#waiting for quilts to finish washing

[syoddeye]

by some miracle, you nab the last campsite. the online reservation system is spotty, but you submit the form, pay the fee, and receive a confirmation.

the trip is a bright spot at the end of a long tunnel. something to look forward to.

so, of course, it rains.

you drive through a downpour that starts as soon as you leave the city limits.

the rain falls in sheets, rendering the windshield wipers near useless, their frantic motion only barely carving out the view ahead. you grip the wheel like a lifeline, feeling your car lean with each curve of the road, the faintest slip of the tires against wet pavement sending a tremor through your arms.

the trees on either side are shapeless blobs, their trunks blurred by the water streaming down the glass. your focus narrows on the lines and the rhythmic drumming of rain that drowns out everything else.

you just need to get there in one piece and wait it out. you will leaf peep. you will hike. you will cuddle up with your sleeping bag and quilt and finish a goddamn book for once. you need this weekend to relax.

however, there's a small crowd when you reach the park and stop at the ranger station to check-in. you're told that, unfortunately, the lower-lying campsites are currently washed out. there's no immediate danger, but folks who reserved spots in that section are out of luck.

some deal with the news better than others. families make alternative arrangements or turn around to head home. some take it out on the rangers, their conversations unfair and heated. you?

you mirror the weather outside. as you sink into a chair, big, hot tears roll down your cheeks. it took you three and a half hours to get here. you left right after a long day of work. you're tired and upset, and now you have to drive back home, back through the storm, and the sun is on its way down.

"you alright?"

you lift your head at the deep, charred voice of a man and find a pair of eyes the color of cloudburst staring down at you.

"what am i sayin, 'course not. your campsite’s flooded, right?"

the man crouches in front of you, draping two thick, forearms bulging the sleeves of a rain-soaked anorak over his knees for balance. his mouth twitches into an easy smile under a mustache, though it's the mutton chops that draw your gaze. old-fashioned. kind of giving off a rugged, mountain man vibe.

he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and offers it. “name’s john.”

"yeah," you rasp, then clear your throat, compelled to fix your posture by john’s attention alone. you pluck the flannel square from his hand, and dab your tears away. "yes. you too?"

he shakes his head. "no. reserved one of the cabins up in the hills.”

you resist the urge to wrinkle your nose at that. despite being rustic and bare-bones, the cabins cost ten times more than the regular tent or car camping spots. out of your budget. unkindly, you think, must be nice.

"oh. lucky you." you sniffle, wiping the last of your tears with a thumb. "well. i should hit the road before it gets too dark..."

as you stand, he rises. you're closer than you ought to be, and catch a whiff of tobacco and benzoin. rain. he's tall enough that you need to crane your neck. heat gathers in the hollow of your throat when you notice the flecks gray in his beard and hair. you swallow, internal conflict erupting in your brain. he's handsome, yeah, but he's a complete stranger in your personal space.

to your pleasant surprise, john seems to register whatever uncertainty shows on your face and takes a big step back. he scratches his cheek. "listen, miss…?”

you blink, supplying your name after a delay.

he repeats it, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cautious smile. “i'm visitin' for the weekend and the cabin's got a spare room, if you need some shuteye before headin' home."

you hesitate, eyes narrowing.

"there is, honest. just thought i'd offer. you wouldn't have to pay me."

"free and out of the goodness of your heart? why me? why not someone else? a couple or a family?"

john follows your glance around the station, lingering on the remaining groups you pointed out. he shakes his head.

"the second room's too small for some parents and their kids. and i'm not inclined to invite a...couple, as i'd like to have a quiet and restful weekend. and if you insist, you can pay half"

his tone cracks your resolve. makes you smile. almost. you study him closely, briefly, as he looks around the room again. the beard's memorable and if he's rented the cabin, the rangers should have his information and a card on file. you have a folding knife and bear mace. and you really don't want to drive with the current conditions outside.

"...okay, john. i'll take the room," you begin, heart thudding when he meets your eye. "but i'm going to check in with the rangers. i'm sure you understand."

his face splits with a grin. "of course. smart girl."

the ranger you speak to gives you a long look when you explain the situation. you get the feeling they’re not supposed to let campers double up without paying the proper fee, but they’re just as tired as you. after taking down your information and confirming his, you join john at the entrance.

you follow his truck up a series of hills, and park behind him. you expect him to dash to the cabin door, but you find him at your door instead. you don’t have much, just a backpack and a carry-all, but he yanks both from the backseat and carries them to the porch. no time to argue. too loud with the rain, anyway.

by the time you’re indoors, you’re both soaked to the bone. he shrugs off your thanks.

“here it is.” he announces as he leads you to the second room.

like the rest of the cabin, it’s spartan but functional. better than trying to stake a tent in mud, that’s for sure. when he leaves you to it, you check the deadbolt attached to the door and sigh in relief. this might just work.

you unroll and unzip your sleeping bag over the plastic mattress, and spread your quilt out over the top. you’re stuck using a lumpy folded sweatshirt for a pillow, but you can’t complain. the storm outside rages on, and a handsome stranger’s taken you in for the night.

john checks in once before he turns in, after which you lock the door. sleep comes easier than you thought it would, reality feeding fantasy as you drift off.

in the morning, you emerge well-rested, but still undecided as to whether or not you’ll stick around for the rest of the weekend.

the smell of smoke hits and lures you to the cabin’s door. beyond, john sits with his back to the structure, poking at a fire with one hand and cradles a book in the other. a pot and pan sit atop a rack.

“morning.” you greet politely, stomach rumbling at the sight of bacon and eggs cooking over the open flame. a torturous viewing with half of a protein bar in hand. your boots squelch in a patch of mud, the ground absolutely saturated from the rain.

