. That was the best date I’d ever been on.

When I made it back to my apartment with the early morning rays peeking through my shades, I had a text message waiting for me from him. Just a simple good night, he had had an amazing time, and he couldn’t wait to see me again.

I fell asleep, hopeful. Hopeful that I would see him again, that this could maybe go somewhere. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it was hard not to. I hadn’t felt this way in an exceptionally long time. I haven’t been on this good of a date in equally as long. I can’t wait to see him again…

                      Present day...

I finally pull into the parking lot after an hour stuck in traffic. My 12-hour day at work today has taken a lot out of me. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. Thankfully though, my 2-week-long vacation starts tomorrow. After that, I have fourteen days of no working, no getting up at the ass crack of dawn to be able to drive in miserable traffic, no dealing with difficult or boring co-workers. Just fourteen days of rest and relaxation, after the wedding of course.

My best friend and her fiancé are getting married on Saturday. I’ve watched them go through all of their highs and lows throughout the last few years and when he came to me telling me he planned on proposing, I couldn’t have been happier for them. He even asked me to secretly photograph the moment for her. She was more than surprised about everything.

Now their wedding is here and everyone couldn’t be more excited to celebrate them.

Tomorrow is their rehearsal dinner. The wedding party and their plus ones are all invited.

I walk into my apartment, immediately relieving myself from the confines of my shoes. A heavenly scent registers to me and I’m carried all the way to the kitchen. I see my sexy boyfriend standing at the stove with his back towards me.

“Hey babe,” he calls without turning around.

I hum, happily making my way towards him. I wrap my arms around his waist, placing a kiss on his back. “What is that unbelievable smell?”

He chuckles, vibrating through his chest. “Your favorite, of course.”

I hum again, “You spoil me, baby.”

He chuckles again, turning in my arms. His handsome face finally came into view. His gorgeous brown eyes look into mine as I get lost in his. For the past year, I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a while. Since the day I met him, it was like everything fell into place. He’s sweet, ambitious, funny, kindhearted, passionate, and just overall the best man I had ever met. He makes me so happy…

Oh who am I kidding? He’s perfect. He is everything I ever wanted. If I made a list of all of the qualities I wanted in a husband, he would check off every single box.

But the feelings I have had for him over the last year are nothing compared to what I had in one night for him. I find myself wishing his eyes were bright blue instead of dark brown. I wish his arms were around me instead of the ones around me right now. The butterflies from that night have stayed dormant ever since.

I don’t know what happened after that night. I honestly thought we had a good time that night. Conversations flowed seamlessly. We made each other laugh so hard we had tears running down our faces. The physical connection was there- at first he had his arm around my shoulders as we walked around town, but as time went on he slowly moved lower around my waist, eventually intertwining our hands together until we arrived back at our cars. He even said that he wanted to see me again.

But I never heard from him again after that one text message. No call, no text, not even a message from my friend’s boyfriend. Nothing. I was disappointed beyond belief. I didn’t think he was that guy: the type to ditch someone without any explanation or goodbye. I thought I understood him to be a gentleman. Everything I had read about him pointed to him being one of the purest humans in the world. This was the opposite of all of that.

From that day on, I’ve loathed him. He gave me the perfect evening and then cut me off cold turkey from anything further. I have a three strike rule. His first: he was late. His second: he tricked me into liking him. His third: he lied to me. Three strikes and he’s out.

I have tried not to look back since. It’s not without its difficulties though since he’s literally everywhere. On magazine covers, in commercials, movie trailers, streaming services- he’s there. Why did he have to be such a successful actor? If he weren’t, it would make for forgetting him that much easier.

No closure. No answers. Nothing.

The rehearsal dinner went smoothly the next night which hopefully was foreshadowing for the big day itself. 

A majority of us were standing around about to start when the doors loudly being opened drew everyone’s attention away from our milling about. A man stood in the middle of the doorway then strode in like he owned the place. The closer he got, the more the details of his face came into focus.

No. Freaking. Way.

I look toward my best friend. She looked like she wasn’t shocked he was late, but she knew he was coming. I creep up behind her and clear my throat. Instantly she cringed.

“Did you forget to tell me something?” I whisper to her.

She sends me an apologetic smile, “Well, I actually put off telling you ‘cause I didn’t know how you would react and then I meant to tell you last night but with the whole ‘I’m getting married in two days’ buzz took over and now the rehearsal is here-”

“Just please tell me I’m not walking in with him.” I beg.

She chuckles nervously before she escaped to go greet him with her fiancé.

I turn to her sister who is also one of my closest friends. “Did you know he was going to be a groomsman?”

The guilt written in her face tells me everything I need to know. “She made me promise not to tell you.”

I groan, “The loyalty level around here is staggeringly low.”

I head over to where my boyfriend is standing and take comfort in his arms before I have to deal with the man who broke my heart.

“Are you okay?” He asks a little confused by my actions.

I nod, “Just tired from last night.” He chuckles at the mention of the night before, squeezing me into his chest.

“Alright everyone! Time to get started.” The wedding coordinator beckons us all to the back entrance of the barn standing next to our corresponding wedding party member. I stand right in front of the Maid of Honor and Best Man. I kept my eyes forward focusing on anything but the guy who took his place next to me.

“It’s good to see you,” He murmurs to me over the instructions of the coordinator.

I scoff and roll my eyes. He has the nerve to say that to me after two years of silence. I imagined a million times what it would be like to see him again. I’d imagined a lot of screaming with possible hitting. Or I thought about the ever-effective, old fashioned silent treatment. He doesn’t deserve to know that our one night out together effected me so much and I’ve carried a rather large torch for him ever since. At the very moment, it will be the latter, but there’s no telling what tonight and tomorrow will bring.

“Now ladies, rest- don’t grab- your hand near the crook of his arm. Men, keep your arm at that angle with an open hand resting on your stomach- no fist. And don’t forget to smile- this is a happy day!” As quickly as he showed up, the coordinator was on to the bride and her father before either of us could register he was there.

I begrudgingly did as I was instructed, “resting” my hand on his bare forearm, holding a stand-in bouquet for the occasion in my other hand.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” He speaks again but I ignore him once more.

Thankfully that was when it was our turn to walk down the aisle. For the rest of the rehearsal, he didn’t get a chance to say anything else. As soon as we were done, I go straight for my boyfriend. I figured there’s no way he would approach me if I were with another man.

We all head to the restaurant afterwards to celebrate the last night before our friends begin their lives together as husband and wife. I keep my distance from Chris, always sticking close with my boyfriend.

The one moment I was alone was when I went to the bathroom. I thought for the few minutes I wouldn’t be in danger.

However I was wrong.

As soon as I step out an arm shot out in front of me. A very pale muscular arm.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me for the next two days?”

I duck under his arm fully planning on continuing what I set out to do.

“Y/N,” he grabs my arm, “will you please talk to me? What did I do to make you so mad at me?”

I whip around hopefully sending daggers his way. “Are you serious right now?”

“She finally speaks!” He exclaims.

“Because I cannot believe what I’m hearing. Like, I don’t think I heard you right.” All of the feelings I’ve been burying for two years were making their way up to the surface and I don’t think I can stop them. “We had a fantastic night. It was literally the best night of my life, it was the most comfortable with a guy that I had ever been. You made me laugh, you gave me butterflies, you helped me feel for the first time in years.” I try to swallow down the lump that was forming in my throat. “You told me you wanted to see me again. You made me excited for the future for once in my life… and then you took it away.”

With every second that passed, his expression got closer and closer to utter defeat: his shoulders slumped, his grip on my arm loosened, his jaw slowly unclenched, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You were late,” I hold up one finger, “You tricked me,” two fingers,” “You lied to me.” Three fingers were up and in front of his face for emphasis. “Three strikes and you’re out.”

I back away from him, having nothing more I wanted to say. As soon as I turned the corner, I felt liberated… for about five seconds. When that passed, devastation hit. For the last two years, I’ve held out hope- I tried not to- but I did, that maybe someday something could happen between us. That maybe, just maybe, we could pick up where we left off that night.

Now that the moment of confrontation has come and gone, I feel all the hope fade away. All of those possibilities I pictured have left the building. Being with him is no longer an option. I have my boyfriend who makes me happy, who gives me everything I could possibly want.

The rest of the night went on without another incident. Chris kept his distance. However, I could feel his eyes on me for every second that passed as we sat at the table. It was a relief when we finally left and could retreat back to our hotel rooms for the night. The bride and I got to stay in a suite that we’ll all be getting ready in in the morning. They wanted to uphold the “not seeing each other the night before the wedding,” even though they’ve lived with each other for a year and a half now.

On the wedding day, everything went according to plan. Everyone was on time to hair and make-up, pictures went flawlessly, the weather cooperated with everything, Chris didn’t attempt to talk to me at all- it was a perfect day to watch two people who love each other commit to the other for the rest of their lives.

But then came the reception. That’s when I knew apparently all bets would be off. The ceremony was over. Niceties would wear off as more and more alcohol is consumed. I was not looking forward to it.

We make our ridiculous entrances and take our seats at the head table. We eat then speeches were made. Lots of laughs were had as the Best Man dished on stories he had with the groom growing up, a few tears were shed at her sister’s after recounting the moment the bride knew he was the man of her dreams- overall I’d say they were a success.

Again, I felt his eyes on me, burning holes in the side of my head from the other side of the groom for the entire dining portion of the evening. I kept myself from glancing in his direction, instead focusing on the conversations with the bride’s sister next to me and my boyfriend who is across the way- anything not to meet his eyes.

Finally the DJ announces it was time for all to convene on the dancefloor after the specialty dances. I immediately see my boyfriend start to stand, knowing he’d been ready for this all night. I’d been looking forward to dancing with him all night as well, I even removed my shoes in anticipation. As I stand up, a hand is held out in front of me. I knew whose hand it was. I remember staring at it as he would rub his lips on our date. The strength of it as it intertwined with mine as we walked down the streets of our town, the safeness I felt as he squeezed it if he detected I was getting anxious around a group of people and I needed the reassurance. I knew that hand well, unfortunately.

“Dance with me?” He nearly whispers in my ear. I didn’t realize he was that close until I could feel said whisper on my neck. I contain the shiver that runs down my spine at how husky his voice is. God I’ve missed that…

No! I will not be enchanted by him again. He does not deserve me.

I exhale the breath I was holding, it comes out a lot harsher than I expected. “No, thank you.” I turn away from him, but his hand gently grabs my arm stopping me from going any further.

He whispers again, “He’s not good enough for you,” before walking away.

I’m frozen in place. I glare at his retreating back as he makes his way over to the bar. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. How dare he… How fucking dare he assume anything about me or my relationship. He doesn’t know anything about what our relationship is like. My boyfriend treats me so well, spoils me even though I know I don’t deserve it. He listens to me, he cares about me, and he makes me laugh until I cry- he’s everything I’ve wanted in a man. Chris is the one who had his chance and subsequently blew it. He has no right to judge or even comment on my relationship when he knows absolutely nothing about it.

I hurriedly make my way to my awaiting boyfriend and pull him onto the crowded dancefloor. “You okay?” He asks me, “Did he say something to upset you?”

“Nothing worth repeating.” All I wanted to do was forget about him and his irrelevant feelings towards my relationship…

…Except I couldn’t. His words rattled me. Does he see something I don’t? He told me on our date that he’s an excellent judge of character so he wouldn’t say something like that unless he got a bad feeling, right? Either that or he said it just to get under my skin and force me to talk to him. No matter the reason I hate him for it because my pride won’t let it stand.

I spot him leaning against the bar, staring directly at the two of us over the rim of his glass. His perfect eyebrow quirks up at the eye contact, that sets my blood to boiling. He thinks he’s so smug. I wish I could just slap that stupid hidden smirk right off his perfect face…

Following a few dances, I mutter something about him going to dance with the bride to my boyfriend before exiting the dancefloor. I rush out of the barn, away from the crowd needing some air from his suffocating gaze. I find a little lit area that’s perfect for pictures. There are rectangular hay bales set together as a makeshift U-shaped bench with some low watt bulbs strung up above between two poles. It would be serene if I weren’t already on edge.

After taking a few deep breaths, I finally feel like I can speak without yelling. “You had no right.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know he followed me out here. It’s exactly what I wanted him to do, just like it was his intention to get under my skin. As much as I wished to avoid this conversation it seems that we can’t go on without it. We may tear each other apart in the process, but this is my chance for closure. This is my only opportunity to get the answers I’ve been needing to move on for the past two years. Two years of wondering what went wrong after the most perfect date I’ve ever been on with an equally perfect man has been eating at my heart and mind. I hated always wondering “what if” or “what would I be doing right now if I were with him” especially when I started dating my boyfriend. I had no answers as to why those questions could not be. I thought with time I’d stop asking them, thinking I’d never see the man again. He’s a big movie star, why would he wonder about a woman he went on one date with?

As I expected, his deep baritone voice comes behind me, but his words do little to ease my nerves. In fact they set them off even more so than before. “I’m sorry.”

I scoff at his half-hearted apology, knowing he doesn’t mean it at all. “Oh bite me, Christopher.” I turn around to face him. God he looks even better out here. The subtle gold glow from the lights are complimenting his skin tone, they make his baby blues shine which just frustrates me more.

“Please, Y/N,-” He takes a step closer to me, but I won’t have that. 

“No,” I take a step back keeping the needed distance between us for fear I may strangle him. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses. You had no right to pass judgment on a relationship that you know absolutely nothing about.”

He slips his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “Oh, I’ve seen enough.”

“Really?” I jut my hip out, resting my hand on it. “In the two days you’ve been here, you think you’ve got us all figured out?”

“Yes,” he answers with conviction. 

My shaking hands clench into fists, trying my damnedest not to lose control. I entangle them into my hair as best as I can without ruining the work the hairstylist did this morning before running them down my face. He has some nerve. 

“We had one night. One night! One nearly perfect night together and suddenly that makes you an expert on what is good for me?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘an expert’-”

“I wouldn’t say anything!” I interrupt, “I never heard from you again. Now after two years, you come in here acting like you know anything about me or my relationship? Who do you think you are?”

“A man who made a mistake!” He snaps.

There was a long pause. I never expected to hear that from him. All these years I wanted to think the worst of him for leaving me hanging like that. He got my hopes up, thinking we may have a future together only for them to come crashing back down to Earth when he never contacted me again. I wondered and wondered if maybe I read the signals wrong. Maybe I took his flirting as more than it was. Maybe the small gestures like his arm around my shoulders, on the small of my back, or the hand holding were only him being friendly. I wracked my brain going over every single detail of the night to try and pinpoint a reason for him not to have called me afterwards. I found nothing, which was equally as frustrating.

“Alright, I made a mistake.” He moves to sit on one of the hay bales. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, letting out a huge sigh. “God I wanted everything with you.”

Once again, I’m frozen by his words. He what? But that doesn’t make sense. His words and his actions don’t line up- how could that be?

He removes his hands from his face, staring at the grass. “After that night, I wanted it all. I wanted to settle down, get the house with a white picket fence in the suburbs, carry you through the threshold after our wedding day, bring our children home from the hospital, watch them grow until we’re old and gray. I wanted everything.”

My heart aches. All of that was exactly what I wanted, especially with him. I could feel the tears building behind my eyes, my heart breaking mourning the loss of what we could have had by now if he had only said something.

I also find my anger growing as well. If he felt all of that, why did he not contact me again? Why did he give me hope that our night out together could have been the start of something good and then taken it away just as quickly?

“But?” There had to be a “but” coming after his statement. Clearly something stopped him from pursuing the possibility of “us,” destroying any future we could have had.

He sighs, “but…” he finally looks up at me with more emotion in his eyes than I was expecting. There was contemplation, confusion, honesty, agony…

I look away. In an instant I knew what he was about to say. It makes complete sense. He was at the height of his career, shooting movie after movie all around the world for a majority of the year. How would he have had time to have a relationship mixed in with that? He couldn’t.

“Your career was more important,” I interject, “I get it. I do.” I couldn’t fault him for choosing work over someone he just met, no matter how much he claims to have liked me right off the bat. He was going to be busy. We probably wouldn’t have had a lot of time to see each other. It’s not like I could give up my career to follow him. Besides even if I could have, he wouldn’t want that. He said so himself. He wanted someone who was independent; who could do their own thing and not be enveloped in his crazy life.

He stands up and steps closer to me, “no, that wasn’t it. I promise you that wasn’t it.”

There’s that word. Promise. He promised we’d see each other again soon after our night together. But he broke that.

“Then what was it?” My voice cracks at the end. I can feel my reserves slipping the more he speaks. I didn’t realize how much I missed his voice until now. I haven’t seen any of the movies he’s been in the last few years. I have him and his hashtag blocked on all social media platforms so I don’t see anything of his on any of my timelines. My other friends think I don’t like him (only my best friend and her now husband know about our date). To hear it again brings back all of the good memories we made together in that short night and all of the emotions I’ve been holding back since. “I have been wracking my brain for years wondering what went wrong after that.”

“I got scared,” he finally admits the truth. “I got scared of how much I liked you and how much I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From me,” he casts his gaze down at his hands as he fidgets with them, “and my life. I didn’t want to subject you to the chaos that is my life. I know what my fans would do to you if we were in a relationship, I was trying to protect you from all of the ugly that being with me comes with.”