“morning.” john replies. “sleep alright?”

“yes, thank you. i don’t know if i would’ve made it if i drove last night.”

he makes a contemplative noise at that.

you chew your poor excuse for a meal and steal a glance at his book. it’s a local birding guide. you suppress a smile, amused. you always thought birding was a hobby for old folks.

you take another forced bite, wondering if it’s even worth to trekking to a trailhead. chances are more than one’s washed out.

“care for a little more sustenance?”

“oh, no, thank you. you’ve done enough.”

john clicks his tongue and sets his book aside to pull the cast iron from the flame. “i insist. gonna need the energy to hike.” he shovels a fried egg and slice of bacon onto a steel plate, then reaches for a matching cup. “coffee?”

“oh—you don’t need to—okay.” you try to protest, but he hands you the meal without waiting for an answer. you abandon the protein bar on the edge of the plate. “i don’t know if i’m going to hike.”

“no? you gonna hit the road?”

“haven’t decided that either.”

john nods. “well, my offer’s good all weekend. i don’t mind company.”

“so long as your time’s quiet and restful?”

he grins. “correct.”

conversation flows easier than you thought it would, given the semi-awkward circumstances. you learn he’s ex-military. retired. that he’s roadtripping the country until he hits snow, then heading south to visit friends. he likes cigars, bourbon, and birds. the latter being a recent development.

“why birding?”

“doc said it’d help with stress. counteract my vices.”

you take a bite of bacon, gesticulating with the rest. “makes sense. see anything neat?”

“a couple of grebe, some heron.”

“anything particularly rare?”

he doesn’t answer for a beat, leading you to glance his way. your eyebrows lift when you catch him staring, and push higher when he stammers. he clears his throat hard and slams his fist hard into his chest with a cough.

“maybe. can’t be sure. still learnin’ how to spot them.”

the tips of his ears match the tanager you spot in the trees.

(john misses it.)

[sanguineterrain]

could i request something with dick where he returns home to reader like almost at dawn and just immediately collapses into bed to cuddle them? i know it’s kind of boring and simple but i’d love nothing more than to wake up w/ mr grayson 😭

short n sweet <3 thanks for requesting!

dick grayson x gn!reader. fluffy cuddles.

****

You jolt awake at a hand on your cheek. Your legs are tangled in a small throw quilt for the couch and half your body is wedged between the cushions.

"Hey," Dick whispers. "Sorry to wake you, honey."

Milky masked eyes stare at you. Dick's knelt in front of the couch, still in his suit. He peels the domino mask off and tilts his head. Bits of sealant and irritated skin surround his eyes, a consequence of wearing a mask for too long.

"Hi," you say, reaching for him and gently touching his face.

His hand slides up and down your arm and you feel the apology before he says it.

"I'm sorry I'm back so late," he says. "Emergency."

"It's Blüdhaven. I'm not surprised," you say back, sleepily petting his hair. "You don't have to apologize. I know what I signed up for."

Dick catches your hand and kisses your palm.

"Were you waiting up for me?" he asks.

"Um… I attempted to wait up for you. Dunno when I fell asleep."

His face softens even further.

"You don't have to do that," he says.

"Mm. Pretty sure we've had this conversation before. I'm gonna worry and I'm gonna wait up."

Dick leans in and kisses your temple. He rests his lips there for a few moments. You wrap your arm around his neck. He strokes your thigh, like he has to touch you. You could sleep like this. You could die like this.

"Let's go to bed, love."

Loving him is bliss. You want to tell him, but your brain can't form the words currently. You hug him tighter, cheek to cheek, and hope he understands. Dick laughs softly and pets your back.

"I gotta shower. I'll be ten minutes, max."

He untangles himself. Your hands are the last to separate, fingers lingering on yours. The bathroom light turns on. You wrap the quilt from the couch around your shoulders and pad into your shared bedroom.

It's especially cold tonight and the temperature change shocks your nervous system. You curl into a ball and doze as you wait for Dick to finish.

You wake up to Dick crawling into bed. He kisses your shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispers, lifting the blanket. "Sleep, I'm here."

"Hold me," you mumble, patting the bed in search of his hand.

Dick curls around you immediately. His chest is against your back, and he puts an arm around your belly and a leg over your legs. The tip of his nose rests on your neck. He's warm from the shower and smells like the vanilla body wash you bought last week.

"Missed you, Dickie," you manage to say before succumbing to your exhaustion.

"Nowhere near as much as how much I missed you."

[jungle-angel]

Our Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob are preparing for your little one's arrival and already, shenanigans have ensued

Warnings: Pregnancy, parenthood, Auggie being a menace etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @callmemana @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia and the lovely @bradshawsbaby my darling, I leave this as a little gift for you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

It was one of those gloriously warm spring days in Montana when all the flowers were in bloom, the windows of the house open to let in the breeze and the birds singing. The lilacs and the crape myrtles that you and Bob had planted after your wedding several years before had fully bloomed already, releasing their heady scents and causing more than a few sneezing fits.

Bob hummed a little as he organized the bookshelf in the corner of the nursery, right next to the rocking chair. Already Meemaw and Papa had sent over an old box of books that had been his when he was a baby, each one carefully picked with all the love in the world and inscribed with his date of birth and a message from Meemaw and Papa.

"Whatcha got Bob?" you asked folding one of the little blue onesies to put in the laundry.

"All the books that were mine when I was a baby," he answered. "Got Baby's Good Morning Book, Baby's Bedtime Book, Baby's Story Book, the Christmas Stories, Child's Story Book, Child's Fairy Tale Book, Peter Rabbit and.......looks like Winnie The Pooh too."

You couldn't help but ooh and aah over the books and their illustrations. You wished you could have a few of them to hang on the walls.

"Hey!" chirped a little toddler voice. "Get out me swamp!!"

You and Bob laughed when you saw Auggie running to the door with the kitchen broom as soon as the doorbell rang, when who should enter but Jake Seresin himself, greeted by his godson wielding a broom.

"Bob! I think Shrek's at it again!" Jake announced. "He's chasing me out of his swamp!"

"You're the one who had to show him that movie," Bob informed him.

Jake rolled his eyes as Auggie laughed and hugged his leg, hanging on for dear life and giggling like crazy as Jake lifted one leg and then the other.

"How goes Mommas?" Jake said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Good, save for the fact that my husband is right there watching you," you chuckled.

"Hey it's called being courteous, it's technically not flirting," Jake explained.

"Although Natasha might disagree."

Jake made a noise that caught in his throat, his hand moving quickly to protectively cup his denim clad scrotum.

"That's what we thought," Bob said with a shit eating grin.

Jake gathered up Auggie to go and cause havoc elsewhere for the day, leaving you and Bob to finish putting together the nursery. You unpacked all the baby clothes, blankets, shoes and other things your family and friends had sent you over the last few months including adorable little bunnies, puppies, bears, elephants and duckies for your little boy.

"Oh remember this?" you laughed, unfolding one of the blankets from the box.

"Oh, my Uncle Red's wife made that years ago," Bob cooed, holding up the little ducky quilt. "I used to sleep with it every night and Mom had to wrestle it away just to wash it."

You and Bob shared a few laughs as you kept organizing and putting everything together. Outside, you could see two mountain bluebirds in the nest they had made in the crape myrtle, wondering if there were any eggs due to hatch. Already the chicks had begun to hatch while there were more horse and cow births happening at least twice a week. The bunnies too had been hard at work, their numbers multiplying in the last few weeks as well.

"Oof," you breathed, feeling your baby kick. "Oh I know little guy, you're ready."

Bob helped you up from where you had been sitting, letting you lean against him as his hand rested gently on your belly. "Did he drop?" he asked.

You nodded.

Bob smiled broadly as he knelt to kiss your bump. "Now you wait a minute mister," Bob chuckled. "There's still some things we need to get ready for you."

You laughed as Bob pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. He wasn't wrong. Even though you were days away from giving birth, there were still so many things to do in such a tiny time frame.

The next few days were spent prepping the house and finishing the nursery. The laundry and the last of your knitting went smoothly although your cats would have said otherwise. Bluey and Echo, Bob's two blue-heelers, had taken to fetching the oddest things from the other rooms which led to an odd assortment of everything piling up in the living room. But you wouldn't have had it any other way.

At last, the day had come, a warm and calm night when you woke up suddenly after your water broke unexpectedly. Jake and Natasha came to take Auggie back to their place for a while, while your midwife came to the house to help. Bob stayed with you the whole time, just as he had done with Auggie, letting you squeeze his hand as you relaxed in the warm bath.

At long last, on June 1st, at 1:30 in the morning, your sweet little boy, Patrick Lewis Floyd, was born; sharing a birthday with Bob's father Joe. As soon as you were back in yours and Bob's shared bed, he snapped a few photos and sent them to his parents, siblings and the Daggers. It's not long before his phone is flooded with messages, all from the proud aunts, uncles and grandparents of your new little boy.

Joe and Irene, Bob's parents, are proud as ever of their grandson and of you both, more so now that Joe can joke about Patrick being his birthday present for that year. His Meemaw and Papa are all too proud to be great-grandparents again, all of them offering to come by and help with whatever is needed.

You and Bob wake later the next day at the sound of Patrick's fussing in the little bedside bassinet, Bob carefully lifting him into his arms and bringing him to the window to hear the birds singing. Patrick calms right down as soon as he's heard the birds sing and as soon as he's latched onto you to feed.

And when you and Bob are snuggled in your shared bed with Auggie coming in to see his new baby brother, you are both overjoyed and happy at the little nest you've built together.

[captain039]

PART 4 Tender hearted souls

Hugh Jackman x reader

Warnings: Age gap, slow burn, feelings, hurt/comfort, two fools in love, angst, light swearing, mental health issues, daddy issues, daddy!dom/little girl, plus size reader,

Previous part <-

It’s been a week since you saw him. You went back to the apartment and found nobody there, his bed hadn’t been slept in, everything was neat and unused. It sucked. You sat on the couch many nights staring at where he would be, tears in your eyes and wondering why the hell a grown man just kissed and ditched. You’ve written about a hundred messages then deleted them before sending, getting pissed off at him. It’s the eighth night, you’re watching whatever the hell is on the TV wrapped up in a blanket eating a tub of ice cream. The door unlocks and you’re on high alert before you see a familiar figure stumble through the door. You frown, he looks worse than you feel. His hairs a mess he hasn’t shaved, or trimmed, he stumbled a bit chuckling to himself and you realise he’s pissed off his face drunk. You wait for him to notice you, turning off the TV staring at him as he lays down his jacket, keys, wallet and phone his balance horrid.

“Wow” you mumble rolling your eyes and the man snaps around. You raise an eyebrow at him while he frowns at you like he’s trying to figure out why you’re here.

“Forgot me already?” You scoff anger rising and heartbreak. He mumbles something before he’s almost tripping over. You curse and quickly get up, you support him, throw his arm over his shoulder, kinda regretting it seeing as he’s all muscle and height. You lead him to his room, sit him down on the edge of the bed listening to him slur drunkenly. Your heartbreaks, you take his shoes and socks off, seeing him struggling with his shirt. You sigh lifting it off his body and chucking it in the washing basket. He goes for his pants and you flush a bit.