So that’s what he was afraid of? He was afraid our relationship would inevitably end exactly like his last one? His “fans” were horrible to her. They sent death threats to her and her family members, always commenting negatively on her social media pages all because she was dating him. I remember reading about it right after it happened. I knew that side of his fandom was toxic. But did I care? No. Did I think I couldn’t handle it? I honestly don’t know, but would I have been willing to deal with it for him? Yes. I would have given up anything to be with him. That’s precisely why he did what he did. He didn’t want me giving anything up for him because he knows I’d be giving up any semblance of privacy I had if I were in a public relationship with him.

If I had known these were the reasons why he ghosted me, I would have been broken hearted but I would have understood. Hell, I probably would have fallen more in love with him if I knew that, not fallen in loathe.

He continues, “I thought that if I never contacted you again, you could move on”- he clears his throat-“and find someone better than me who could give you the normal life you deserve. Which as much as I wish I couldn’t, I see that you have…” he pauses as if deciding whether he should keep speaking. When I don’t stop him, he does, “But I can’t help feeling like that could have been me.”

My slightly shaky hands cover his fidgeting ones. His hand moves until he’s intertwining our fingers together, palms touching. They fit perfectly together as if they were each other’s missing puzzle piece. His thumbs stroke mine sending warmth down my arms all the way down to my toes. The sparks I felt back then return with full force. He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine. My heart is beating out of my chest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t feel it in some way.

I feel my heart break in my chest. My lip quivers and the tears threaten to make themselves known. My only saving grace is the fact that he can’t see my face. I may lose it completely if he did.

His breath is coming out equally as shaky between us, he squeezes my hands as if he doesn’t want me to let go. Believe me, I don’t want to. I bring one of our interlocked hands up to my lips. I kiss the back of his hand because I can’t kiss him where I want to. I pull back just enough to see his beautiful baby blues that could have any woman in the world swoon. They were terribly bloodshot right now but that only made them more tragically breathtaking. I tear one of my hands out of his and bring it to his cheek. He leans into it, a tear drops into the crevices between the contact.

The barely above whisper that came out was all I could muster without having a total breakdown because he’s right. It could have been him. We could have been something great. We could have built a life together. We could have had it all. And it broke my heart into a million pieces knowing all of this could have been avoided if life had handed both of us different lives.

“It almost was.”

~*~

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars​ @elusive-beauty​ @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent​ @fantasy-is-my-reality​ @princess-evans-addict​

[honeystwiggypeach]

23. “Why’s it smell like smoke?” Kaidou-centric | reader isn't as involved, just a known character in the story | not establish relationship

Kaidou begs Nendo and the guys to help him cook something to make a bento to impress the reader, saiki tags along to ensure you dont get food posioning, ("Y/N won't get food poisioning ! And If she does it would be the work of the Dark Reunion!!",,,"right,")

Just a bunch of kicthen mishaps and At the end Kaidou is dejected cause all the food is burnt and underseasoned, about to give up, You show up (Saiki ended up telepathically asking you to show up at his house) and you think its sweet he tried so hard, so you say smyhing like "clearly yiu were possesed by the Dark reunion! And they made you forget you're super good cooking skills!"

"Huh?? Yeah?!! Thats right!!!"

"But no worries Kaidou! Because I promise you I will teach you how to cook and you shall relearn your skills and take the Dark reunion down!!"

("I thought the Dark Reunion were trying to destroy the world, not destroy opposing culinary masters?"-Saiki, visual imagine: Gordon ramsey esc bg w/ 2 teams red and blue and saiki innyhe middle of the shot, contemplating)

Aa srry for rambling I really love the idea of doing bits like these xdd

Anyway, you agree to help him learn- Ah- uh Relearn how to cook,

-💙

“Why’s it smell like smoke” x Kaidou Shun

YES! I’m not sure which ones were canonically bad chefs because I know somewheres in a cooking episode someone sticks a fork in the microwave(I know a simple google search will tell me and by the time I finish writing this I will have searched it). Also don’t feel bad for rambling I think it’s so interesting to read what someone wants in specifics, because it gives me things to work with though their are aspects to both specific and non specific requests that are nice, well Anyways I head cannon majority of my favorite characters to be either Gorden Ramsey gourmet chefs or like a disaster in the kitchen so here’s the little writing...

⚠️Mentions of burning down a house while inside(no one actually does it’s referred to when Kaidou uses an open flame stove though) Nendou burns his arm on the stove minorly not bad at all like a touch⚠️

“Listen buddy, I don’t think this is a good idea…” Nendou says patting Kaidou’s back practically knocking Kaidou’s soul out of his body.

“No, no, no! It’s the best idea I’ve ever had!” Kaidou shouts while flailing his arms around.

Nendou although reluctantly agrees.

Before they can get to far into their plan Saiki is right along side them asking what they think their doing seven though he knows good and well Kaidou wants to make you a bento box, that would result in Kaidou’s house catching on fire, or something, maybe you’d get food poisoning.

“Oh I want to make (Y/n) a bento!” Kaidou says smiling brightly at Saiki a drastic difference between Kaidou’s normal on edge about dark reunion behavior and his behavior when he spoke or even thought about you.

“Why do you want to help?” Kaidou asks hopefully as he sort of doubts Nendou’s cooking skills.

“Not really, but you might give them food poisoning if I don’t…” Saiki murmurs telepathically.

“They won’t get food poisoning!” Kaidou whines “and if they did it would be the work of dark reunion”

“Right…” Saiki says nodding his head.

“What ever come on we’re out of ingredients at home!” Kaidou says leading the three of them away from the school building and to whatever market Kaidou desired.

Around an hour in to Kaidou and Nendou trying to work a rice pot they quite and decide they might get further if they try to cook the rice on the stove which is a horrible idea, that they are able get away with as Saiki stepped out of the room to use the restroom.

Ag the most Saiki may have been gone for ten minutes! Ten minutes was all it took for Nendou and Kaidou to make about fifty mistakes, first they put two different pits of water boiling one to cook rice and the other to make macaroni.

Ok, Saiki thinks to himself, not an ounce of salt in either pots of water for the macaroni and their is a perfectly good rice pot sitting across from Nendou unplugged.

“Why wouldn’t you use the rice pot?” Saiki asks motioning towards the pot.

“It’s broken!” Kaidou huffs.

“Tried plugging it in?” Saiki plugs the rice pot in and it beeps alerting them of the heat it was about to put off as it warmed itself.

Both Nendou and Kaidou lower their gazes to the floor fumbling with their fingers as Saiki scoffs disappointedly.

“Saiki buddy, we’re out of milk do you mind?” Nendou asks and Saiki simply nods before walking out the house but not before telling you that you should probably go and see what their doing before Kaidou burns down his whole house with them inside.

Immediately after Saiki leaves Nendou burns himself on the flames of the stove. So of course Kaidou being the good host runs to get the first aid kit and in the process burns the rice he forgot to take off the flame, and suddenly the cheese packet for the macaroni is melting onto the stove as well.

It’s a mess both Kaidou and Nendou are panicking, theirs boiled water spilling over the pot, it stinks Nendou’s holding his burnt hand while Kaidou chases him with the first aid kit because Nendou is running from the water that continuesly just boiling over and dripping onto the floor, at some point Kaidou begins to just give up and prey his mom comes home soon, and when his front door is opened he thinks that maybe just maybe his prayers were answered.

They weren’t it was Saiki back with the milk, how face palms at the absolute mess the two made of the kitchen.

Almost as soon as the problem began it’s over and cleaned as the two sit in the living room waiting for Saiki to call them back in.

He calls them back in and lets Kaidou package the burnt food that tastes nasty and under seasoned and he now understands what he meant by saying he would tag along to prevent food poisoning.

All Kaidou wants to do is curl into a hall and cry, he just wants to impress you, because everyone else seems to think his child like nature is rather lame so he feels the need to impress you, he quickly ushers the other boys out of his house and curls onto the couch as he cries over the burnt food that would never impress you.

Eventually you arrive and knock softly on Kaidou’s door.

He drags his feet over to the door opening it to see you smiling at him, quickly he wipes his tears trying to hide the pink tint the tears left.

“We’re you crying?” You ask worriedly as you walk in cupping his face in your hands, if he wasn’t flushed already he would be now as you look at his glossy eyes.

He quickly shakes his head and you let out a sigh of relief, “Saiki told me that you had…” you pause trying to think of something. “Needed help cooking for someone…”

He looks at you wide eyed like a deer in headlights.

“He told you?” He whispers looking a little mortified.

“He did, but that’s ok, I’m here to help!” You say giving him a sweet smile and he nods defeatedly realizing his plan failed horrible.

“Why don’t you explain to me what happened?” You ask as he leads you into the kitchen.

“I uhmmm…” he stalls before mumbling the rest.

“What?” You also confused.

“I wanted to impress you, but I don’t do anything cool, so I thought if I made you a bento box you’d think I’m cool.” He says hiding his face in his arms.

“Oh Kaidou.” You hum “I always think you’re cool, and I think that it’s really sweet of you to try and cook for me” you reassure but seeing as he was still hiding it didn’t really work.

“I bet it wasn’t even your fault, it’s probably dark reunion possessing you.” At that his head shoots up and he’s responsive again.

“You’re right it burnt because of them” he shouts.

“Tell you what why don’t I help you cook this time?” He nods quickly accepting any time he can get to spend with you, and that’s how the two of you spend the weekend, ‘teaching’ Kaidou who really isn’t a horrible chef how to cook.

[candy-and-writing]

For the birthday requests could I please have whichever of the following stirs your imagination. Stucky with prompt number 86. Sebastian Stan at a party with prompt number 11. Andy Barber (in court or at the office) with prompt number 20 or Lee Bodecker maybe after a hard work day with prompt number 39.

So I went just a tad dark on this 😅😅 oh well! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so maybe Lee had a bad day at work

Like maybe he had to change shirts because he spilled the coffee you made for him all over his freshly pressed button-down, making him late to the station. Then the new rookie misplaced some evidence from a big case, so he had to push back important paperwork to deal with that. Then he got socked in the nose trying to break apart a brawl down at the diner, leaving him with a nasty bruise that hurt like a mother —

And now he had to bring home the paperwork he didn't get to finish. He already stayed late trying to finish that damn paperwork. 

Lee slammed the car door as he got out of the cruiser, cursing as he pulled the front door shut behind him, the slam resonating throughout the house. It was one of the nicer houses in Meade; more recently built and newer appliances with a nice backyard for kids.

Lee's been trying to knock you up since your wedding night, becoming more and more disappointed when you'd start bleeding the next month. It was just another reason he was so agitated. After all, it's been nearly four months since the wedding.

He heard your Mary Jane's clacking softly against the linoleum as you came into view. The thing about you is that when you're frowning, you don't frown. Ladies don't frown, your mother always told you. Instead, your eyes get wide with an innocent expression, like you're trying to keep an open mind on the situation. it's the look you have now, as Lee stepped further into the kitchen.

"You're home late," you'd say, maybe crossing your arms over your chest.

Lee let out an exasperated sigh, shrugging off his leather jacket. "Got stuck with some paperwork from the county jail, Johnson screwed up some evidence. Ya got dinner ready?"

You nodded. "There's a pot roast on the stove. I made potatoes, too."

Lee wasn't head-over-heels your attitude, your quiet voice and short responses. He supposed it was warranted, though, as much as he disliked it; when he called to tell you he'd be home late he didn't say it'd be dark by the time he got home.

He sat down at the kitchen table and opened the manila folder he had brought home from the station, sighing as he clicked his pen open. 

"Aye, darlin'!" he called out to you. "Mind grabbing me a beer?"

Your voice was quiet as it echoed through the kitchen. "We don't have any."

Lee nearly snapped the pen between his fingers.

"What didya say?" he asked, thinking he misheard you.

"I said we don't have any."

Lee stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the hardwood. He marched into the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator door open.

"I thought ya went to the store," Lee growled through gritted teeth.

"I—I guess I forgot," you answered, your voice timid. Lee slammed the refrigerator shut, making you jump.

"You forgot?" 

He was on you before you could blink, his hand tight around your throat as he pulled you close to him. Your small hands went to his wrist, trying to pull him off you. "I asked ya to do one thing: Get groceries. You get beer every week, yeah? What was so different about this week?"

"I—I don't know, I'm sorry—"

Lee squeezed your throat in warning, effectively shutting you up. "You know how hard I work to provide fer ya? To provide fer us? All I ask is you do as I say, why's that so hard, huh?"

"Please, Lee," you whimpered. "I—I'll go get you some beer, okay? I'll go and—" Lee tightened his grip around your throat, cutting you off.

"You think I'm gonna let you go out at this time a'night?" Lee snarled, his grip only getting tighter.

"Y—you're right, I—I'm sorry—"

"I am so sick of your voice. Why don't you shut up and put your mouth to better use?"

His words stung, but you knew better than to argue when he got like this. When Lee released your throat you sucked in a shaky breath, looking up at Lee with watery eyes.

"I won't tell ya again. Be a good girl now."

You got down on your knees, your hands trembling as you struggled to undo the zipper on Lee's trousers. You saw his hand move out of the corner of your eye and you flinched, a tear slipping past your lashes.

"I'm trying," you choked out. "It—it won't — I'm sorry, I'm trying —"

He gently batted your hand away, easily undoing his belt and fly, shuffling the trousers down his thighs. You let out a small sigh, looking up at him in thanks. Lee glared down at you, nodding to the hard-on that tented his underwear. You were quick to pull the undergarment away, his hard-on standing eagerly against his soft stomach. Your manicured hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the bulbous head red and throbbing. Your tongue darted out to lick your lower lip in anticipation and you looked up at Lee again. He only raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You just gonna sit there?" Lee questioned.

You flinched at his tone, pressing a quick kiss to the base of his cock. As you pressed your tongue against his velvety flesh, you heard Lee let out a hiss. You dragged your tongue against the underside of his cock, whimpering when the Sheriff's fingers tangled themselves into your hair, ruining its styled appearance. You swirled your tongue around his head, feeling the muscle twitch against your tongue. His grip on your hair tightened.

"Quit yer teasin'," Lee growled.

You nodded softly, swallowing your nerves. You took him into your mouth, your jaw aching as your lips stretched to accommodate the girth of him. Lee let a shaky exhale as you took him further into your mouth, the tip of his cock grazing the back of your throat.

You should have known better, you though to yourself as you struggled to breathe through your nose. You didn't forget to buy the beer, you purposefully left it out of your shopping cart. You wanted Lee to quit drinking; you didn't think he'd get so upset over it. If the two of you were ever going to start a family, your children needed someone they could look up to as a father. He knew that better than anyone.

Lee pushed his cock deeper down your throat; your hands flew to his thighs and you dug your nails into his skin, gulping in panic. You retched, trying to pull away.

"Breathe through yer nose, darlin'," Lee husked. "Don't ferget to breathe."

You always forgot to breathe. You whimpered and nodded as best you could, focusing on inhaling and exhaling through your nose. 

You bobbed your head up and down his length, your rhythm keeping time with your erratic heart heat. Lee groaned and ran his fingers along your scalp, caressing you gingerly and you moaned as the sloppy sounds filled your ears. 

"Atta girl," Lee moaned. "Fuck."

You knew Lee was close when you felt him twitch against your tongue. He was guiding your movements, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

“Ah, fuck, baby,” Lee cursed, his fingers tightening on your hair. You groaned, the vibrations reverberating through his cock.

“Yer gonna swallow,” Lee growled, “take all that I give ya.”

Lee shuddered, gasping as he pushed himself down your throat, your nose brushing against his pelvis. Lee came down your thrust and you struggled to swallow all of his seed, coughing and sputtering around his cock.

He only pulled out when you were swatting at Lee’s thighs, struggling to breathe. You gasped, a shudder dancing down your spine as Lee smiled cynically down at you.

“We ain’t done yet, darlin’. Get yer ass up here.”

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eight - “hovel, sweet hovel”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n arrive the shelter and take a look at what it has to offer.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: what would you like to see happen next? let me know! (p.s. this is what i pictured the shelter/hovel to look like)

"I think this is it," Bucky said, looking forward at the structure in front of them.

"That's the 'shelter?'" Y/N huffed, hopelessly annoyed.

They had been walking and jogging on and off for forty-five minutes straight. Her feet killed.

"We're... gonna die."

"We are not gonna die, Y/N."

"Look at it! That is a hovel!"

"Well, inside's better than outside," Bucky retorted. "At least no one will see us if we're in there. It looks abandoned, they'll assume it actually is.”

She sighed and followed behind Bucky into the shelter. It was a one story stone structure that looked so old and weathered. It... looked like a shed. An old ass stone shed. She briefly wondered if Wakanda had a storm season because she was almost certain this thing wouldn't withstand it.

The door let out an anticipated squeak, and she was just as disappointed to see the inside as she was the outside. Bucky put the bags down and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah... this... isn't great..."

It was just as small as it seemed. And empty. Mostly. There were a few withered shelves with dusty pots and bowls, and an even more withered attempt at a table. There was what looked like a furnace in one corner with old, rotted wood in it. The wooden floor creaked under their steps.

The whole place felt like a ghost: desolate, ancient, and lonely. Except for one peculiar thing...

"Bucky?" she beckoned.

"Hm?"

(Y/N) hadn't noticed it when she first entered, but in the middle of the table sat a small, shiny, black panther figurine. It posed on all fours, looking ferociously up at her. It looked so out of place in contrast of the eternal layer of dust on everything else.

"What is this?" she asked reaching for the one thing that didn't match.

When her hand wrapped around it, energy surged into her skin. It felt almost... alive.

"(Y/N) what-" Bucky was cut off by a sound that startled them both.

In the corner across from the furnace, a section of the floor starting moving. Wood on wood on stone was not a good sound. Nonetheless, in mere seconds, there was an opening, and if (Y/N) leaned forward, she could see stairs!

Both of them remained still, feet planted on the creaky floor. They immediately looked at each other.

"What did you do?"

"I'm... not sure. I think I opened it."

(Y/N) smirked.

"What?" Bucky asked, confusion clearly evident in his tone.

"I should've known," (Y/N) shook her head. "Shuri wouldn't have led us here unless there was something more."

She held the panther figurine as she walked towards the opening.

"Wait," he grabbed her arm. "We don't know that Shuri knew that was here. What if it's a trap?"

"A trap from who? I don't think anyone knows we're here except Shuri."

"I don't know. J-Just let me go first."

"Alright. After you, oh wise one," she acquiesced, voice sarcastic but endearing all the same.

Bucky tried to suppress a chuckle. "Smartass. You're the wise one."

She tried to go down the stairs, letting him go first, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Wait, just let me go look around and I'll holler when it's all good."

"Holler? Who says holler?"

"Me. Wait here."

"Fine," she made a show of pointedly plopping down on the top step, still and waiting as he requested.

It only took about ten seconds.

"Woah..." his voice came from far away.

"What is it?!" (Y/N) leaned forward.

"You were right! Come down, you gotta see this!"

She wasted no time... and standing beside Bucky, her jaw dropped.

"Holy..."

Beneath the ground was a significantly larger, way more modernized, and highly advanced survival shelter. All equipped with smaller versions of a table, chairs, and cabinets, along with a compact freezer and miniature stove, a chest, a closet, and two sets of bunk beds. Everything was clean and looked in optimal condition. There was even a rug.

"Shuri definitely didn’t leave you with nothing," Bucky commented, still taking it all in.

"-us with nothing," she corrected, retreating back up to the shed to get the bags.

-

Later in the day, (Y/N) got a handle on the panther key and how to use it to open and close the entryway to the bunker. Once she figured it out, she kept it closed, ensuring their concealment and maximizing their safety.

Bucky had found his way into the closet, listing off the contents to (Y/N) who sat on the floor, back up against one of the bunk bed legs. She was exhausted. Her body had been assaulted by adrenaline and strenuous mortal-danger-physical-activity. Bucky seemed to be fine, though. Curse that super soldier serum. His energy was always so high.

"...oh, and here's the bedding stuff. I don't know what this is, though."

(Y/N) lethargically leaned her head over to get a good view of the closet.

She chuckled. "That's a space heater...Oh! And next to it - that's a portable AC. Makes sense. I doubt they could get electric or plumbing out here."

And her head rolled back to center, eyes closing, body exhausted.

Bucky seemed to notice. "Hey, if you're tired, I can make the beds...or at least yours if you wanna sleep now."

(Y/N) stretched her legs straight out in front of her. "No, that's okay."

She wasn't about to force her one armed friend to make a bed for her. That's just rude. Especially after he carried those bags. She felt bad; she wished she had done more.

"Nah, I don't mind. It's not like I got anything else to do," he insisted, bringing the bedding over.

(Y/N) stood, body internally complaining in aching protest. She didn't really have the energy to expertly persuade him.

"Buck, it's fine." Her voice was faint.

He didn't even stop to hesitate, seemingly determined on the task. She thought it better to just give up and let him do his thing since he was so set on it. However, the sheet was fitted and there were pillow cases, not really one-arm friendly assets. He was struggling... very clearly. (Y/N) felt even worse.

He started moving quicker, frustration jerking his arm in quick, irritated bursts as he was trying to get the sheet to stay. There was still no success.

She stepped forward gently. "Bucky..."

"Damn it!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the bed frame before forcefully standing up. His hand went to his forehead, rubbing his eyes in disappointment.

(Y/N) was a statue. She had never seen him mad before; she had no idea what to do. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't scared, she just wasn't sure what to say.

"Can't fuckin' do anything," he muttered under his breath.

She finally moved forward. "Hey, forget the bedding, it doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does," he turned. "We're hiding from a collapsed regime and I can't even make a damn bed. Plus you've done so much for me, I just wanted to help with something. I just wanted to be able to do something."

Oh. Suddenly, his anger was gone. It was replaced with a miserable helplessness. It made her chest tight; she needed to fix this.

"Buck, you don't owe me anything. I'm here because I wanted to help, not because I was expecting anything in return. And I don't know what you've been paying attention to, but I watched you carry the majority of those - heavy - bags the entire way here while simultaneously figuring out the way to the shelter while my brain was momentarily smooth. You were the voice of reason in that chaos we just escaped from, and it's a damn good thing you were so calm because I don't know if I could have handled the panic of the both of us."

"You could've," he murmured. "And I wasn't calm, I'm just used to this. I was trained for situations like this."

No, she wasn't going to lose to deflection.

"Regardless, you were a huge help. Seriously."

He still didn't look convinced.

"In fact, I feel more safe here with you than I would with Shuri and the Queen. You're like a super soldier body guard."

A look washed over his face that (Y/N) couldn't quite place. He looked at her quizzically, like he was trying to figure something out.

"You... feel safer with me?"

"That's what I said, yes."

"You're not like... worried about..."

"The Winter Soldier? No."

He sighed. "How can you be so sure? You have no idea if or when I might... you know."

"We are literally the only people here, and I don't plan on saying the trigger words. So unless you plan on saying them, I don't really think we have anything to worry about. And, even if you did 'you know,' you could definitely get away with it and no one would find the body."

He turned bright red. "What?!"

"I'm kidding! Sorry. But Bucky, you've been doing so well with me and Shuri, and honestly the Hydra programming might not even be there anymore."

"But we don't know for sure!"

"Bucky..." she pleaded, turning her head slightly as to say what is this about?

"I can't trust my own mind," he sighed looking at the floor. "I just don't wanna do anything bad. It's just - weird that you don't seem to be worried at all."

"Why is that?"

"Everyone sees me as a monster."

The room was dead silent. He wasn't looking at her, but if (Y/N) looked at him any harder, she was sure she'd burn a hole through his head. How could anyone see this man as a monster? Logically, she understood what other people saw. But personally, she couldn’t find it in her to perceive him like that. It just didn’t work. All she could find was gentleness, compassion, and sincerity.

"I can't see you as something you're not," she said, whisper soft. "I don't care if you hands are 'scarred from murder' or however you said it a few sessions ago. I trust them entirely."

He finally looked up at her, his face filled with something she couldn't quite place. It looked a bit like disbelief and then it changed into relief and then something else entirely. A slow smile crept up on his lips.

"...hand."

"What?"

"My hand. Singular. Not hands."

A deep, deep smile - to match the one on Bucky - grew on her face just before the pair started cracking up ridiculously. Perhaps this was an odd way of releasing the tension, fear, frustration, and exhaustion of the day. Nevertheless, laughter was cathartic. It was so cathartic that eventually (Y/N) could hardly catch her breath and Bucky's stomach hurt. This went on for several minutes.

In time, they both calmed down. She didn't remember when exactly it happened, but they were both sitting on the floor now. They sat in between the two bunk beds, facing one another, each back leaning against a respective bedpost.

The atmosphere was different now, but not in a bad way. It felt like 2 a.m. at a sleepover, when the conversations get drowsily deep, with slow voices and honest confessions. It was heavy eyelids and low inhibitions.

A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over her. She let her head fall slack against the bedpost, resting.

"Bucky, what were sleepovers like in the forties?" she asked softly, eyes closing ever so delicately. 

"Well," he started, getting into a story of his past with Steve and the couch cushions.

And that's how she fell asleep. Sitting on the floor, leaning against a bunk bed, and listening to his voice fade out into the background of her consciousness.

If only she knew how she would wake up: laying comfortably on one of the beds, with one blanket on top of her and another below her because he couldn't get the sheet to cooperate. With the pillowcase carefully draped atop the pillow instead of enveloping it because that's what one hand would allow. With the bed next to her being slept in with no blanket because he used his as the replacement for the sheet he couldn’t get to cooperate.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

At the Edge of the Woods (Werewolf!Steve x Reader)

Summary: When you move into a cottage on the edge of the forest, you’re ready to start a new life in a new, quiet town. But when you attract the attention of Steve Rogers, a man who everyone in town seems to dislike and fear, your world is turned upside down after he decides that you belong to him. 

Pairing: Werewolf/Alpha!Steve x Omega!Reader

Read part two here! 

A/N: Hey, guys! So a couple warnings about this one: it contains stalking, a/b/o dynamics, non-con, dub-con, breeding kink, and a whole lotta sin. Also, this is my first time writing anything with alpha/omega stuff in it, so be kind! And let me know if you liked it or if there’s anything I need to work on when writing about this sorta thing. Thank you so much, and enjoy!

It was love at first sight. From the moment you laid eyes on the cottage, you knew it would become your home. The thing was tiny, barely any bigger than a shack, and it was a good fifteen minutes’ drive from the nearest sign of civilization. But you didn’t care; you were enamored with the thick layer of ivy that had overtaken the western wall of the structure, and there were huge bushes of honeysuckle growing along the edge of the forest just a few feet from the backdoor.

And when your real estate agent told you the price of the property, the deal was immediately sealed.

“You’re kidding,” you’d deadpanned. “That’s all?”

“Yep,” she’d grinned, clutching her binder of properties tight against her chest. “Quite the bargain, huh?”

“I mean… Yeah,” you’d laughed. “It must be too good to be true. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, structurally,” she began, “The plumbing is on the older side of things, but it passed inspection. Same goes for the heating and air conditioning. There’s been a bit of a rodent problem in the past, but the appraiser said that a few mouse traps should do the trick to take care of that.”

Her smile had fallen at that point, though, and she shifted on her feet as she considered her next words.

“What is it?” you’d prompted.

“Well… The thing is,” she said sheepishly, “The locals have this superstition about the woods in this area. People say that they’re, uh…haunted.”

“…Haunted?”

You were barely able to contain an amused grin from overtaking your face, and with a shrug you turned back toward the kitchen, admiring the view of the trees through the little window above the stove.

“I know, it’s pretty weird,” the agent chuckled. “But people around here really do believe it. Something about an urban legend. I will say, though, that coyotes and wolves are known to roam around at night, so that’s probably where the paranoia comes from. Just try not to go out after dark. And if you get any chickens or outdoor animals, I’d keep them inside a kennel.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured her. “I’m not exactly a farmer. I’m just looking for a place to settle down.

“And I think this cottage is the perfect spot.”

A month later, after the papers were signed and your possessions were moved in, you found yourself happier than you’d ever been in your new abode. You’d purchased house plants and artwork, designing the small space until it was exactly to your liking. You’d even decided to take up gardening, and your tiny back porch had become dotted with pots filled with flourishing herbs.

You fell into an easy routine. On Mondays, you would venture into town, picking up groceries from the local mart and picking up any other supplies you needed. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays were dedicated to your work; you were the owner and manager of a blog that had become an overnight success several months ago, and so you spent those days curled up in the cottage, typing away at your laptop and creating content.

The only strange thing thus far had been the town residents’ reaction to you. Everyone was friendly, of course, and they’d made it clear that small town hospitality was a value the entire population seemed to share, but you weren’t oblivious to the way they side-eyed you. No one ever looked suspicious, per se, more like…expectant. Like they were waiting for you to say or do something, though you had no idea what it could be.

Earl, the bookstore owner, was by far one of the friendliest people you’d ever met, and after four weeks of the bizarre treatment, you finally asked him about it.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” he waved you off, sliding your new books into a paper bag. “It’s just that no one’s ever lasted long in that cottage o’ yours.”

“…Well, that’s a bit…unsettling. What happened to them?”

“Nothing,” he was quick to assure you. “Nothing bad happens to ‘em. It’s not like they’ve gotten hurt or anything. It’s just that, uh… Well. Strange things seem to happen in that part o’ the woods at night, and it’s scared the last couple o’ tenants off.”

“Huh… My real estate agent did mention something like that,” you admitted, starting to feel an irrational spark of apprehension. “What kind of things did they see?”

“Well… I don’t wanna scare you away,” he grumbled, scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard.

“I promise you won’t. I really like where I’m at right now. I’m just…curious, I guess.”

Earl seemed to consider it for a moment before giving in.

“Alright,” he sighed. “But for the record, I don’t believe any of the silly nonsense some folks ‘round here like to gossip about. This is a quiet town – a safe town. The only dangerous thing about this place is Mary Jo’s strawberry rhubarb pie down at the soda shop – I swear those things are the reason I got diabetes.”

You chuckled at Earl, and he gave you a warm smile before leaning towards you over the counter, propping himself up on his elbow.

“So, anyways, back to your house,” he started. “The last people there were this younger couple. They were nice kids – had just gotten hitched. But after a few weeks, they said they started noticin’ howls at night. Now, that’s normal for this area; we’ve got some wolves. But these howls were close, so loud that it woke em’ up most nights.

“Then, they started seeing people walking around the property around midnight. It coulda’ been that they were smokin’ some stuff they shouldn’a been smokin’, but they swore up and down that they saw naked men traipsin’ around. One time, there was one on their back porch, and the husband ran out to chase him off, but as quick as they saw him, he vanished.

“Again, I don’t know if I believe all of that junk,” Earl huffed. “But… the old lady who lived there before the couple said the same thing before she passed away, god rest her soul. And ol’ Lizzy didn’t lie about this sorta thing.”

You made a quiet hum of contemplation, nodding.

“Well,” you eventually spoke, “if I see any naked men hanging around, I have my handy dandy taser.”

A wide grin broke out over the older man’s face, and he reached over the counter to cuff your shoulder.

“Thata girl,” he chuckled. “I like it. And if you do see people hangin’ around on your property, give me a call, ok?” He fumbled around for a business card, eventually opening the cash register and pulling one out. “Call the bottom number if anyone gives you trouble, ok? I know I’m not the most intimidating guy around, but I keep a shotgun at the house just in case. And if the wolves become a problem, call the police. They’ll send some guys over from animal control to chase ‘em off.”

“Thanks, Earl,” you smiled, tucking the card into your wallet. “Oh, and before I forget, do you have any stationary? Letter writing paper, colored pens, that sort of thing?”

“I’m afraid we don’t. Oh, but Greg and Lou would probably have some. Try their art supply store; it’s right around the corner on the left side o’ the road.”

With that, you thanked Earl and walked out, clutching your paper bag of novels to your chest. You had to admit that the idea of wolves on your property was starting to scare you, but the thought of a naked guy just hanging out in the woods was enough to make you laugh to yourself. Even if it was true, you’d dealt with weirdos before. If that was the worst of your problems, then you’d be a happy camper.

You followed Earl’s instructions and immediately spotted a quaint store with a sign over the door reading “The Brushstroke”. Upon walking inside, you were greeted by the smell of paper and ink, and papier mache mobiles were hanging from the ceiling every few feet, dancing in the breeze that had flown in after you opened the door. Two men were standing behind the counter, sipping from steaming mugs of tea, and their heads popped up as you walked in.

“Hey, there!” one of them called, giving you a wave. “Welcome; come on in.”

“Hello,” you replied with a smile.

“We haven’t seen you around before,” the other man remarked, a kind smile on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be the new girl in town, would you?”

“Word spreads quickly, I guess.”

“It does when you live in a town like this,” he nodded. “I’m Lou, by the way. And this is my husband Greg.”

Greg nodded in greeting, and you gave them a wide smile.

“It’s nice to meet you guys.”

“Likewise, hon. Can we help you find anything?”

You told them what you were looking for, and they instructed you towards the back of the store, where you found a wall filled with rows of neat packets of paper right next to a cubby of pens of all types and colors. You took your time in making your selections, not even noticing the door of the shop opening and closing; it was only when you heard Greg and Lou’s quiet conversation come to an abrupt halt that you glanced around the corner to see what was going on.

Your eyes widened when you saw the man standing in front of the counter; he was tall, maybe a few inches over six foot, and built like a tank. A thick, well-groomed beard adorned his face, and his hair was on the longer side, curling just past his ears in thick, easy waves. Despite the chilly weather outside, he was only dressed in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, and you watched his biceps bulge under the fabric as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“…Steve,” Greg finally said. “Long time no see.”

The man – Steve, evidently – nodded his head as he approached the counter.

“Wh-what can we do for you?” Lou asked, seeming to shrink back as he walked towards them.

“I need a new sketchbook,” Steve mumbled, almost too quietly for you to hear. His voice was deep, resonating, and something about its gravelly edge made goosebumps rise up over your arms.

“You know where to find ‘em,” Greg stated after clearing his throat. “Just get whatever you need and go.”

It looked as if Steve was about to say something, but after a pause, he just nodded, ducking his head and turning directly towards you. You stiffened as he grew nearer, feeling an unexplainable urge to turn and run away from him, but then his eyes met yours, and you were frozen in place.

Blue irises stared directly into you, and you watched as surprise washed over his features. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in through his nose, and you swore that you saw his pupils dilate as he looked you up and down. When his gaze finally met yours again, and you stumbled back a step, stunned at the look on his face. It was as if he knew you.

But that couldn’t be; you’d never seen this man before. If you had, you definitely would’ve remembered him.

“I-I…” you stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t sure what you were apologizing for, but all of a sudden you were broken out of your strange stupor. Fixing your eyes firmly on the floor, you turned and blindly grabbed the first stack of papers that your extended hand came in contact with. You did the same with the pens, grabbing a random pack before turning on your heel and heading towards the front.