“Hugh, just-“ he’s kicking them off before you can even finish and you sigh and shake your head. You pull his covers back as he groans and lies down, taking a large breath as he does. You pull the quilt over him, looking at him for a moment. You sigh, shaking your head going to leave but his hand catches your wrist.

“Love you” it’s slurred out and your heart rate sky rockets, you stutter for a moment then he’s passed out hand limply off the bed. You gulp, put his hand on his stomach, turn his light off and go to your room. You’re trying to ignore the panic attack you feel, he’s just drunk, drunk off his goddamn face what the hell was he thinking?

You don’t sleep well, don’t sleep at all till you hear him at six in the morning throwing up. You don’t deal with throw up very well but you grab him some water and pain killers before peeking in his room. He’s got the bathroom door open, he’s on the floor in his boxers, skin a shade lighter. He jolts as he hears you and you apologise softly handing him the cup and meds trying to avoid looking at whatever mess he made. You wet a face towel with warm water and hand it to him too. He thanks you, wipes his mouth and takes the Panadol. He flushes the toilet before leaning against the bath. You see him shiver, see the goosebumps on his skin and sadden. You move, grab the bath plug before turning on the hot water. He sits there, head hung and eyes closed as he breathes. You run him a bath, taking the empty cup from his hands.

“You’re shivering” you say softly and he nods a sigh on his lips.

“Come on” you say holding your hand out. He takes it, as you help him up, making sure to keep him steady.

“Brush your teeth too ok?” You say and he nods at you not looking you in the eyes.

“Ok, just get warmed up, I’ll make you some plain toast when you’re done” you say letting him go before he calls your name.

“I’m- I’m sorry” he says and you nod a little forcing your tears back as you close the bathroom door.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping your tears quickly as you go out to the kitchen and lean against the island. You shake your head as tears fall, trying not to cry and failing. You cry silently, for a while, before you hear the bath drain. You fix yourself up, you’re exhausted though, you didn’t sleep last night and now this. You make him toast like you said, you fill a bottle of water up and make him some ginger tea. He walks out in a dressing down, sweatpants and a grey shirt and sits down on the couch. He sighs and you go over to him holding the plate out. He thanks you softly taking it from you, lying it on the small table beside the lounge. You lie the water bottle down and hand him the tea. He sets it down too and you gulp a bit nodding to yourself. You’re about to go, his hand catching your wrist again.

“I-“ he starts and you gulp body tensing up. He hasn’t looked at you and you hate him for it. You walk closer, put your hands on his cheeks and force his head up. He looks horrible, probably feels it too. He sighs emotions swirling across his face as his hands hold your hips gently. He tugs you a little closer, its only a soft little tug like he doesn’t expect you to but you. His head rests on your stomach, and you feel more tears down your face. You lift your hands again, hesitating before you rest them on his shoulder and head. You run your nails over his scalp gently and you feel him sag even more.

“I’m really sorry” he says softly as you lift one hand to wipe your tears. He needs to be sorry for what he did, you want to hold on to that anger a little longer.

“I know” you say voice not as confident as you want but knowing you can’t forgive him right away.

“Where going to have a talk, after this” you say and he nods against your stomach.

“Ok” you breathe a little.

“Eat some breakfast and drink your tea It’ll help with the hang over” you say and leave him. You go to the kitchen lean against the counter again letting your tears fall silently.

Next part ->

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 13

Another part so soon! I'm on a roll and already have start the next couple chapters! I hope you enjoy. This was was just kinda indulgent.

Warnings! SMUT! Mihawk knows what he is doing with his tongue. Fingerfucking. Kissing. Some dirty talk. Mihawk is a pervert.

Masterlist

It is 29 days later, you know, because that's how long ago you planted your strawberries, when you decide that you are tired of beating around the bush. Sure, the two of you kissed, and Dracule liked to touch you and explore you, but ever since that one delightful morning, the well-groomed man never went very far. He always pulled away at the last second when you were just on the verge of begging him for more. You were sick of waiting for Mihawk to make the first move, but you definitely weren't brave enough to make it yourself. 

So that left you having a conversation with him. One that made you embarrassed just to think about. Dracule had phoned earlier that day, the snail phone was the best gift he'd ever given you, and let you know that he would be arriving soon, so you had at least two hours before he got here.

The bedroom was first on your list. It needed a good cleaning, and that would take the longest. Time was running out by the time you finished fluffing the quilts and pillows, and you dashed to the bathroom to wash and shave in the appropriate areas. You knew what you wanted and had to be prepared for it. 

You are still wrapped up in a towel when you hear the front door open, and Hank gives a happy woof to the only man who can just waltz inside your home. You curse yourself for not remembering to grab any clothes and peek out the door of the bathroom. Just as you are trying to creep to the bedroom across the small hallway, a looming shadow blocks the light, and you are caught in a yellow-eyed gaze. 

“Catch you at a bad time, Snow Angel?” Dracule teases with a mean twist of his lips. You blush and quickly retreat to the bedroom, but the warlord is right on your tail. 

“I was trying to finish up before you got here,” you tell him as Mihawk follows you inside and shuts the door behind him. You round the bed, putting the queen-size between the two of you. “You are early.” 

The warlord scoffs, “I am never late or early, Darling. I always arrive precisely when I mean to,” he eyes you from over the bed, and you gulp when you see his gaze darken a shade, “And what a treat it is to arrive home to see you in nothing but a towel.” 