Or, rather, heading directly into a broad, firm chest. You hadn’t heard any footsteps, but while your back was turned Steve had apparently stalked up behind you, and now you were so close that you could smell the distinct scent of pine wafting off of him. Pine and…something else, something musky. It made your mouth water and your eyes flutter shut, and you could have sworn that you heard a deep growl sound from his chest.

The noise startled you so badly that you dropped everything, even your paper bag from Earl’s, and you felt as if your entire body was trembling as you turned away. On unsteady feet, you walked back to the front, glancing at Greg and Lou out of the corner of your eye as you headed towards the door. Lou was watching you with a concerned expression painted across his face, but Greg was still staring Steve down, as if he were sizing him up.

The cold, early-spring wind hit you square in the face once you exited the store, and it sobered you up enough to cease your nervous trembling. There was still a sense of blind panic, though, a deep-seated fear that drove you to march over to your car without turning back.

As you peeled out of your parking space and sped towards your home, you slowly began to calm down, taking slow, even breaths to slow the frantic beating of your heart. As you put more and more distance between you and the mysterious man from the art store, you found that, even later on when you were safe in your home, you still couldn’t rationalize why you’d felt the way you had. And that evening, when you were getting ready to go to bed, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched.

Typically, you kept the curtains in your bedroom open, enjoying the sight of the forest laying just beyond the panes of glass. But tonight, before going to bed, you drew them shut before burrowing under the covers, hiding away from the lingering, unexplainable dread that had followed you home that day.

____________

You weren’t sure what had woken you. When you jolted out of your slumber, you were laying sprawled out over your mattress, your sheets tangled around your ankles. Everything was quiet, unsettlingly so. It was as if your cottage was holding its breath, waiting for something horrible to happen. The world was black beyond your windows, and the clock on your bedside table read 3:42 in the morni-

Wait.

The lingering tendrils of sleep within your brain melted away as you bolted upright, your wide eyes focused on your windows and the curtains that were neatly pulled away from them. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you slowly, deliberately, stood up from your bed, reaching for your phone blindly as you kept your eyes on the windows.

You drew the curtains closed as your thumb hovered over the emergency call button, and you gulped before turning towards your open bedroom door.

“H-hello?” you called out, voice still thick with sleep.

There was no answer, and you took a deep breath before stepping out into the living room. You were relieved to find nothing out of place; the kitchen, as well, was in perfect order, as was your tiny bathroom. You grew bolder as you searched your house, checking underneath your bed and inside of your wardrobe, but still you found nothing.

Eventually, you sauntered over to your back door, and that’s when you smelled it. Smelled him. The same scent that had flooded your senses back at the bookstore was thick in the air right next to the backdoor. You blinked rapidly, feeling a stirring in your gut as you inhaled it, and you gulped as you faced the door.

“…Steve?” you murmured, suddenly unable to make a sound any louder than a whisper.

Without realizing what you were doing, your hand came up to the doorknob, tracing the curve of it with your thumb. A tiny, experimental twist revealed that it wasn’t locked, and a small voice in the back of your head supplied that it was sure you’d locked it before going to sleep.

One more twist, and the door popped open, goosebumps rising up over your skin as the night air rushed over you. You turned on the porch light with a flick of your fingers and stepped out, wincing when the floorboards creaked under your feet. You half expected to see a naked man standing there just as Earl had said, but there was nobody.

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning against the doorway as your eyes flitted over the forest. You felt silly, getting all paranoid for no reason. With a small, sheepish smile, you straightened up and turned to head back inside, eager to climb back under your warm sheets and forget about the whole thing.

But that was when you saw it.

You stopped in your tracks and sucked in a deep breath as the wolf sauntered out from the tree line, its eyes focused directly on you just as yours were focused on it. Its fur was sandy and mottled with streaks of light brown and creamy white, and in the dim light you thought that you caught a flash of blue in its eyes. You took a step backwards as that same smell washed over you, and for a short, fleeting moment, you thought that there was something familiar about the beast.

It took another step towards you, and that was when you realized how massive it was. You’d seen pictures of wolves on the internet; you knew how big they were supposed to be compared to people. But this was another thing completely; this wolf looked to be the size of a grizzly bear, and you knew that if it were to stand up on its two hind legs, it would tower over you.

Abruptly, you broke out of your paralysis, blinking rapidly as you turned back towards your door. You heard a growl from behind you, but you ignored it as you fled back into your house, slamming the door shut and turning the lock back into place. A thud sounded on its other side, followed by the scratching of claws against wood.

You waited several moments, silently begging the animal to stop, but the thumping only carried on, accompanied by muted, distressed whining. Taking a deep breath, you turned to your phone, punching in ‘911’ and holding the device up to your ear.

“911, where is your emergency?”

“U-um… I-I’m at 432 Nottington Lane. Please, there’s this, this wolf outside and it’s trying to get it, and…”

As you spoke, the noises suddenly stopped. You paused, frowning at the door and straining your ears. But everything had once more gone silent.

“Hello, ma’am? Ma’am, are you still there?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m still here. Um… I think it’s gone now. It’s… Yeah, it’s gone. I’m really sorry to bother you guys. Just, uh… Just ignore this call, please. I’m sorry.”

You hung up and set your phone down on the kitchen counter, staring hard at your back door.

“…Shit.”

_______________

You didn’t close your curtains again after that night. You told yourself it was because there was no reason to, that you had nothing to hide yourself from. But, in the back of your mind, you knew that it was because you were too afraid of waking up with them open of someone else’s accord.

Two days went by with no further incident. You kept up with your little routine, throwing yourself into your work and acting as if you weren’t still shaken up from the ordeal. You called Earl and let him know you’d seen a wolf, just like he’d said, and the two of you had laughed over the scare it had given you. But the laughter didn’t reach your eyes or your heart, and it was still hard for you to fall asleep whenever night came around.

On the third day, though, you decided that you needed to get out. Every time your eyes strayed to the forest, you felt a pinprick of anxiety, and you were desperate to forget about what had happened. And so, dressing in your most comfortable leggings and oversized sweater, you ventured out into town, stopping for breakfast at the soda shop.

Mary Jo’s Soda Shop had been open and owned by Mary Jo herself since before you were born. It was located right in the center of town, and it was the closest thing to ‘busy’ that the small township’s population could be capable of. The front porch was lined with old, worn rocking chairs, and empty planter boxes sat beneath every single window; you were sure that they’d be overflowing with petunias as the weather turned warmer.

The atmosphere was warm and cozy as you stepped inside. People of all different races and walks of life found solace under Mary’s roof, and it was clear by the easy smiles, easy laughter, and easy conversation that pervaded the dining room. A teenaged girl, who you’d later find out to be Mary Jo’s granddaughter, showed you to your table and took your order, and as you settled down into the cracked-leather seat of your booth, you found yourself finally relaxing.

It was easy to get lost in your own thoughts, especially with the dull roar of voices and the soft sounds of country music playing over the radio as background noise. You stared off into space as you sipped your orange juice, content to just zone out for a few moments and let your brain go on autopilot.

Maybe that was why it startled you so much when a man abruptly slid into the seat across from you. You were pulled out of your revelry by a dark shadow suddenly appearing in your peripheral vision, and your initial fright only deepened when you looked up to see who it was.

“Steve…”

The man from yesterday was staring you down, dressed this time in a red and black flannel. His hair, too, looked like it had been combed out, and his beard was shiny and soft-looking, as if he’d rubbed oil into it that morning.

You didn’t know what to say as he sat across from you, his fingers laced together on top of the table, and for an uncomfortably long moment, the two of you were completely silent.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked, and you arched your eyebrow at him.

“Why do you want to know?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and he let out a long sigh through his nose. He didn’t answer your question, and you started to shift in your seat as he continued to stare.

Finally, you told him, murmuring your name under your breath. Upon hearing it, he nodded, finally glancing up when your waitress came back to take your order. When her eyes fell onto the man seated across from you, she visibly paled, her mascara-lined eyes widening as her smile turned to a grimace.

“Mr. Rogers,” she said timidly, “my grandmother told you not to come in anymore-“

“It’ll be fine, Rosie,” he grunted. “I won’t cause any trouble; I’m just talking with (Y/N), here.”

Rosie looked over to you, and you blinked up at her, hoping your incredulity was showing through in your eyes.

“I… I’m not sure…”

Steve huffed and looked over at you, a predatory edge appearing in his visage.

“Go on,” he encouraged you. “Tell her.”

“I really don’t-“

Suddenly, his scent was flooding your senses once more, and you almost gagged on your words as you breathed it in. You wondered why Rosie didn’t seem to notice it as it washed over you, nearly suffocating in its intensity.

“I, uh…” Your voice trailed off distractedly, and Steve’s knee nudged yours under the table.

“I-it’s fine,” you finally managed to stutter, and a pleased smirk appeared over his features.

“See? Everything is fine,” he insisted. “Now, weren’t you coming to take our orders?”

Rosie hesitated, but finally she slipped a notepad out of her pocket and nodded.

“Perfect. I’ll have the sampler with crispy bacon. Eggs over easy. And, uh… a biscuit on the side,” Steve listed off.

After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat, prompting you to jump a little before telling Rosie what you would like.

“Oh! Uh… I’ll have the same,” you muttered, though you hadn’t really been planning on eating anything of the sort.

But Rosie jotted it down in her notepad, all but fleeing to the kitchen after you were done speaking.

“And I’ll take some coffee!” Steve called after her.

When it was finally just the two of you, he once again gave you his full attention, and you fought to keep your mind straight.

“I don’t…know you,” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know you, and you’re making me uncomfortable. Please, just-“

“I really liked the nightgown you had on last night.”

Your eyes bugged open, and your head shot up to look at him. You felt your blood run cold as he watched you with that same smirk he’d worn while ordering Rosie around, and you clutched your purse tighter to yourself.

“Wh…What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” he insisted. “How are you liking living in that cottage? The last few people there-“

“What the fuck,” you interrupted. “You…you were watching me?”

He sighed at your interruption but nodded, leaning forward on his elbows.

“And you were watching me.”

“No,” you shook your head. ���I never saw you, or I would’ve called the cops-“

“But you did see me,” he insisted. “While I was in my other form.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, but then understanding came over you, and you shook your head.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “You mean…the wolf?”

Steve nodded, looking up when Rosie came back with his coffee. She all but slammed the cup on the table, spilling a few drops of the beverage as she poured it. After shooting him a sour glare, she turned on her heel to attend to the other tables around you, the occupants thereof starting to notice who you were sitting with. The din of voices had gone just a bit quieter as they watched him, and you were starting to realize that the entire town knew who Steve was, and judging on the locals’ reaction to him, his reputation wasn’t on the favorable side of things.

“So… Let me get this straight,” you deadpanned, watching as Steve took a sip from his steaming mug. “You’re saying that you were the wolf I saw?”

He nodded, swallowing his coffee.

“I’m among the last of my kind,” he sighed, tapping his fingers against his cup. “At least in this area of the country. But, yeah, that was me, scratching at your door. I was honestly a little hurt by your reaction-“

“You’re fucking insane.”

A scowl overtook his features, and his hands tensed as his fingers went still.

“I would really prefer it,” he growled, “if you didn’t use that sort of language with me, Omega.”

“Ome- What?” You shook your head, unable to process how insane this man really was. “Ok, I’m done here.”

You grabbed your purse and stood up from the booth, but a hand clamped down on your upper arm as you made for the front door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Steve insisted, and you felt fear course through you at how possessive he’d just sounded. “We have a lot we need to talk about.”

“Let go of me!” You tried to pull away from him, but you might as well have been struggling against an iron chain. Steve didn’t budge as he held you in place, and a whimper escaped your throat as he began pulling you to sit next to him in the booth.

“Steve.”

Both of you froze when you heard the voice, and you looked up to see three men standing over your table, frowning at the man who still had a firm hold on you.

“Steve, let the girl go,” one of them said, and you saw Steve’s lip curl out of the corner of your eye.

“Rhodey,” he grunted. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not long enough,” the man fired back.

For a second, you were afraid that Steve was going to ignore them, but then his grip on you disappeared. You hurriedly stood up again, backing away until you were out of arm’s reach from him. The entire restaurant was silent as everybody within held their breath, watching Rhodey and Steve stare one another down.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Steve said, and it was then that you realized you couldn’t wait there any longer. You didn’t care how it played out; you just wanted to get out of there.

And so, while everyone was distracted, you turned on your heel and slipped out, pushing past the front door, running past the rocking chairs and planter boxes, crossing the street without first looking both ways. Your heart was pounding a mile a minute, and you didn’t fully know where you were running to until you were standing in the entry way of Earl’s bookstore.

“Hey, there,” he called out to you, but his typical cheerful greeting died on his tongue when he saw your face. “What happened?”

Twenty minutes later, you and Earl were seated in his office. You’d told him everything, save for the way Steve’s scent affected you. You knew it was crazy, and you didn’t want one of your only friends in your new town to think you were as insane as your stalker.

“…Shit.”

It was the first word he’d uttered since you began telling him your tale, and he rubbed his forehead as he took in your story.

“Shit. I mean… I always knew there was something off about that Rogers boy,” he admitted. “But he’s never pulled anything like this.”

You quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at him.

“Why does everyone dislike him?” you asked. “It seems like the whole town has something against him.”

Your friend sighed and sat back in his chair, stroking his beard in thought.

“It didn’t used to be that way,” he started. “Steve, he grew up here. He was always the golden boy – never cursed, never acted disrespectful. Hell, he was a boy scout for years, and all throughout high school he was the team quarterback. He won so many games that he became a local celebrity.

“But, uh… Well. Shit hit the fan the day he turned 18.”

You frowned; you couldn’t picture the crazy, creepy man you’d just been borderline-assaulted by as a popular, polite teenager.

“What happened when he turned 18?” you asked.

Earl hesitated, wringing his hands. For a pregnant pause, he didn’t say anything, but finally he took a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t personally have anything against the guy,” he finally huffed. “But even I get the creeps when I’m around him. That boy, he was never the same after that fourth of July. Hell, the town hasn’t been the same since.”

You raised your eyebrows expectantly, and finally Earl began the story.

“Steve’s folks were a nice couple. He was their only kid, so each year, Sarah and Joseph would throw Steve this big birthday party. I’m talkin’ fireworks, barbeque, the whole nine yards. But his 18th birthday outdid them all; the whole town practically showed up for it.

“But Steve was off the entire day; I think he was sick or something. He was real sweaty, and his eyes were all…red. Like he’d been scratchin’ at ‘em. And when the fireworks started goin’ off… The boy lost it.

“It was like a flip switched in him; next thing we knew, he was takin’ off into the woods, holdin’ his head like his skull was gonna split in two. His mama went runnin’ after him, and then his pops went to get ‘em after about five minutes or so when there was no sign of them comin’ back.

“After half an hour, we went searchin’ for ‘em, and it wasn’t till dawn that we found the three of them.”

Earl took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes with a trembling hand as he recalled the memory.

“I was in the team that found his parents, and… Hon, they were butchered. The bodies, they were hardly recognizable. Big bites had been taken outta them; blood was everywhere. Another team found Steve about half a mile away, completely naked and shivering by the river.”

“Oh, my god,” you murmured. “That’s… That’s horrible.”

Your friend nodded gravely, but he wasn’t done yet.

“We all figured that it was a coyote that got ‘em,” he continued. “Or a wolf. But Steve… He was in shock, you see, so take what I’m about to say with a grain o’ salt. But all the way to the police station, he kept sayin’… He kept sayin’, ‘I didn’t mean to kill them… I didn’t mean to kill them.’

“O’ course, no one really believed him; it was clear that an animal had gotten to them, and this was Steve Rogers we were talking about. The kid had never said an unkind word to anyone. And his family got along great.

“A few years passed, and Steve was never the same, but we expected as much. Everyone was still nice to him, and he tried for a while, you know? But then Peggy moved into town.”

“Who’s Peggy?”

“She was this real nice girl – British. She moved with her family to the area. Shoot, she was a firecracker. Didn’t take any shit from nobody; the whole town fell in love with her. Including poor ol’ Stevie.

“When the two started dating, we were thrilled for ‘em. Steve was finally starting to act more like himself; you shoulda seen him. The kid was head over heels, and she was the same. About six months went by, and we really thought that they were gonna make it.

“But then…”

Earl swallowed thickly, eyes darting back up to your face before resting once again on his hands.

“Peggy was found one day in the woods, just like Steve’s parents – mauled, butchered…dead.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“No one saw or heard from Steve for years after that. The kid just vanished into thin air without warning. And so soon after Peggy’s death, well… You can imagine the rumors that started flying around about him. Five years went by, and that was when people started hearing and seeing strange things in the woods. And your cottage, it’s right by where the bodies were found; you can’t be more than a quarter of a mile from where they found Peg.

“Eventually, Steve moved back into town, though no one recognized him. He’d always been a skinny, lean kinda guy, but when he moved back, he looked like he does now. And even if he hadn’t changed so much on the outside, no one would’ve recognized the polite young man we’d all watched grow up in this new Steve. He was mean; I can’t tell you how many fights he got in at the bar, or how many times he lashed out at someone just to have an excuse to throw some punches.

“Whatever happened to his family and his girl, he’s never been the same since. And if he really believes what he told you earlier at the soda shop, then he’s finally lost his mind.”

___________

You spent the night at Earl’s house. He and his wife set up their guest bedroom for you, and as you and Sherry ate dinner, Earl called the sheriff. You listened in as he told him everything that Steve had done, including watching you the night before, and after ending the call, Earl gave you the sheriff’s number.

“He said to call him at the first sign of trouble,” Earl instructed. “And he said that he’s gonna head over to Steve’s cabin to have a nice, long talk with him. Don’t you worry; Sheriff Wilson is a tough son of a bitch, and he’s a great man. You’re in good hands with him.”

You thanked the couple profusely, and you were finally able to sleep restfully through the night, knowing that you weren’t alone. You didn’t even mind that you could hear Earl and Sherry’s snoring from all the way down the hall; you hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep in days.

The next morning, Sheriff Wilson stopped by after Sherry had served up breakfast, and you had to admit that you did feel better after talking to him.

“So I set everything straight with Steve,” Sam explained. “He said that he’d been drunk that morning at breakfast, and he admitted to saying some things that he regretted. He asked me to apologize to you on his behalf, and he said that he would stay away from you from here on out, if it would make you more comfortable.”

“I’d be more comfortable if he moved to a different country altogether, but I’ll take it,” you’d joked weakly, coaxing a laugh out of the sheriff.

“Well, I’ll run it by him the next time we see each other,” he’d chuckled. “But for now, I think you’ll be just fine.”

After helping Sherry clean up from breakfast, you reluctantly got into your car and started back to your cottage, feeling your short-lived relief start to dwindle away as you approached your home. Who’s to say that Steve would stay true to his word? And there was something about the memory of him calling you ‘omega’ that didn’t sit well with you. You had no idea what that meant, but the conviction, the possessive, commanding tone in his voice still made shivers crawl up and down your spine.

Once you stepped into your cottage, you gave each room a cursory once-over, making sure nothing was out of place before plopping down onto your couch with your laptop. You were severely behind on work, and you needed the distraction to calm your nerves.

Before you knew it, the sun was starting to slip over the horizon, and as the evening turned to night, your eyelids started drooping. You’d finally managed to catch up on work, and although it took you until 9 o’clock at night, you were back on schedule with your blog.

Finally giving in to your sleepiness, you stood up and stretched before methodically going around to each door and window, making sure that they were all closed and locked. After once more checking that Steve wasn’t hiding in your wardrobe, shower, or backyard, you relaxed and went into your bedroom, changing into a flannel pajama set before crawling into bed.

Sleep came easily to you that night, but it didn’t stay for long.

_________

It was, once again, just after 3 in the morning when you woke up, although there was something different about this time around. There was an almost electric charge to the air, and it immediately made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You sat up in bed and looked around your room, and even though the curtains were still closed, just as you’d left them, you immediately noticed the smell.

Your hand fell onto your nightstand, blindly fumbling for your phone, but it wasn’t where you’d left it. Panic pierced through you, and you frantically reached for your charging chord, but it was no longer plugged into your cell. There was, however, something new sitting on your bedside table, and you flicked your lamp on to see clearly what it was.

Your blood went cold when you saw the paper bag from Earl’s, still filled with your new books, just as you’d left it in the art shop.

“I’d been meaning to give that back to you.”

A scream tore itself out of your lips, and your hand flew up to clap over your mouth as you turned to the man now leaning in your doorway.

Steve was watching you with an amused smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His hair was wild, and you noticed the way his chest rose and fell with quick, uneven breaths. He looked…unhinged, and Earl’s voice started ringing in your ears, telling you all the gory details about the deaths that had followed this man through his life.

“Steve, please,” you begged, pressing your back against your headboard. “I don’t know what you want-“

“Oh, c’mon,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re a smart girl; I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

With that, he pushed off of the wall and sauntered towards you, ignoring the way you trembled as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I read your blog, by the way,” he remarked. “I actually liked it; you’ve got a talent with writing.”

You gulped, not sure what to say as he turned to face you. For a moment, something flashed through his eyes, something other than the smug cynicism that usually dwelled there, but he looked away before you could get a good look at it.

“I’m sure Earl told you a lot of things about me,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry that’s how you had to hear them. But I’m not… I don’t want to hurt you. Honestly.”

“Wow, that really puts me at ease,” you grumbled. “It definitely makes the fact that you’ve broken into my house twice now totally ok.”

Steve huffed, and annoyance crossed his handsome features.

“Careful, omega,” he grunted. “I’m trying to be nice, here.”

You wanted to snap at him that he should really try harder, then, but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that you didn’t want to anger him if you didn’t have to.

“…Why do you keep calling me that?” you instead asked, and the fire in his gaze cooled just a bit.

“…I’ve given this a lot of thought,” he finally sighed. “And I can understand why this all sounds so crazy; if I were in your situation, I would probably think the same thing. But just… hear me out, ok? I’m going to tell you everything I know.”

You nodded, hugging your knees to your chest, and after another deep breath he began.

“I used to be normal, or so I thought,” he began. “I used to be like you; I didn’t know what was out there. I didn’t know that certain legends that we’ve all learned to accept as fiction were actually based on fact. But that all changed on my 18th birthday.

“That was the day that I first turned into a wolf.” Steve paused, looking pained for a moment, but after swallowing thickly he continued. “I had no clue what was happening to me. I just felt…wrong, like I was being torn apart from the inside. I fought to keep control of myself, but… I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“People got hurt; I’m sure you’ve been told all the gritty details. But that wasn’t… It wasn’t me. I tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to keep it inside, bottled up, but eventually I couldn’t hold back anymore. And that was when I left.

“I went looking for people like me. It took me a while, but eventually I found a small group of them in New York. They called themselves the Howling Commandos.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head.

“Not the name I would’ve chosen, but they were good people. They helped me control it, taught me how to remain myself even when I’m in my other form. And I learned more about what it means to be a, uh…

“Werewolf.”

You bit your lip, staring at him as you grew even more fearful; he believed this. You could tell by the way his eyes were glistening with barely-contained tears, and if you weren’t so terrified of him, you would feel sorry for how sad he looked.

“Steve, you… you must realize that this is hard for me to believe, right? I mean… This isn’t Twilight; this is the real world.”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of that book.

“There’s about a thousand things wrong with that fucking story, and I’ll die mad about it,” he muttered under his breath, and you hugged yourself tighter as he stood up.

“You want me to prove it to you? Fine.”

Steve stood still for a long moment, closing his eyes, and you found your gaze straying to the door behind his back. He was distracted, evidently focused on transforming into a fucking wolf, oblivious to you as you slowly moved to set your feet on the floor.

Now is your moment, your brain whispered, and after taking a deep breath, you leapt to your feet. You didn’t notice the way his skin was slowly starting to grow patches of blonde fur, nor did you register that his voice had become more of an animalistic growl as he realized that you were trying to run. You were solely focused on making it out alive.

The back door was closer to you than the front, and you could practically feel Steve’s breath on the back of your neck as he gave chase, and so you nearly yanked the door off of its rusty, old hinges as you went flying out onto the back porch. You just barely managed to close the door behind you, and right before it slammed shut, you were able to make out an open maw filled with sharp teeth. The same thumping you’d heard several nights ago sounded from within your home, but with the way the wood was creaking and splintering, you knew it wouldn’t keep Steve trapped inside for long.

You began to run towards your car, but with a curse you realized that your keys were still resting on your coffee table inside the cottage, and you wouldn’t go back inside there if someone offered you a million dollars to. So, fully aware of what a terrible idea it was, you started running down the length of your gravel driveway, the small stones and twigs digging into your feet until you felt them starting to grow slick with blood.

You didn’t get far at all before you heard the sound of a low, deep howl split the silence of the night, and you pumped your legs even faster when you heard heavy footfalls starting to give chase behind you. Frantically, you turned and made a beeline for the forest, hoping to lose him in the woods. Low branches and brambles clawed at your face, and the cuts on your feet burned so bad that tears started rolling down your cheeks.

It was simultaneously an eternity and a millisecond before you felt a massive weight crash into you from behind, and with a cry you fell onto your belly. Your arms and legs scrambled about as you tried to crawl away, but you stopped with another scream when a set of impossibly sharp teeth nipped at your shoulder. Even though they didn’t cut deep, it was still enough to scare you into submission, and you immediately went still as your captor panted above you.

Your chest rose and fell as you fought to catch your breath, but it felt as if your heart had stopped beating entirely when you chanced a look to your right and saw…a paw. A huge, sandy-blonde paw about the size of your head was planted in the mud right next to your neck. You turned, and on your left side was the same thing.

Slowly, you rolled over onto your back, and you found yourself face to face with the wolf from before, only this time, you were close enough to see its blue eyes clearly – Steve’s eyes.

“…Steve?” you breathed.

Before your disbelieving eyes, the animal hovering over you started to shift and change, morphing gradually back into the man who’d terrorized you so much up to this point. Except now, as he straddled your hips, completely nude, you knew that he’d been right all along.

“Still think I’m crazy?” he panted, still out of breath from the chase.

“I… How…”

“I tried to tell you,” he grumbled, leaning down. You squirmed when you felt him press his nose to your neck, nuzzling it as he inhaled deeply, and you whimpered when his cock twitched against your thigh. “God, you have no idea what your scent does to me.”

You made a small noise of protest when his tongue darted out, laving over a spot right under your jaw.

“I thought it was too good to be true, you know,” he groaned, and you let out a noise that was dangerously close to a moan as you realized you could smell him once again. “I thought that people had to be a werewolf to be an alpha or an omega, but as soon as I smelled you in the art shop… Fuck, I knew you were mine.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to protest, but you were silenced when Steve nipped at your neck.

“We both know that’s not true,” he chided. “We both know what my scent does to you.”

Steve dragged his teeth down the side of your neck, and you shivered at the sensation. You wanted to fight this; you didn’t want to give in to him. But something inside of you refused to do anything but lay there beneath him, panting as he tasted your skin.

“I’ve never been with an omega before,” he confessed. “The Commandos told me they were incredibly rare, a dying breed just like me. But fate must have brought us together for a reason.”

“I’m… I’m not an omega,” you insisted, but a soft mewl fell out of your lips when he ground his hips forward, the line of his cock sliding up the length of your clothed pussy.

“Then why do you have a mating gland?” he rasped, his tongue darting out to lick at a spot on your neck.

“A what?” you squeaked, but suddenly his hands were on your hips, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. His palms groped your ass, and suddenly you felt your pajamas being pulled down until they pooled around your knees.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Steve growled.

No, no, no. Your thoughts were swirling rapidly as Steve’s fingers slid down your spine. You didn’t want this; you weren’t an omega; Steve was crazy.

Why does your body want this so bad?

You couldn’t find the strength to try and crawl away when Steve’s hands left you, but your eyes widened when he suddenly spread your legs wider apart. The cold night air was icy against your cunt and your thighs, and when the warmth of his hands finally returned to your body, you couldn’t hold in your moan.

“That’s right, omega,” he panted, his hand reaching down to cup your pussy. “Fuck, you’re so wet; it’s already dripping down your thighs…”

Your pussy made an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as he pushed his finger inside, and your body’s reaction started drowning out your brain. As he thrust his finger in and out, your hips started pushing back against him as white noise echoed in your ears.

“Mmm,” you whined, clenching your teeth. “M-more, fuck-“

“More?” Steve cooed. “You want more?”

You nodded your head, and a gasp parted your lips as he added another finger, curling it in a way that had you seeing stars. Your legs spread wider, and you dropped to your elbows, pushing back in time with his hand.

“This is what you need,” he growled. “You need your alpha to take care of you, don’t you? To use your pretty little cunt and fill you up with my seed. Ain’t that right, doll?”

“Y-yes,” you moaned, feeling your walls start to flutter around him.

All too soon, though, he pulled his hand away, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. You burrowed your face into your arms and whined at the loss, but a few seconds later, Steve was gripping your hips. You could feel his fully hard length against your ass, and your breath caught in your throat upon feeling how big it was.

“W-wait-“

Steve shushed you, tangling one of his hands in your hair as the tip of his cock glided through your folds, brushing against your clit.

“It’s ok, omega,” he whispered. “Just lay back and take it.”

With that, his head pressed against your entrance, and your lips parted in a silent scream as he impaled you. Your cervix ached as his dick pressed against it, and you were vaguely aware of the broken moans falling out of your lips.

“Fuck, doll,” your alpha breathed, and you felt him rest his forehead against your shoulder. “Feels so good, so fucking good. My good girl…”

You groaned when he drew his hips back and thrust forward again, jarring your whole body with the movement. Your teeth clenched together as he found his rhythm, the initial stretch still burning. You’d never felt anything like this before, and the pain was mixing with your pleasure until you couldn’t tell one from the other.

Slowly, as the minutes went by, your abused cunt started to adjust, and your moans became less and less strained as you once more felt pleasure start to crest within you.

“That’s it,” Steve praised, pushing your hair away so he could press a kiss to the side of your neck. “Just relax; let your alpha make you feel good.”

You whimpered as he started thrusting faster, his hips snapping as deep, gravelly growls spilled out of his throat. Your own moans filled the air as you once again felt your orgasm build up inside of you. Your pussy walls contracted and fluttered as you got closer and closer, and Steve’s hand came down hard on your ass.

“Go ahead, omega,” he commanded. “Cum for me; don’t hold back. Give it to me; let me feel it. Cum for me-“

With a wail, your body did as it was commanded, and you trembled as you reached your climax. Your cunt squeezed his cock as he slowed his thrusts, and your hips moved of their own accord as you rode it out. Quiet, hoarse moans were still trailing out of your mouth as you came down from your high, and Steve’s beard tickled your skin as he pressed kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you were sickened to realize that you enjoyed his words of encouragement.

You were surprised when he pulled his cock out of you, and you allowed him to flip you over onto your back. His cheeks were flushed, and he was panting, and your eyes trailed down to see his cock still painfully hard.

Without warning, he shoved it back inside of you, and your hands flew up, digging your nails into his back as he once again started thrusting at a brutal pace.

“’M gonna fill your fucking pussy up,” he was moaning, his hair falling into his eyes while his mouth hung open. “Gonna breed you like the little bitch you are-“

Despite having just cum, shocks of pleasure spread through you as he filled you, and in this position, you could watch his muscles bulge and flex as he chased his release. His eyes were squeezed shut, and one of his hands was pawing and kneading at your breast as he used the other to support his weight. The veins in his neck throbbed as he grew closer and closer, and you were taken off guard to find that you were approaching your second climax with him.

“You already gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered. “Do it. Give it to me; I want it.”

You closed your eyes and arched up, frenzied moans of yes, please, God, more, I need more, spilling past your lips almost unintelligibly. You were so close – just a little more and you would be pushed over the edge.

Just before you could reach it, though, Steve’s eyes snapped open, focusing on your neck hungrily. You should have felt fear, knowing what he was, what had happened to his parent and his last lover. But instinct took over, and you found yourself tilting your head back, baring your neck to him in a sign of submission.

With a feral growl, he lunged forward, and you shrieked as his teeth pierced your skin, right where he’d claimed earlier your ‘mating gland’ was. You closed your eyes, expecting to feel your life fade away, ready to see blood spurting up from the wound. But that never happened; no, instead you felt as if you’d just been electrified. Every sensation you were feeling was suddenly amplified tenfold, and your vision went black as you came for the second time.

Your ears were ringing, but you were still able to hear the primal roar that Steve let out as he came, painting your inner walls with his seed as hips finally slowed to a stop. For several long seconds, the two of you were perfectly still save for your chests as they rose and fell with your heavy breathing. Steve’s cock began to soften inside of you, but he made no move to pull away. No, instead he collapsed over you, his head resting against your chest as his heated skin shielded you from the cold air.

“You were perfect,” you heard him whisper, and one of his fingers came up to trace the bite mark he’d left behind on your neck. “Your bond scar is gonna be so gorgeous, little omega.”

Sleep threatened to overtake you as you lay there, not truly processing Steve’s words as his weight atop you lulled you towards sleep.

“Go ahead and rest, doll,” he murmured. “I’ll carry you back home, and then we can go again. Don’t worry, doll; I won’t stop until you’re nice and round with my babies.”

You should have felt scared – you should have pulled away and ran into the woods. But instead, you let out a content noise of acknowledgement before doing just as he said. The last thing you registered before slipping into a deep, dreamless slumber was his arms as they wrapped around you and picked you up, carrying you away from the road and into the forest.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Under the Moon

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: I’ve been in a mood recently.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I actually put forth a decent effort this time to make it as gender-neutral as possible. It’s probably not perfect but I tried.

^^^^^

A twinge in the muscles of my back jarred me from my sleep.

$#!+ did I forget again? I thought. Another spasm arched me off my mat. I fumbled through my bag for my phone. No service. Of course not. With shaking fingers, somehow I managed to unlock it. Moon Tracker was waiting for me on my home page. It launched and actually loaded, despite the lack of service.

Tonight’s Moon: Full read the screen.

I swore aloud. MJ didn’t wake.

Scrambling out of the tent, I stumbled through the dark to the tent next to ours. “Peter!” I hissed, knocking a knuckle against the tent pole. “Pete!”

I heard a groan. “What?” Peter complained.

“I need your help. I need you to come with me. Now.”

The tent he shared with Ned zipped open. Ned was curled up in a corner and clearly Peter had been sprawled out. Peter slipped out, barely managing to get into his sneakers, and zipped the tent shut behind him. “What’s goin’ on?” He yawned.

I recoiled as pain wracked through me. “We need to get away from camp—and I need you to web me to a tree,” I replied.