The word home catches in your brain, leaving you stalling a bit. He's said it once or twice before, and it always leaves you a mess. How can he call this place home so casually when Dracule himself has told you that the sea has been his home for most of his life? It left you reeling every time you realized how much you mean to him. How much he meant to you. 

A warm hand landing on your arm knocks you from your thoughts, and you jerk your head up to see Dracule giving you a look of concern. You smile at him, feeling bold in his boat of playfulness. 

“Maybe you should take it off?” You suggest and are treated with the rare sight of taking Mihawk by surprise. His eyes widen, and you watch in fascination as his golden eyes turn molten. A mean smirk curls his mouth at the side. 

“Is that what you want? Do you want me to touch you, sweet thing? Do you want me to show you all the ways I could make you come?” Dracule snarls the filthy words, pushing himself closer to you at the end of every question. Mihawk expects you to back down at his aggression, at showing you how much he desires to have you, to taste you.

A whine leaves your throat, and your hands grasp the edges of the long coat that Dracule still wears. It isn’t often that your warlord stayed dressed in his rather flashy regalia, and it made you ache all the more for the pirate. You force your thoughts into order and lock eyes with his molten gaze. You need him to know that you are being truthful, “I have been wanting you to touch me for a long time, Mihawk. I just didn’t know how to ask.”

The warlord is quiet as he searches your eyes for any hint of uncertainty. When he finds none, Dracule takes a half step back, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

 “Lay on the bed, on your back,” Mihawk orders and looks down at you under the wide brim of his hat. He looks dangerous like this, and you are reminded that Dracule is so much stronger than you are. He clicks his tongue when you take a beat too long, “Don’t keep me waiting, Angel.” 

You turn to hop up on the bed, shimmying back so that your head lies against the pillows. A shiver wracks your body, and you swallow harshly when Dracule follows you up. He rests on his knees, and you can’t help how your devil fruit reacts when he reaches for the edges of your towel. It’s one thing for Mihawk to see your upper half, you liked when he laved your breasts with attention, but he has never seen you naked before. 

“Relax, sweet thing,” Dracule rumbles above you and leans down so that he can kiss your brow, “I will stop when you ask me.” 

“Okay,” you whisper and sigh heavily when you take a deep breath and relax into the bed. Dracule kisses your cheek, and then he pulls away to take hold of your towel, easing it away from where you have it tucked around you. A low, pleased sound escapes him when you are revealed to him. 

“Beautiful, every inch of you,” Mihawk praises and then proceeds to pinch your left nipple. You hiss at the prick of pain, though a soft groan follows when he rubs your sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand follows the curve of your body down to your hip where he rubs gentle circles there, and you relax further into the bed, eyes fluttering closed as you give up control of the situation to Dracule. 

Mihawk soaks in every reaction you have to his touch. He experiments, smoothing his hands up and down your body, seeing what you enjoy best. When you like it soft, and when you like when he gets a little rougher. He scoots down, ringed eyes raking down your body until he spies the apex of your legs and the neat thatch of hair that hides your most sensitive parts away. 

The warlord grasps your legs and lifts them from the bed. He gently opens your legs, pushing them up so that your feet rest on the bed and your knees sway in the air. Mihawk kisses your knee, smoothing his calloused hands down your thighs, and curls one around the inside of your leg, keeping you spread for him. 

Frost has begun to creep up your legs, and the cold of your devil fruit and the heat that Dracule puts off make every unexpected touch feel like a live wire against your skin. One hand moves to skate down your leg and dusts the frost away.

“I’ve got you, Darling,” Mihawk croons above you, and then his middle and ring fingers are sliding through the folds of your cunt. Your eyes fly open and you look up only to lock eyes with the entranced look that the warlord sports. He looks in a trance as he gently rubs his fingers back and forth, humming in content when slick gathers on them. 

You watch, eyes tracking his hand, as Dracule brings those two fingers up to his mouth and wraps his lips around them. He cleans his fingers and gives you such a lewd grin afterward that you have to look away from him. Who knew that such a sophisticated man was such a pervert?

There isn’t much time to think about it, not when Mihawk slides those same fingers back through your folds, stroking you in a perfect rhythm that has you arching off the bed. 

Dracule's other hand holds you down, making sure you stay still for this, and crooks his middle finger, slowing to a stop. He had made sure to get you significantly wet just for this, and he sighed in delight when he sank his digit inside of your throbbing hole. Your pussy sucks him down to the last knuckle, so wet from slick and his saliva that it is an easy stretch. 

You suck in a sharp breath at the intrusion. It doesn’t hurt. You’ve touched yourself before, but having someone else do it is an entirely new feeling of bliss. You whine when Dracule begins a slow pace, and it isn’t long before he is pressing his ring finger in along with the other. Pleasure builds, and you lose yourself, hips rutting against his hand as heat coils tight in your stomach.

Mihawk’s thumb suddenly catches your clit and the sharp press against the over sensitive button has you hiss his name as you come, walls clenching around his fingers and you see spots with how hard you've clenched your eyes. 

Dracule smirks, satisfaction curling hot in his chest. His cock aches in his pants, and he longs to shuck them off and slip inside your inviting warmth. But he holds himself back, instead gently pulling his fingers from your fluttering cunt and sticking them right back in his mouth to clean off. 

“Is that all you want, Dear One?” Mihawk murmurs above you and dips to press his cheek to your own, lips ghosting over your ear as he speaks, “Or do you want more?” 

While he waits, Mihawk presses chaste kisses and sucks gentle hickies along your skin, the hand on your hip rubs soothing circles there, occasionally dipping down to touch your swollen clit teasingly. 