“What?”

“Now!”

My tone scared him into movement. He grabbed my hand and we ran from the campsite. I stumbled more than anything. My control over my own body was slipping. I moaned in pain. Peter looked back at me.

“What’s happening to your eyes?”

“No time to explain. Keep moving,” I panted.

We blindly wove through the woods until we were over a mile away. I found a sturdy tree and backed against it.

“Web me here,” I said. “Just cover me.”

“Why?”

I looked up. The moon was starting to peek above the hills, casting its light through the woods. “Just do it!” I cried out—stifling the sound as much as I could—and slammed into the tree. “Now!”

Peter’s webshooters activated and he spewed webs at me. I gave him a small smile.

Then I thrashed in pain—

And everything went black.

—

Peter stared as his friend’s body began to change. Claws broke through fingers. Fangs replaced teeth. A snout elongated from the face. Thick, brown-and-black hair sprouted. Pajamas started to disappear under the hair.

Until, instead of a human, Peter was staring at a wolf.

An enormous wolf. Easily twice the size of a regular wolf—and he’d found out that wolves were twice as big as he’d thought not too long ago—and covered in grey fur. The beast’s paws were wide and ended in long dark claws sharp enough to tear flesh like cotton candy. Thankfully they were positioned too awkwardly to reach the webs holding it.

“Gah! What the he—” He cut himself off as the wolf snarled at him, writhing against the webs. He applied another layer just to be safe. “Since—since—since when could you do—” The moonlight shone brighter, catching his attention. He peered up.

The moon was a massive disc—full and shining silver-white down against the tree trunk.

The wolf in front of him seemed transfixed by it, staring up with a melancholy whine softly escaping its throat. It tried again to escape the webs, but only half-heartedly.

Peter whooshed out a breath as realization struck him like a blow from the Hulk. “You’re a werewolf,” he whispered.

The wolf whimpered and then growled. Peter stepped back.

“I’m not sleeping tonight, am I?” He asked.

The wolf didn’t reply.

Which was probably a good thing, because if it did he probably would have screamed loud enough to wake up their friends over a mile away—and every big nasty in the forest. And he doubted his werewolf friend would protect him.

The wolf’s amber eyes were watching him suspiciously. But Peter just sat down and yawned again. “You and I have known each other for like ten years now. You’re in on my secret. Why didn’t you ever tell me yours?” He stared at the wolf, who was still seething at being trapped, but not fighting against the webs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Again, the wolf made no reply. Just turned those amber eyes up to the moon. Peter looked up at it too. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. Especially on nights like tonight. When there aren’t any clouds.”

The wolf whined like a puppy—and Peter had to remind himself to not tear off the webs to cuddle into that thick, soft-looking fur. That werewolves probably didn’t have any human memories when they were in their wolf form. He leaned back on his hands. “You’re probably not gonna remember this, so I may as well tell you: I’ve actually had a crush on you since like seventh grade. I know we’ve been friends for longer than that but…” He shrugged. The wolf kept staring at the moon. “I don’t know. Something changed that year. I saw you in the gym with the ballroom dance club, teaching some poor dude how to waltz when I stayed late for robotics, and it was like this… like a lightbulb went off in my head. You know? Suddenly it was like I was really seeing you for the first time. Like I caught a glimpse of the best pieces of your soul.

“And I’ve never been the same since. Never looked at you the same way. I notice the grace you use when you move. Even if you’re clumsy sometimes. But I see your compassion too. Your care. Like once I started looking, I couldn’t stop.”

The wolf didn’t even react to him at all.

Peter sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on you tonight. I promise. You won’t be able to get out or hurt anything. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

—

I came to under the pale orange light of dawn. The last dregs of dissolving web fluid clung to my pajamas. I felt drained. Like I always did the morning after a full moon.

“Hey, you’re up!” Peter said happily. I turned. He was sitting on the forest floor a few feet away, using a Bunsen burner camping “stove” to heat a small pot of water. Two paper cups were sitting near him, plastic spoons poking out of the top. I slumped against the tree trunk. “I’m making some cocoa. Want some?”

I watched him pour the water in the cups, adding packets of cocoa mix and stirring carefully. I didn’t have the energy to actually reply.

He handed me one of the cups. “This should warm you up. It’s a little chilly.”

“Did you get any sleep?” I croaked.

“I did, actually. See, the thing is, my webs dissolve in two hours. On average, it takes fourteen minutes for a person to fall asleep, and a single sleep cycle is ninety minutes—hour and a half. So I used my webshooters to set timers. An almost-two-hour one to know when to replace the webs around you, and another to wake me up roughly an hour and forty-four minutes after I set it. So I slept between replacing your webs and I actually feel alright. Probably better than you anyway.”

I grunted agreement at that. I felt like I’d been trampled by a herd of elephants.

I tried a sip of the cocoa. Not too hot, but enough to warm my core. I sighed, content with the taste and warmth.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Peter asked quietly. I met his eyes. He had the expression of a sad puppy on his face.

I huffed a little, stirring my cocoa. “My secret isn’t like yours, Peter,” I said. “You keep your secret to keep the people you care about safe. I do too, but mine—mine is different. You’re keeping the people you love safe from villains who want to hurt you by hurting them. I’m keeping the people I care about safe from me. Because I’m… we’re classified as monsters, Peter. Werewolves, vampires—we’re referred to as monsters the same way humans are mammals. I never told you because what I can do… it’s worse than what you can do. You’re a superhero. I’m a lycanthrope. Yours is a mutation of your DNA. Mine is literally a curse. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you looking at me like I’m…”

“A monster?” Peter finished gently.

I almost growled at the word. “Yeah,” I admitted begrudgingly, taking a sip of my cocoa. “You have no idea how hard it is for someone like me to make or keep friends. I’ve spent most of my life super lonely. Then I met you and Ned and MJ and I felt like… like finally I could have some friends. I was turned into a werewolf when I was four-years-old, Peter. Thirteen years, I’ve suffered with this alone. My parents know but they don’t talk about it. They pretend like my curse doesn’t exist. Then I make friends for the first time in my life and still know, deep down, that I’ll never belong with them. Not really. Even when you told me about you, I knew I still wasn’t like you. I never would be. So I hoped I could just be friends as long as I could with you guys and… find a way to live with it when you all eventually left me.”

I downed the rest of my cup and stood. My joints ached.

“We should go back to camp before Ned and MJ wonder where we’ve gone,” I said.

Not waiting for Peter, I headed back the way we’d come, following my own scent through the trees, several hours old now, but doubly punctuated by Peter’s as he’d gone back to get the burner and the cocoa.

He caught up to me, jogging a little. “For the record, even though you scared the pants off of me last night when I saw you turn, I don’t think you’re a monster,” he said.

I managed a small smile. “Thanks,” I replied.

“And, also, I’m not going to leave you. You’re still my friend and I’m not scared. I can lift… like, a hundred times more than my body weight. I think I can handle you as a wolf. You’re not gonna hurt me and I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s… that’s a relief to hear,” I admitted. We kept hiking back. “Do I remember you saying you’ve had a crush on me since we were in seventh grade? Or did I dream that up?”

Peter swore under his breath. A normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but I did. Wolf’s hearing. “Uh… I think you dreamt that up,” he said.

Liar. But if he wasn’t ready to tell me human-face-to-human-face, I’d give him time. He’d taken my secret better than I could have asked for or anticipated. I could let him admit his feelings whenever he was ready. I owed him that much.

When we got back to camp, MJ was sitting on a tree stump, munching on some dry cereal. “Where have you two been all night?” she asked.

[immortalcoelacanth]

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.… 

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

                                                   xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.  

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-  

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.  

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

                                      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Five - Kintsugi

Kintsugi - Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"),[1] is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique.

Wikipedia

He woke up in his bed, disoriented, wondering how he had gotten there in the first place. The last thing he remembered was being…

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The memories came all at once, flooding his senses, and he had no choice but to painfully relive every single one of them in his mind: the lawsuit, Mina’s death and funeral, his fight with Andrea, the glass hitting the wall, his panic attack. His wife’s hand, lovingly squeezing his, lighting his way back to sanity.

His son, crying, scared to lose yet another parent, called the paramedics. Victor recalled, in the middle of his mental chaos, being put on an oxygen mask and told to breathe, but the fact that he now had strangers witnessing his meltdown only made him panic more. Eventually, he was given an injection, as Andrea’s coaxing was no longer enough to have him relax. After the paramedics were sent away by her, she took him to bed, but not before helping him change his sweat-drenched clothes. He could remember how helpless he was, his body soft and useless, his eyes too heavy to be kept open. Andrea carefully laying him in bed.

“Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked outside the bedroom window, it was already dark. He wondered if Andrea had already gone to bed, but he already knew the answer. Just like he refused to sleep before he put the glass back together, she would stay put until she saw all of his pieces back in place, sturdy and strong. No matter how hard her fingers bled.

Victor wondered how many times did a glass have to break to be deemed irreparable. He felt like the glass on his desk, ugly and useless, unable to hold anything. He wondered if she would see that in him, now that he had shown her his weak side. He wondered if she would regret spending the time trying to fix him. He heard the whiskey glass hitting the wall, and saw the frightened look on her face, all over again. He had committed an unforgivable sin. And still, she held his pieces.

Victor jumped off his bed and walked to the kitchen to get some water. Part of him wanted her to be there, he didn’t want to be alone. But at the same time, another part wished she had become wiser and just left him. He couldn’t make her happy, he was too broken. And he was afraid eventually he would break her too. Broken glasses don’t stand in the cupboard like the others. They are disposed of. That’s what he deserved.

But not what he got.

She looked spent, her dark circles standing out on her fair complexion, her curls disheveled and held in an updo with a pencil, some kind of voodoo only Andrea could accomplish. She was focused on her laptop screen, occasionally typing with one hand, the other touching her forehead, like she always did when she felt overwhelmed. She looked like a fragile crystal, the slightest vibration enough to shatter her.

“You’re awake.” She was startled by his presence. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re here.” You shouldn’t be. I’m a waste of your time.

“Of course I am.” She got up, turning to the stove, opening the pot standing there. “It’s late, Owen already had dinner and went to bed, but I have some stew for you. You should eat.”

Owen. Victor recalled again his frightened voice, panicking on the phone. He could only imagine how that small child had spent his day: anxious, scared, traumatized, worried about his father, who was too weak to keep it together. “You just have to make a scene, don’t you?” He heard his father’s voice again.

“How is he?”

“He was scared at first, but I told him you were still processing what happened.” She gave him a faint smile. “He’s really insightful for his age, I think he understood.”

“What about your trip?” You should stay away from me. Both of you will be happier away from me.

“I canceled it. You are unwell, we can go some other time.”

Victor’s stomach turned with self-loathing. Worse than any insult was the thought of someone staying by his side because he was weak, especially if he didn’t deserve the sympathy.

“You should go. I’m fine.” Victor turned to the door, wanting to get away from Andrea as fast as possible. The sight of what he had and what he had lost was simply unbearable.

“I already told you I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Victor.”

The statement felt like a heavy rock falling into a pond, agitating the waters inside him. Victor froze in place, unsure of how to answer. He loved her more than anything, but he didn’t deserve another chance. It was clearly over between them, yet he couldn’t say it. He was a coward. Tears started rolling down his face, as he stood in silence, his back turned to her, keeping his distance, but also selfishly refusing to release her.

For the second time that day, loving hands held the back of his neck, pulling him to a warm embrace, and then all hell broke loose. Tears quickly turned into hysterical sobs, as emotions broke out of him like a tsunami, spilling all over. He leaned against his wife and accepted her reassurance, even though he knew he shouldn’t get it. If only he could have her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked as the retching sobs made his legs wobble, making him kneel on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

Victor wasn’t sure who he was really apologizing to, there was so much unsaid in his heart. Maybe it was to his mother, for not being the child that she wanted, the one that would make her stay. Or perhaps he was apologizing to Mina, for not honoring like she deserved, for not saying he loved her or holding her hand in her last moments. But mostly, he was apologizing to Andrea. For disappointing her. For not being the kind loving man she believed him to be all along.

All at once, Victor was an adult and a child, and both were crying in Andrea’s arms. A memory of long before came to mind. The smell of polished wood and silver, the echo of the large hallway, suitcases on the floor. His child self, holding his mother, fighting the tears. The words he wouldn’t say to her came, at last, twenty years later, for the love of his life.

“Please don’t leave me.” He sobbed. “Please.”

Her embrace tightened.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her arms felt like a loving home, where he could be safe. Her voice was so sweet in his ears, her hands so warm in his back, her heartbeat so soothing. So, for the first time in decades, Victor decided to surrender, lay down the sword and simply stop fighting. He held onto her and cried, facing the storm of his emotions, hoping he would come out whole in the end. He just felt so tired. Surrendering seemed to be his only option.

Victor cried enough for a lifetime. All that was inside him, thirty years’ worth of pain erupted in hysterical sobs, landing as salty water on Andrea’s sweater, and he couldn’t stop it. He cried of fear for his kidnapping, of sadness for his mother’s departure, of anguish for her and Mina’s death. He cried for all those times he felt utterly lonely and unloved, for all those times he felt angry for being unable to draw people closer. For all his moments of self-loathing and despair. By the time he was done, he was exhausted. And scared. Scared that if he let her go, he would lose her forever. Afraid that if she stopped holding his broken pieces, he would fall to the ground to never get up.

So Victor simply lingered on Andrea’s embrace, wanting to enjoy a little more of her tenderness, as he knew it would be short-lived.

“We need to talk.” She announced, and Victor promptly left her arms, sitting against the kitchen island, creating the necessary distance. He prepared himself for the worse.

“I’m sorry for the glass.” He blurted out, fearing he would lose his courage if he waited for too long. “I hate that you saw this side of me.”

“What side?” She frowned.

“My ugly side.” His voice tightened. “But I need you to know I could never hurt you that way. I would never do that to you.”

“I know that!” She hurried to answer. “I do, it’s just…” She trailed off with a long sigh.

You can’t live with a violent man. Just say it.

“I pushed you into it. It was a cheap blow to mention your parents.”

Victor turned his eyes to her in surprise.

“I know you didn’t mean it, I-”

“Could you just listen?” She interrupted him.

Victor turned his eyes to the ground, obediently waiting for her to continue.

“I was hurt. And furious. I wanted you to hurt as much as I was, so I used something that you shared with me in our intimacy, knowing fully well how deep it would go, forgetting that you were acting that way because you were hurting too.”

Victor sighed, at a loss for words. How could he hold anything against her? None of them had acted in an honorable way.

“I have an ugly side too.” She muttered.

Silence filled the kitchen again, and Victor stared at Andrea’s hand, wanting to take it. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he feared he wasn’t entitled to anymore, or that more words would just lead to more strife. He was done bruising her, he had done so much of that already.

“Victor… I really want things to be well again.”

The words caught up in his throat. He wanted it too, more than anything. But he wasn’t entitled to ask.

“Look, I know that you have been through a lot, and I can’t possibly imagine what you are feeling right now.” She jumped, kneeling in front of him, her hand taking his, while her eyes gazed at his earnestly. “And I know you are not the kind of guy that goes around talking about feelings, and I don’t need you to… That is something you should do at your own pace.”

Victor’s heartbeat quickened, wondering what she would say next. He desperately needed to make amends, he desperately needed her by his side, he desperately needed her consent in holding her and having her again. At this point, whatever she asked, he would do. He loved his light, and he needed her, like he needed air to breathe.

“But you need to know, no, you need to acknowledge I’m here. Because I am, and I always will be. I need you to know that, even if we disagree, I won’t leave your side. And if you fall, even if you don’t hold on to me, I will hold on to you, do you understand? I’ll never let go of you.”

His fingers caressed hers, so small in comparison.

“The only reason I mentioned that trip was because I felt my presence was hurting you. Victor, for the last few days, all I wanted was to be by your side, to love you and support you. I don’t even care about our fights, or what was said, we should stick together no matter what!” She squeezed his hand tighter. “This is the closest I have been to you in days! I missed you!”

Victor couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her to his arms and kissed her, with an urgency of someone who had been starving for love for days. When he broke the kiss, he held her tightly, his face buried in the nape of her neck, wanting to have as much from her as he could.

“I missed you too.” He spoke against her skin.

“Are we ok?”

“I want us to be.”

She smiled at him, and that’s when he noticed. While he had been crying, she had been crying too.

“I’m sorry.” He hurried to apologize again, seeing the full effects of his actions on the woman he loved. “I will be better, I will never hurt you like this again. I promise.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She caressed his bangs. “This is something we both do, you know.”

He watched her shift in place as she seemingly organized her thoughts.

“Do you remember when we came back from Switzerland?”

He remembered, yes. Her being in unbearable pain, pushing him away, while he tried to comfort her. And then it dawned on him. He had done the same.

“You and I are not that different.” She let out a sad chuckle. “We both need to be in control, to always keep our feelings in check, so we bottle them up. But we are a couple now, we are not alone anymore. We should learn to depend on each other. Do you think you can do that? Can you trust me enough for that?”

“I trust you with my life, Andy.” He was an idiot. He let all of his childhood insecurities take so much relevance these days, that he actually forgot the woman he was married to. He didn’t need her to tell him she loved him and she would always be there for him, he knew she was loyal. He knew she loved him. How could he have forgotten that?

“Wait, I have an idea.” She broke free from his arms, taking out her wedding ring.

“What are you doing?” He frowned, confused.

“Give me yours.” She instructed. “Here’s mine.”

Victor removed his wedding ring, handing it to her. She took his left hand and inserted the wedding band halfway through his ring finger.

“We keep talking about renewing our wedding vows, but you know what? We shouldn’t do it when things are easy. We should do it when things are hard.”

Victor watched her take a solemn deep breath before speaking again.

“I, Andrea, renew my commitment to you, Victor. My love for you grows with each day, and I truly believe we can overcome whatever comes our way, as long as we are together.” She lifted her eyes to him. “And I am sorry I hurt you. I love you more than I can possibly say. You are the love of my life.”

Victor smiled as he saw her gently gazing at him with affection in her eyes. And miraculously, all of his shards were put back together again. He took her hand, hoping he would be able to convey what was in his heart.

“I, Victor, renew my commitment to you, Andrea. You are the light of my life. I promise to always keep my eyes on you, and search for you when in need. I have no other place to be, but beside you.” He felt a few tears coming again. “And I am sorry. I’m sorry I ignored you.”

“For better or worse, we are in this together.” She affirmed, her eyes locked on his.

“For better or worse, we are in this together.” He promised with all his heart.

He pulled her to his lap, kissing her lips, their bodies pressed against each other in a warm hug, Victor losing himself in their embrace. Their bodies fit beautifully together. Sometimes they would hold each other so close that Victor could no longer tell where her skin began and his ended, so perfectly united that they truly felt like one.

It reminded him of Kintsugi. Golden leaf and glass shards are useless apart but when united with the patience only real love can bring, they can make beautiful art. It was indeed a fitting analogy. Andrea held his pieces together and made him whole. Patiently, she had picked each one of his shards, unfazed by the cuts they brought, and put them all together.

His wife chuckled against his chest, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. To hear Andrea laugh once again, while being held by him, was priceless.

“What is it?” He couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Her laughter was contagious.

“The time we spent planning where we would renew our wedding vows, and we ended up doing it on our kitchen floor.” She laughed.

“Well, we did want it to be meaningful.” He smiled, playing with one of her curls. “No place is more meaningful than this. We spent most of our happy moments in this kitchen.”

“Well, if we follow that line of thought, next year we could use the bedroom.” She smiled back.

“I said happy, not lewd.” He poked her nose, making her laugh again. “Any place will do, as long as you are there.”

“I feel the same.” She sighed, motioning to get up. “Maybe we should get up from the floor, you must be hungry and your buttocks must be getting numb.”

“We will in a minute.” He pulled her against him again. “Just a little while longer.”

She leaned against his chest, arms circling his waist, and he held her back, again marveled at how flawlessly they fit. He kissed her neck, lingering on her skin, taking a bit more of her scent. He held her as tight as he could, drinking from her love, letting her gold seep through his cracks.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[candycityy]

Some (established relationship) Rivetra birthday crack/fluff, ft. awkward!Levi, because I can.

Levi sucks at giving gifts.

Maybe it's just the fact that he's awkward as fuck, but the notion of having to find something nice for another person fills him with equal parts dread and exhaustion. Honestly, how would he know what they'd want, anyway? He'd much rather just shove a couple of coins in their direction and call it a day.

The whole concept of gifts had been a culture shock to him, after leaving the Underground—not that he didn't understand what it meant to get someone something, but just the whole song and dance about it, of how every even remotely special occasion called for a gift of some sort. The first time he'd heard of it, a squadmate was asking him to contribute something to Erwin's promotion hamper, and he'd almost snorted, assuming it was a joke; the fucker had just been promoted to Commander of the Survey Corps, honestly, wasn't that gift enough?

Fortunately, his squad knows better than to ask him to contribute things; they just ask for money whenever they're doing a group gift, which he's happy enough to part with. And with matters outside the squad, well...he still doesn't really get why people thing he's so fucking terrifying, but in this, at least, he's happy to be excluded.

Well, until now. Unlike him, Petra actually does enjoy gifts; she's one of those crazy people who likes giving them, who handwrites cards and wraps presents in nice paper and glittery ribbons (another thing he doesn't get. He's supposed to spend time and money on wrapping paper that's just going to get torn into shreds?) and somehow, considering how they're dating and all, he doubts she'd be content with his usual fare of a few coins and a curt happy birthday over breakfast.

He briefly considers staging a training accident; surely, she wouldn't expect a gift from him if he were in the med bay recovering from a debilitating but non-life-threatening injury?

"Aha," Hanji says, briefly pausing in her monologue about Titan reproduction (he hadn't been listening in the slightest, but that's never been a deterrent) to point her spoon dangerously close to his face. "I recognise that look. You're thinking again, aren't you."

"None of your business." He pokes morosely at his dinner, and misses. The tines of his fork strike the porcelain with a rather unpleasant metallic screech that makes them both wince.

"It's not a good look on you, you know," she comments, shovelling a fragment of potato into her mouth as Levi watches with barely veiled disgust. "Thinking. You're much better off playing the role of the macho action hero, all brawn and no brain—"

"I will stab you with this butter knife," he threatens, with a kind of despondent savagery. The woman just leans on her elbow and waits, perfectly unruffled.

He chews, swallows, and after a long pause, finally admits, "Petra's birthday is coming up."

"And you're thinking about what to get her?" Hanji smirks. "Sweet."

"I'm thinking about why surface-dwellers have so much time and energy to bother with stupid things like gifts," he grumbles, spearing a chunk of broccoli with more aggression than strictly necessary.

"Well, they're a welcome distraction from the terrors of daily life, don't you think?" She pushes her goggles up her nose with a kind of practiced impatience, and continues, "I think...Petra probably would want something heartfelt. You know, something you wouldn't give to anyone else."

"I wouldn't give anyone anything, from the start."

"You know what I mean." Hanji rolls her eyes. "The gift's gotta make her feel special. Maybe something with a sort of significance, or meaning, or...oh! Something handmade? How good are you with handicrafts?" She eyes him, looking rather less hopeful than he'd like. It rankles him.

"I'm pretty good at carving," he snaps. Hanji brightens.

"Ooh. Wood?"

"Flesh." He shovels the rest of the stew into his mouth, ignoring her snort of indignation, and stands up. "Don't choke on your food, Four-Eyes."

==

In his time in the Underground, he'd learnt precisely two things about food: one, to defend it with your life, and two, if you chuck a bunch of ingredients into a pot and apply heat, you can call it a casserole, which is a fancy-sounding name for something that barely counts as a dish at all.

Furlan, being unable to cook for his life, had been put on permanent ingredient-gathering duty (read: theft) instead. Isabel, on the other hand, had an irritating tendency to get distracted, disappear off to fuck-knows-where with the food still on the stove, and promptly forget all about it. By the process of elimination, Levi had took over most of the cooking.

Being easy, flexible, and requiring very little attention, casserole had quickly become his signature dish. And yeah, he wouldn't call himself good by any means, but as far as he's concerned, no-one'd ever gotten food poisoning from a dish he'd made, which he counts a win.

Still, he figures that not poisoning anyone is a pretty low bar to set for a birthday dinner for his girlfriend.

For the eleventh time since entering the store, Levi wonders if he should just forget it. Get her some bauble or trinket, that glittery shit that girls always like. But against his will, Hanji's irritating voice drones in his head: something heartfelt. Something you wouldn't give to anyone else.

Levi scowls darkly at a shelf of cheese. "What the fuck's the difference between cheddar and mozzarella, anyway?" he mutters to himself, before giving up and shoving both into his basket.

He continues wandering through the store, grabbing whatever he thinks will go well together. He barely glances at the price tags as he goes, too distracted by his thoughts—does she like chickpeas? Or was it lentils? Are those different?

(Of course, he pays for his inattention dearly, when the cashier coolly informs him of his total and he almost chokes. Well, he really should've known; the storekeeper in the Underground always did seem to loathe them with an aggressive vengeance.)

==

Carrots—potatoes—beef. Levi measures out the ingredients carefully and scoops them into the pot, eyeing the stew bubbling cheerfully over on the stove, and allows himself a brief moment of smugness.

He's outdone himself, even if he says so himself. Everything's been planned, down to the last detail. In the morning, he'd presented Petra with a new fountain pen, a perfect decoy gift, especially since she'd mentioned earlier how she'd been needing one. He hadn't missed the flash of disappointment in her eyes—shitty Four-Eyes had been right for once, he supposes—but she'd schooled her expression into one of appropriate delight quickly enough, and exclaimed over it as necessary, and he'd known she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

He's even timed this whole dinner thing perfectly, getting the guys to keep her back for a bit after training (which they'd agreed to, albeit with some snickering) so he could prep for the meal. She'd be in the showers now, he guesses; and now, with the brick oven all heated up and the dish nicely in place, he probably has about twenty, thirty minutes before the next step of the plan, when he'll go to retrieve her from her room under some pretense or another, lead her to the dining hall, and—

"Levi? What's going on?" Petra rubs her eyes, strolling into the room and and sniffing the air curiously. "Are you—are you cooking?"

What the fuck.

"Petra." He tries his best to block the stove, desperately searching for a way out. "You're back early. This is, uh...an experiment. For Hanji. It could blow up any second, so off you go now."

Petra does not oblige. Her eyes narrow, and she tries to peek around him. "Your experiment is stew?"

"It's not stew, it's...Titan bait," he improvises wildly, making her brows lift in disbelief. "Seriously, Petra. Go away." His eyes dart to the wall clock; he needs about fifteen more minutes, at least. "Didn't Eld...didn't the guys ask you to stay for a bit?"

She shrugs, still craning her neck to try to see the contents of the kitchen counter. There's a hint of a grin on her face now. "Auruo was bragging again about something-or-the-other, and bit his tongue, and I slipped away in the commotion. Levi, is that cake?"

"I told you, it's Titan bait. Now get out, that's an order." He tries to keep his tone cold and steely, a feat which is proving much more challenging than usual with his very pretty, very annoying girlfriend standing on tiptoe, trying her best to peek over his shoulder.

Judging by her expression of keen amusement, he fails quite spectacularly.

"Levi," his irrepressible subordinate goes, her eyes gleaming, "your cake—sorry, Titan bait—says 'Happy Birthday, Petra'."

With a frustrated exhale, he gives up trying to block her, and slumps back to the kitchen counter. Petra waits, tapping her foot, still looking thoroughly amused. Her hair is still damp from the showers, he notices. But despite the fact that she has a towel around her neck and is dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—her standard evening attire—his breath catches in his throat. She's beautiful.

"Okay, fine," he grumbles, tearing his gaze away. "I'm cooking. It's for you. Happy birthday. You're still a brat."

She laughs, and the sound makes his lips pull into a reluctant smile, too. "I never took you for the domestic type, captain," she teases, leaning into him and winding her arms around his back. "Stew? But didn't you already give me a gift, though?"

"Casserole," he corrects. "It sounds fancier. And that was a decoy—this was supposed to be a surprise. I mean, I thought...since it's the first time you're having a birthday, well. With us, like. Together." He clears his throat, and silently wills himself not to do anything stupid and embarrassing, like—Walls forbid—blush. "Remind me to have a talk with Auruo, will you."

"Well, count me surprised," she says, leaning in and grinning up at him.

He rolls his eyes.

"Anyway. Since you're here so early," he goes, gazing at her with a look of utmost seriousness, "here. You can help to chop the onions."

Petra blinks, indignant. "Seriously?"

"Nah, I'm kidding. That's for ruining my surprise, you brat."

==

"...Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Happy birthday, Petra."

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eight: Don’t Worry Baby

a/n: hello hello!!! a massive apology for this one being so late it’s been such a hectic week for me, so I really appreciate your patience <3 Thank you for sticking around and for the continued love and support you have shown to this story. It really means the world to me :’) I hope you enjoy this chapter, feel free to chat with me afterwards, I’m intrigued to see where y’all think this story is going now👀 there is certainly much 2 think about... Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven

The faint clanging of pots and pans, Freddie barking, and Pua’s laughter rouses Alani from her peaceful sleep. She sees nothing but pink as her eyes peel open and momentarily thinks that she’s gone blind, but her vision soon focuses on the vague outline of black ink. With a curious dent between her brows, she removes the sticky note pressed to her forehead and turns it over.

GOOD MORNING!

MAKING BREAKFAST DOWNSTAIRS. SEE YOU THERE :)

♡  H

Her mouth, still puffy with the touch of sleep, curls at the edges as she clutches the note to her chest. One hand slides over to the indentation left in her bed by Harry and it’s still warm, which means that he must not have been gone long. Alani climbs out of the covers and races to the top of the stairs where she can hear him and her sister having a playful exchange. 

“I don’t think you put enough chocolate chips,”

“What do you mean? It’s about 90% chocolate right now,”

“So make it 100%,”

As she creeps down the stairs, she spots Pua perched on a swiveling chair at the kitchen island, Freddie snoozing in her lap, while Harry meticulously sprinkles chocolate chips into a bowl of pancake batter next to the stove. The scene makes Alani’s heart swell, so she silently observes for a moment before interrupting. 

“Is this more to your liking, Your Majesty?”

“Much better. Even Freddie thinks so,”

“I thought dogs couldn’t have chocolate,”

“Must you question everything I say?”

“I think he’s right,” Alani confirms, stepping into the kitchen to tussle her sister’s hair and pet Freddie. Harry lights up at the sound of her voice and immediately sticks his cheek out for a kiss. She gives him a peck and accepts the chocolate chip that he holds to her lips, letting him have a taste as it dissolves on their tongues. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” Pua grimaces. 

The pair separate and Alani pokes her tongue out at her younger sister, making Harry chuckle beside her. 

“Hey, no fighting,” he warns. “Or no one gets pancakes.”

“She started it!” both sisters defend in unison. 

They share a laugh and dissolve into their own antics while Harry returns to the stove with a cheerful whistle. He methodically shapes the pancakes into hearts on the skillet, playfully swatting Alani’s hand away from the bag of chocolate every five minutes or so. Freddie waits patiently at Harry’s ankles during the entire cooking process, praying that the human will drop a scrap of food his way. 

“Sorry, Mr. Mercury,” Harry apologizes, reaching down to give the dog a gentle pat. “These aren’t for you. Take it up with Mother Nature,”

Alani fills Freddie’s bowl to relieve Harry of his dog-sitting duties before hopping up onto the counter beside him. He slots himself between her legs, flashing a cheesy grin that makes her giggle, and her fingertips trace over the faint shadow of stubble around his jawline and above his lip.

“Can you grow a beard?”

“Do you want me to?”

Alani shrugs, considering the idea. “I was just wondering if you were capable,”

“Hey,” he pouts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiles innocently, pinching his chin. “Nothing, I like the fresh face. But stubble’s kinda hot,”

“Noted,” Harry winks.

“I like spending my mornings with you,” Alani admits quietly. “And the whole chef thing you’ve got going on is definitely a perk,” 

Harry’s dimple resurfaces and his emerald eyes gleam. “Me too, sweets. Did you like the note I left you?”

“Yes, it was a very nice touch,” Alani confesses, heart still soaring over the sentiment. 

“Didn’t wanna wake you. Looked so peaceful drooling, hair all in your face—”

“—Hey!”

“Did you know that you kinda talk a little in your sleep?”

“I do not!” 

Harry kisses the wrinkle in the middle of her forehead and it eases. “Do too. It’s cute, though.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Alani grumbles with a small, affectionate smile. “Let’s eat.”

Both Pua and Alani compliment Harry on the restaurant quality of his heart-shaped pancakes, and he accepts the praise with a bow that makes them both giggle. The three of them gather happily around the dining table, sharing jokes and analyses of each other’s dreams from the night before. Of particular interest is Pua’s dream about her teeth being replaced by kernels of candy corn, which Harry explains is a warning to cut down on the sugar before bed. 

“You’re no fun,” Pua teases with her arms crossed. “Only had a pint of ice cream last night,”

Harry snickers. “As opposed to?”

“Alani, can you date a dairy farmer next time?” 

“Hey!”

Alani rolls her eyes, but her smile reveals her true amusement. “Be nice,”

“Thought I was your ‘favorite singer,’” Harry sulks. 

Pua’s eyes dart to her older sister. “You told him?!”

“What?” Alani asks innocently. “It was sweet,”

Harry’s brow furrows. “Why wasn’t I supposed to know that?”

“Cause you’ll get a big head,” 

“Too late. I won your sister over, even though she’s way out of my league,”

“And don’t you forget it.” Pua cautions with a friendly tussle of his hair before standing with her empty plate. 

Harry chuckles lightly. “I thought we were friends,”

“Sisters before misters,” Alani shrugs, grabbing his plate and utensils to put in a pile with her own. “So whatcha doin’ today?”

“Good question,” he ponders, tapping his chin. “Get dressed, we’re going out,”

“Where to?”

“It’s a surprise,”

“I don’t like surprises,”

“Tough,” Harry maintains. “And you’re a liar cos everyone likes good surprises,”

Alani traces a heart onto the back of his hand with her fingertip and sighs. “But I need to know what to dress for,”

“Dress for the perfect afternoon with your favorite guy,”

“James Marsden’s coming?”

Harry purses his lips and stands. “Alright, I’m leaving now,”

“I’m kidding!” Alani giggles, offering an apologetic kiss. “I’m sorry, sunshine. Please don’t go,”

“I wasn’t aware that James Marsden made you these pancakes,” Harry dodges her affection.

“Or that he had your face as his screensaver,”

“You do not!” Alani counters, eyes wide. 