You roll your head, lips seeking his in a kiss that is more tongue and teeth than anything else. Dracule licks into your mouth, spit leaking down your chin as the messy kiss continues. You shift your hips, making his hand fall between your legs, and you break the kiss long enough to plead for more. 

“Don't stop, Dracule, please.” 

The warlord doesn't need to be told twice. He kisses you one last time before sliding down and taking a nipple between his teeth. His thumb finds your clit and presses harsh half circles into it, sending shocks through your body. Your hands find his hair, weaving through the dark locks and scraping your nails along his scalp. Mihawk growls low in his throat at the blunt pain, and bites your nipple in retaliation. 

You yelp and send a glare down at him, but Dracule is already soothing the hurt with a sweet lap of his tongue that has you sighing. He moves to the other nipple, giving it the same attention as the first before he shuffles further, trailing a hot line of kisses down past your navel. You open your eyes, licking your lips when you realize how far he's moved down. 

“What,” you swallow harshly, “What are you doing?” 

The look you receive is one of pure want, his ringed eyes blazing as they lock with your own, “I want to taste you, sweet thing. I've not had my fill of you quite yet.” 

The sound that leaves your throat is a mix of a squeak and a moan, and you drop your head back to the pillow, “O-okay,” you stutter out. You weren't about to argue with him. 

Dracule smirks and presses a kiss right below your belly button, and then down he goes. He shoulders your thighs open, and then looks up to watch your expression when he lolls his tongue out and swipes the hot muscle along your puffy folds. He watches your mouth drop in a silent moan, hips stuttering in his hold as he does it again. 

Mihawk swirls his tongue, saliva pooling in his mouth and dripping down to join the slick clinging to your pussy. It's lewd, and messy, and your cheeks are on fire as you listen to the wet sounds of Dracule eating you out. 

You curse when his lips find your clit, nails digging into his scalp when Mihawk sucks on the nub, tongue lapping until you are jerking your hips and accidentally forcing his face in your cunt as you come. You hear him groan as you gush around his face, and you shake when you feel his tongue probe forward to lap at your hole, making sure not a drop of your essence was wasted. 

You release his hair, and when Dracule rises, the warlord looks thoroughly debauched. Slick and spit are smeared along his face, and his usual perfect facial hair has been mused this way and that. Mihawk looks devine like this, and arousal is already stirring in your gut, just looking at him. He wipes his mouth and then shuffles up the bed to lay beside you. 

Dracule pulls you into his arms, curling them around you and tugging until you lay splayed across him. He hums as your weight settles across him, hand sweeping into your hair to gently massage your scalp.

“Are you okay, dear one?” He asks quietly and peers down at you, yellow eyes seeming to glow in the low light of your bedroom. 

You nod easily, “Better than okay, Dracule,” you assure him and place a loving kiss on his chest. The two of you still needed to have an actual talk about this, but that could wait. The two of you would have plenty of time later. 

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @djbumblebee @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 2: The Morning After