She gasps when he holds up his phone to reveal her unflattering selfie. “Why?!”

“Because you’re so cute, that’s why!” Harry explains with a delicate smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Even when you’re mean,”

Alani playfully swats his arm and pulls him closer by the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m sorry, ku’uipo. You’re the sweetest. Thank you for breakfast.”

“Welcome, dove,” he beams. “Now grab some clothes, we gotta stop by my place first.”

********

Alani slips on a pair of platform sandals and smoothes out her skirt while Harry pulls on a white t-shirt with a blue bandana secured around his neck. The polka dots on her yellow dress bring a fond crease to the corners of his eyes as he swipes a pair of black sunglasses from his dresser and pushes them into his unruly curls for the time being. 

“Give us a twirl,” he requests, whistling when she obliges. 

Alani spins into his arms and her hands smooth over the soft material of his burnt orange button up adorned with white lilies. “Digging the white tee, babe. How very James Dean of you.”

“Only the best for you, doll.” Harry shoots back in his best American accent. 

As they make their way to the back of the house where the Cadillac is parked, he queues up a song that he hopes will bring a smile to Alani’s face. “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” begins playing as loud as his phone speakers will allow and he flashes a cheeky grin in her direction. “Bit of a theme song for you today,”

“You’re such a cheese ball,”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” he teases with a pinch of her thigh. 

“Never said I didn’t,”

“Fair enough,” 

“So, are you finally gonna tell me where we’re going now?” Alani asks, batting her eyelashes. 

Harry shakes his head and tuts in mock disapproval. “Are you gonna try to ruin every surprise I plan for you?”

“I just wanna know what to expect!”

“You’ll like it, promise,”

“A hint?” she bargains. “An itsy bitsy, teenie weenie one?”

Harry captures his bottom lip between his teeth and thinks. “It’s for something in your room,”

“That’s all?” Alani blurts. “That could mean anything!”

“You said one hint and I delivered! So why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the ride now?” he suggests, laughing to himself when Alani crosses her arms with a huff. 

The drive is scenic and the weather is especially nice, which explains why the beaches they pass are more crowded than usual. Alani checks “beach” off her list of possible locations, racking her brain for the items in her room that could have possibly caught Harry’s attention. She wonders if he noticed the various scented candles perched on her nightstand and dressing table, deciding that a candle shop probably isn’t likely. Momentarily, she recalls the pile of books on her desk and her mind flashes back to their conversation about one of their mutual favorite authors, Angela Avery. Getting warmer. Harry remains tight-lipped and merely offers a coy smile or a whistle each time Alani ventures a guess. But just when she started to believe she would wear him down, the two of them pull into the parking lot of Moku Records and draw her speculation to an end. 

“Of course,” Alani surrenders, stepping out of the passenger door that Harry opens for her. “I should’ve known,”

“Came here my first week. The day after I met you, actually,” he explains bashfully.

Alani’s cheeks warm at the sentiment, and she laughs at the way he swings their joint hands softly as they cross the empty parking lot. Harry pulls the door open and she takes a curious step over the threshold, noting the hint of jasmine and sandalwood mixed in the air of the little shop. Her eyes immediately land on the A-B section first where she spots ABBA and The Beatles, and her fingers tenderly run over the cover art. 

“Like a kid in a candy shop,” Harry observes fondly. “Pick out whatever you want,”

“Are you serious?” Alani asks, eyes wide.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Course. Wanted to make a contribution to your collection,”

“I don’t know,” she smiles sheepishly. “I don’t want you spending a lot of money on me. I really appreciate the offer, though,”

“So what if you pick some out for me, too? Then we can think of it as compensation for your generous musical recommendations,” Harry puts forward.

“You make music for a living,” Alani scoffs. “What do you need my recommendations for?”

“What, you think musicians are born knowing every song that exists?”

“Okay, fine. Who can we credit for your music taste, then?”

Harry mulls it over for a second, a gentle hum vibrating in his Adam’s apple, before he responds. “My mum, mostly. Some friends—”

“—Any exes?” Alani fishes. 

“Yeah,” he confirms shyly. “Some I guess. You?”

“Same, pretty much,”

“Right, well now you’ve gotta tell me where you picked up all of these albums ‘cause I don’t wanna be buying shit your ex-boyfriend introduced you to,” Harry teases to lighten the mood. 

An amused exhale escapes from Alani’s nose and she shakes her head. “No, I meant your exes also inspired me,”

 She holds up a record with the numbers “1989″ and a familiar blonde on the cover, and Harry shoots her an unamused look. “Okay, now you’re just being mean again,”

“Long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt,” Alani sings as he turns to walk away. 

“Keep it up and you’re gonna be buying your own bloody records!”

“Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style,” 

Harry gives her a sharp side-eye, but the faint curl of his lips betrays the intended message of his glare. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because it’s a good song,” Alani giggles. “And you’re just being a hater,”

“Thanks,”

Alani turns on her heel with Harry’s palm pressed firmly against hers, and continues to sort through the collection of vinyls. The two of them snake through the aisles and pull albums that they think the other person would enjoy. Harry grabs one from Wings that has been in his recent playlists while Alani explains that he absolutely must own the vinyl version of “AM” by the Arctic Monkeys. He picks out a Shania Twain and highlights the track “You’re Still the One,” which Alani counters with The Mamas and the Papas. 

“Wait,” Alani stops, pulling another record excitedly. “You gotta have this one as a starter,” 

Harry accepts the copy of Queen’s “A Day at the Races” and adds it to the growing pile. “A classic, of course,”

“And I already have its sister album, ‘A Night at the Opera,’ so we can share, ” she suggests, turning back to her browsing. 

Harry’s phone rings and he shuffles the albums around in his arms before lifting it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jeff’s voice carries through the speaker. “Film crew’s here. Are you on your way?”

“Shit,” Harry curses, eyes shutting tight. 

“You forgot?”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,”

He had completely disregarded all of his previous plans in favor of spending every possible minute with Alani. One of those plans, however, was a mini documentary following the formation of his debut solo album which would start filming that day and continue over the course of the week. 

“No worries,” Jeff continues. “Might wanna give Alani a heads up if you bring her, though.”

“Thanks, mate. See you soon.” Harry says before ending the call. 

Alani had only been half listening, still admiring the artwork of the vinyl covers. “Everything okay?”

“Music thing I forgot about. Gotta go back to the house for a bit,”

“Okay,” she nods understandingly, though it pains her to do so. “So you can just drop me off at my house and we’ll hang tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow?” Harry repeats. “I can pick you up after work, it’ll just be for the afternoon,”

Alani shakes her head apologetically. “My dad’s picking me up on his way home from the airport. He’s getting back from his trip tonight and he’ll wanna see me and my sister,”

“Oh,” he relents, defeated. “Okay, so tomorrow morning?”

“Well, tomorrow afternoon. I work the morning shift,”

Harry groans. “Twenty-four hours?” 

“We’ll be fine,” Alani chuckles, taking some of the records from his hands to lighten the load.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that,”

“That’s a load of bollocks,” 

“Bollocks? God you’re so British,”

“And you are so American,” Harry pouts over the sudden derailment of his romantic afternoon plans. “God, this sucks,”

Alani offers him a kiss to soothe the sting, which he accepts with a hum. “Majorly. But hey, what can you do? The music calls.”

They check out and she carries the bag on her hip, the temporary relief of retail therapy distracting her from the disappointment of their time cut short. Harry checks the time and calculates that he’ll be a little later than promised, but he’s more concerned with making every second with Alani count. There’s a bit of cloud coverage over his usual sunny disposition, so she tries her best to cheer him up by lifting their intertwined fingers and pressing gentle kisses to his knuckles. 

“Thank you for the most perfect afternoon,” she murmurs against his skin.

“Wasn’t supposed to be over for a few more hours.” 

“Every minute with my favorite guy is like heaven.” Alani admits, watching intently as his smile slowly returns. 

********

“How’s California?”

“You know, it’s kinda growing on me. My nana and pops send their love,” 

“Aw, miss them,” Alani smiles, shifting the phone to her other ear. She decided to spend her free afternoon catching up with her best friend still on the mainland, though her thoughts occasionally drifted back to Harry. “Any cute surfer boys?”

“Maybe one,” Maleah confides. “But it’s nothing serious,”

“And you’ve been holding out on me?” Alani gasps. 

“His name’s Max, he’s a lifeguard,”

“I demand photos immediately,”

“Sure thing,” Maleah giggles sweetly. “Speaking of boytoys, where’s yours? I thought you two were attached at the lips at all times,”

Alani walks her toes up the wall, a soft grin easing onto her face when she spots the pink sticky note from earlier. She turns her head to Harry’s spot and takes a deep breath to soak in the lingering scent of vanilla.

“Working, kinda,”

Maleah frowns. “Doing what exactly?”

“Some music thing. I guess they’re filming a behind the scenes mini-film or something, I’m not entirely sure. Harry was kind of cryptic,”

“That’s weird,”

Alani sits up. “Do you think it sounds fishy?”

“No way. Mr. Perfect would never,” Maleah assures her. “But you know him best. What does your heart tell you?”

It hadn’t even crossed Alani’s mind that Harry might not be telling the truth, but for a brief, guilt ridden moment she considers it. She quickly closes that door after considering all the things he had already been so open about. “He would tell me if something was up,”

“Then there you go,” Maleah says decisively. “That’s good that you guys are so open. Communication is key as they say,”

“Yeah, absolutely. Mind if I gush for a second?”

“Of course not, spill!” Maleah urges her. 

Alani recaps the events of the last couple of days, from the painting and the heart-shaped pancakes to the record store. The weight of Harry’s absence grows heavier with each passing minute until it forms a lump at the back of her throat, but she swallows it down.

“Wow,” Maleah swoons. “What planet did this guy come from, and are there more of him there?”

“Sometimes I think he’s too good to be true, like I made him up or something,”

“Can you make me one like that, too?”

Alani giggles. “What about Max?”

“Well hey, maybe we can all double date sometime,” her best friend suggests eagerly. “He’s kind of coming to visit when I go back home,”

“I thought you said it wasn’t serious?”

“Yeah, well, I just didn’t wanna jinx it,” Maleah explains shyly. “So whaddya say? Think Harry will be in town a couple more weeks for us all to meet up?”

Alani searches her brain for any mention of Harry’s travel plans and it suddenly dawns on her that she didn’t know how long he planned to stay, or where he would go once he did eventually leave the island. He had said once that he considered London his home, but it hadn’t exactly been a straight answer. The thought of his inevitable departure makes her stomach turn, so she musters up a more hopeful answer than what reflects her worries. “Definitely.”

********

Harry rushes into the house and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. The voices of his manager and friends mixed with the unfamiliar chatter of another person echo from the kitchen, and he takes a deep breath to steady his nerves. 

“I’m sorry for being so late,” he apologizes with an outstretched hand towards one of the strangers he’d only conversed with over emails. “It’s nice to meet you,”

"Paul,” the man offers warmly. “Paul Dugdale,”

“Harry,”

Paul introduces the rest of the film crew that will be following the band for the week and Harry extends a gracious welcome to each of them, despite secretly wishing that he’d never agreed to the project in the first place. Every minute on camera, he realizes, is another agonizing minute away from Alani. 

“So listen,” Paul instructs. “Based on everything we’ve discussed in our creative meetings, we’re gonna approach this very fly-on-the-wall style. Very little intervention, you won’t even notice we’re here,”

“Good deal,” Harry nods. 

“We’ll save the interviews for when you come back to London in two weeks,”

“I’m sorry, what was that you just said?”

Paul’s brows furrow. “About the interviews?”

“The two weeks bit,” Harry clarifies. 

“Oh, right. Well we’re gonna need you back in London in two weeks so we can film the sit-down interviews that will sort of guide the narrative. But don’t worry, we already scheduled it around the Dunkirk shoots so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.”

Harry’s head spins. He had been living in such a carefree bubble with Alani that every other responsibility in his life career-wise had slipped his mind entirely. There was no way on Earth that he could pack everything up and leave just when things had started to fall into place for them. With uneasiness burrowing a whole in the pit of his stomach, Harry musters up a pleasant smile. “Course, sounds great.”

The film crew sets up quickly and urges Harry and his friends to go about their usual business, but nothing feels natural about the clock ticking away inside the singer’s mind. He had always known that he was living on borrowed time in Hawai’i, but he hadn’t planned on finding something worth sticking around for. There had to be something he could do, some way that he could stay even if it was just until the end of summer before Alani would have to return to school full-time in the fall. Despite the uncertainty surrounding his plan to buy more time, one thing is certain: he can’t tell Alani until he has a solid course of action. Harry is fully aware of the risk he runs by leaving her in the dark, but it seems less daunting than the possibility of her ending things because of the sudden expiration date put on their relationship. And no matter how long Harry is able to extend their time together, he knows it won’t be easy to leave Alani and everything they had built together behind. His anxious fingers fiddle with the strings of the guitar resting in his lap as he imagines what it will take to prove his feelings, wishing all the while that he could just hold her in his arms and hear her say that everything would be alright. 

********

Alani yawns, but she rubs the drowsiness out of her eyes and returns her fingers to the keyboard. She isn’t sure whether she should go through with the Rolling Stone submission, but writing has always been her way of processing her thoughts, so she decides not to let the material that she already has go to waste. Her phone buzzes on the nightstand next to her cup of coffee and she lifts it gently before reading the caller ID. 

“Hey, sunshine,” she murmurs.

“Did I wake you?”

“Nah, just doing some writing,”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth. “Anything I would like?”

“It’s about you,” 

“Love it already,”

Alani giggles softly on the other end and it makes Harry’s chest ache. “Funny that you called. I’m actually having a bit of writer’s block,”

“Alright, let me help you out,” Harry clears his throat. “Harry Styles: aspiring musician, fashion novice, phenomenal lover—”

“—And the most humble person I know,”

“Yeah put that, too,” he adds playfully. “Hey, what time are you working tomorrow?”

Alani yawns and closes her laptop for the night. “Eight to three,”

“Shit,”

“She works hard for the money or whatever Donna Summer said,”

Harry checks the time on his phone—23:39—and he decides to act quickly. “Can you stay awake for another 20 minutes?”

“Yeah, I guess. Why?” Alani questions, taking a sip of her tepid coffee.  

“Just don’t fall asleep. I’ll call you back in a few.”

“Okay.”

She assumes that Harry must have gotten busy again and puts on a movie to keep her awake. Fifteen minutes pass and her eyelids are as heavy as bricks, but the ringing of her phone nearly causes her to jump out of her skin. 

“Hello?” she answers weakly. 

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair! Or a ladder, preferably,”

Alani’s face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

“I’m outside, sweets,” 

She quickly jumps to her feet and makes her way over to the window at the opposite side of her room. Sure enough, Harry is waiting below with a thumbs up and she chuckles to herself as she lifts the windowpane up. 

“What are you doing?”

“Climbing this tree I guess, since you’re no help,” he explains, already finding his footing in the Acacia Koa outside her window. 

“We have a front door, you know,”

Harry swiftly maneuvers from branch to branch, which frankly surprises himself as much as it does Alani. When he finally reaches the window and hoists himself inside, a victorious grin spreads across his face punctuated by a dimple on each cheek. “Can James Marsden do that?”

“You’re crazy,” Alani muses, an incredulous look in her eye. 

Harry shrugs and reaches behind his back to close the window gently. “Only about you,”

Alani wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a warm kiss, humming when she feels his strong hands smooth up and down her spine. 

“Missed you,” he whispers against her lips, tickling her sides lightly. 

She giggles and tightens her embrace. “Missed you more,”

Harry kicks off his shoes and follows Alani into her bed, his head tilting when he spots a familiar picture tacked to her ceiling. “Is that—?”

“—An original from my favorite up-and-coming painter, Harry Styles?” she questions, completing his thought. “Why yes, it is. But it’s not for sale, so don’t even think about it,”

“Right next to the O’Keeffe one,” he boasts. “I’m honored,”

“You should be,”

Harry searches his memory to no avail. “Where did you say the original was?” 

“New York Botanical Garden,” Alani murmurs against his neck, fighting the fatigue weighing on her muscles. 

“I’m gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms with a feathery kiss to her temple. 

Alani sits up and rests her chin on his chest, peering down at him with sleepy eyes and a sweet smile.

“Can’t wait,”

“I should probably go,” Harry breathes deeply, his own exhaustion settling in. “Let you sleep. I just wanted a good-night kiss,”

“No, stay. I’m not even tired,” Alani pleads. 

“Your droopy eyes say otherwise,”

“So tell me something to keep me awake,”

Harry swallows. He searches his brain for something to say other than the news that he isn’t ready to break yet. “Like what?”

“Liiiike,” Alani sighs. “Why One Direction broke up,”

“It’s not a very interesting story,”

“I don’t believe you, but whatever. Tell me a secret, then,”

“A secret,” Harry leans in close, the tip of his nose brushing agains the apple of her cheek. “I really wanna kiss you now,”

Alani pulls back the slightest bit to steal a glance at his mouth, already parted enough for her to slot her lips between his. She buries her fingertips in the soft curls at the nape of his neck and the taste of Harry’s spearmint washes over her tongue. His hands brace each side of her neck as he plucks needy kiss after needy kiss from her generous lips. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t even make it a whole day apart,” Alani jokes when they pull apart slowly. 

“It’s after midnight,” Harry mumbles against her skin. “So we kinda did.”

She chuckles and plants a delicate peck to his forehead. “I love the way your mind works.”