Wordcount: 3K

~~~~

Virgil wakes up to the sound of birds singing, and he doesn't recognize the room he's in. Even before he opens his eyes he knows it's not his bedroom, and this isn't his bed. The sunlight is coming from the wrong direction, and this isn't his blanket. It's the wrong texture, the wrong weight.

Where did he fall asleep last night?

He doesn't remember. It's too early for remembering, for discerning the difference between dreams and memories.

But he's awake now—he's sure he's awake now, not dreaming—and this is not his bed, is not his blanket.

Virgil opens his eyes. He's on a couch, with a throw pillow under his head and a quilt on top of him. The room is dim, barely illuminated by the morning light coming in through the gaps in the blinds, but Virgil can see another couch across the room, with a person-shaped lump under another blanket.

Slowly, Virgil sits up and looks around. He sees an armchair, in which is yet another person, splayed out in a position that does not look comfortable, and yet, apparently, sound asleep.

There are three more people asleep on the floor between Virgil’s couch and the other couch, mostly on top of some kind of mats on the floor, and more or less covered with more blankets.

Virgil picks his way across the sleeping-people-and-bedding-strewn floor, and slips out the door into the rest of the house.

Last night is coming back to him, now. He remembers the party wrapping up, and Princey explaining that anyone too drunk or tired to drive home safely, or who just didn't want to try to travel after midnight, could spend the night.

Virgil hadn't wanted to stay, but apparently Remus had forgotten to take Virgil’s wants into consideration, and had vanished with his husband behind closed doors some time prior, leaving him stranded. So, Virgil had laid claim to one of the couches, taken the pool noodles out of his costume, and made the best of it.

The couch had been pretty comfortable, actually. It was not the worst sleepover he'd ever had, despite the impromptu-ness of it.

Remus probably isn't awake yet. It's early, and Remus has never been a morning person even when he didn't have an exciting night. Which means that Virgil’s going to be stuck here for another few hours at least. Fabulous. Hopefully Remus's twin and the other hosts don't mind him hanging around until Remus gets his lazy ass out of bed to drive him home.

Virgil finds a bathroom and uses it, and then considers going back to the couch and trying to get some more sleep.

He doesn't want to.

The couch is comfortable, but it isn't his bed, and that isn't his bedroom, and there are at least five other people in there and he's no longer exhausted enough to not care about falling asleep with five fucking strangers in the room with him, not to mention however many other people are in the rest of the house. Sure, they're all asleep right now, probably, but if he goes back to sleep, there's every chance they'll wake up before him, and he doesn't know them, doesn't know what they'd think would be a funny prank to play on the guy who fell asleep at a party, and–

He's spiraling. Virgil is spiraling and he needs to stop before he has a panic attack in a stranger's bathroom. He takes a deep breath, looks at the sink and the water that's been running over his hands for a minute now. He considers splashing some water on his face, but he doesn't actually want to do that, so instead he takes some soap (he doesn't remember if he soaped up already, but it won't hurt to do it twice) and finishes washing his hands.

He'll be okay.

He was asleep here already, in a room full of strangers, and no-one did anything. Sure, they were all too passed out to do anything, but still. No-one had played any pranks on him while he slept.

And he's awake now. He can wait until Remus gets up, and then he can make Remus take him home, and he can lock the door and take a nap in his own fucking bed, alone.

Yeah.

He'll be okay.

Virgil exits the bathroom, and doesn't go back to the room he'd slept in. He wanders in the other direction instead, and soon comes to the main room that had been the epicenter of the party.

To his surprise, he's not the only one there.

“Good morning, Virgil,” greets a man who Virgil is pretty sure he has never seen before in his life.

“Good morning,” Virgil replies automatically, his brain whirling, trying to figure out how this man knows his name. Not from work, Virgil doesn't introduce himself to customers and he “lost” his nametag ages ago.

He tries to scrutinize the man without being obvious. He has glasses with simple black frames, nothing particularly memorable or eye-catching about them. He's wearing a polo shirt and a tie, at early o'clock in the morning, while also still wearing what are clearly pajama pants.

The pants are patterned with—Virgil squints—are those beakers? They are. And microscopes, and atoms. Okay, dude's definitely a nerd then, noted.

Nerd…

Nerd-Bot!

That's why Virgil didn't recognize him, he had a box on his head last night! Granted, Virgil probably wouldn't recognize ninety percent of the people at the party if he saw them again out of costume—ninety-nine, if he's being perfectly honest, and it only isn't higher because he already knew Remus and Janus, and he might be capable of recognizing Princey and Calico now, at least in the context of this house—but he'd never even seen this guy's face.

He'd introduced himself to Virgil. Nobody else had done that. “Hello, I am—” Virgil can't remember what he'd said his name was— “I am dressed as a robot.” (It had been pretty obvious he was dressed as a robot.)

And Virgil had responded in kind, “I'm Virgil, I'm a spider.”

That was how he knew Virgil’s name. Good, mystery solved. What was his name though? Virgil isn't very good with names. That particular bit of the memory is nothing but static and an impression of the man's tone.

Princey had called him Nerdbot, and Calculator Watch and Encyclopedia Brain and half a dozen other nicknames that aren't coming to mind now, so him coming back and striking up a conversation hadn't been much help on the ‘remembering names’ front.

“Are you hungry?” Nerdbot asks, interrupting Virgil’s thoughts. “There's cereal, and toast, and coffee. We had not anticipated anyone but myself being up this early, but there will also be pancakes and scrambled eggs in an hour or two.”

Virgil blinks. “You're making us breakfast?”

“Of course,” Nerdbot replies impassively. “It would not be very hospitable to send guests away hungry. If you would prefer, there are also leftovers of most of the hors d'oeuvres served last evening.”

Virgil has never been to a party that included breakfast before. “I– cereal?”

“Certainly,” Nerdbot says, and gestures for Virgil to follow him into the next room. It's a kitchen, and Nerdbot opens a cabinet and takes out an entire stack of cereal bowls. “If you wouldn't mind setting these on the table out there, I would appreciate it,” he says, handing the bowls to Virgil.

Virgil takes the bowls back out to the main room and puts them on the snack table, which is otherwise mostly bare. The paper tablecloth is gone, and all the food's been put away, but there's still the stack of cups that had been beside the punch bowls, and some water bottles. Virgil snags one and slips it into his hoodie pocket.

Nerdbot comes out of the kitchen behind him and sets several cereal boxes on the table beside the bowls. “Might as well start getting it set up now,” he explains. “Take your pick, I'll be right back.” And he disappears back into the kitchen.

Dang, they've even got name brand cereal. Virgil usually gets the off-brand stuff, because it's cheaper and doesn't taste very different. He pours himself a bowl of lucky charms.

Nerdbot returns with a jug of milk and a handful of spoons. “Would you like juice?” he asks. “We have orange, apple, and a blend that is primarily peach. There is also chocolate milk, if you would prefer.”

Virgil shook his head. “Water’s fine.”

“Very well.” Nerdbot picks up one of the bottles and places it beside Virgil’s bowl, then returns to his seat.

Virgil adds milk to his cereal, takes the second water bottle, and looks around to see where to sit. There aren't any chairs at the snack table, but there are several around the edges of the room, along with a couple stools and the armchair Nerdbot is sitting in. He's got a mug and a plate of toast on the side table beside him, and one of the dining chairs is on the other side, so Virgil decides to sit there.

They eat together in awkward silence. Neither attempts to make conversation.

When Virgil finishes his cereal, he asks, “Where should I put my dishes?”

Nerdbot looks up. “Oh, you can put them in the dishwasher,” he says. “Please rinse your bowl first.”

Virgil does. There's plenty of room in the dishwasher, and he's not sure how they like to load it, and there aren't any other bowls yet to extrapolate from, so he just makes his best guess. The spoon at least is easy. There are several pieces of silverware already in the caddy, handles upward, and Virgil’s spoon joins them.

He returns to the main room.

He sits back down in the dining chair.

He doesn't know what to do now.

Nerdbot finishes his own breakfast, gathers his dishes, and takes them into the kitchen, snagging the milk jug on the way. When he returns, he doesn't sit back down. Instead, he starts taking down one of the purple and orange streamers crisscrossing the ceiling and walls.

“Would you like help?” Virgil offers. Nerdbot glances over his shoulder at him, then nods.

“Much appreciated,” he says with a smile.

Together, they take down all the decorations in this room, throwing away the streamers and piling the more reusable decorations on the small table beside the armchair. When that's done, Nerdbot asks Virgil to help him move the snack table.

“We put it here to make space, but as the majority of the partygoers went home last night, it can go back to its usual location,” he explains, going to one end. Virgil mirrors him on the other end, and they lift.

There had been just enough room to walk between the table and the wall, so you could reach the food on the far side without reaching across the whole table. Careful not to tip anything off, they move the table another foot or so out.

“That looks about right,” Nerdbot says, eyeing the table thoughtfully. He grabs the nearest dining chair and puts it in place, testing that it can be pulled all the way back without hitting the wall. Satisfied, he starts moving the rest of the chairs back.

“Does it matter which ones go where?” Virgil asks. The chairs are a mix of two sets, four of them wooden with white-painted slats and legs, and five made of twisty black metal, with padded seats and backs.

“No,” Nerdbot says, so Virgil just puts the chairs in randomly. Three go on each of the long sides of the table, and one each at either end. The chair Virgil had breakfasted in, which is one of the metal ones, remains where it is.

“Thank you. You have been very helpful,” Nerdbot tells him, and Virgil smiles. Okay, so overall it hadn't been as awkweird a morning as he'd been expecting.

Nerdbot considers the table for a few more moments. “We could add the stools, to squeeze a few more people in,” he muses. “Still, it would be too tight to fit everyone even so.” He turns to Virgil. “Do you think we should get out the extra leaf?”

“Uh.” Virgil hadn't expected to be consulted! “How many people are there?” Counting Virgil there were six in the room where he'd slept, and then he knows Janus and Remus are still here somewhere, plus–

“Fifteen,” Nerdbot says, and doesn't even need to count first. “With the additional leaf, we can seat twelve easily enough, though the corners are a little tight. If we're willing to brush elbows, we can squeeze in a fifth person on each side, for a total of fourteen, which leaves only one person unseated.”

“I can sit out,” Virgil volunteers. He does not want to be squeezed in with a tableful of mostly strangers, thanks much. “I already ate, and that sounds crowded.”

“Hm. I would not want you to feel excluded,” Nerdbot says, eyeing the seating arrangement. “But you're right, it is a tight fit, especially considering the number of people present who talk with their hands. I would also dislike for a glass of juice to be upset into someone's lap.” He sighs. “Again.”

“Does everyone need to eat together?” Virgil asks. 

Nerdbot turns to him, eyebrows raised. “You're right,” he says. “We had not planned a specific breakfast time, and people will be waking at various points, not all together. It is entirely probable that at least three people will be not dining at any given point, in which case we would merely require twelve settings.” He nods decisively. “Excellent. Will you assist me in adding the leaf?”

“Where is it?”

“Under the stairs, with the holiday and seasonal items,” Nerdbot says, walking off. Virgil follows him.

They have to shift a couple boxes to get at the extra leaf, but they get it out, and between the two of them they add it to the table, and then add stools at the resulting gaps.

The inactive silence which follows is less awkward than the one before. Virgil plays a game on his phone.

After a bit, a few more people show up. Nerdbot greets them and offers breakfast. “There is cereal and toast available now,” he tells them, “and we will be making scrambled eggs and pancakes shortly.”

One person takes him up on the cereal, but the others decide to wait for hot food. Nerdbot offers them coffee as well, which they gratefully accept.

The fourth person to arrive is Calico, who is still dressed as a cat. He's a gray cat now, in a simple onesie, instead of the more elaborate costume from last night.

He hugs Nerdbot from behind, mumbling a sleepy “Good morning” into his shoulder blades.

Nerdbot's face softens. “Good morning, love,” he answers fondly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hm,” Calico says, still hugging him. 

“Do you want to get started on the pancakes?” Nerdbot asks.

Calico yawns. “Okay,” he says. He doesn't let go of Nerdbot. Nerdbot pats his hands with an extremely affectionate smile, and slowly, Calico releases him.

Nerdbot turns around and kisses him, and Virgil looks back at the game on his phone because privacy. They probably don't want to be stared at while they kiss in their own dining room.

He glances up again after several seconds of silence, and they're still kissing, frozen in place like a pair of statues. The Lovers, or whatever. Virgil returns to his game.

Eventually, he hears Calico say, “You took the decorations down,” and he looks up. They're hugging now, Calico wrapped up in Nerdbot's arms. He's pouting a little.

“I did,” Nerdbot confirms. “As we agreed previously, the season for Halloween is All Of October. It is November first, and therefore no longer Halloween time. Furthermore, while some guests remain, the party has ended, and there is no more need for party decorations.”

Calico pouts harder, and Nerdbot kisses him again, much more briefly this time.

“After breakfast, I will assist you in putting up more decorations,” he says. “You will note that I did not remove any general fall decor, only the specific Halloween items.”

This room had mostly been Halloween and party, though. There was a cross-stitched leafy picture on the wall, but they'd taken most everything else down. Maybe some of the little stuffed jack-o-lanterns should have stayed out? Pumpkins were definitely general fall, but jack-o-lanterns were specifically Halloween, right?

Well, they're just on the table, not packed away. If he wants to, Calico can put them back easily enough.

Calico hums a little, squeezing Nerdbot. “Okay,” he says. “I'll get started on the pancakes. Will you make the eggs?”

“Of course,” Nerdbot says, and they head into the kitchen.

While they're cooking, Virgil is surprised by the appearance of someone else he recognizes.

“Hey, it’s my favorite barista!” greets the man who is, as always, wearing sunglasses.

Virgil grins. “What are you doing up before noon, you chronic insomniac?” he returns.

“Looking for coffee, obviously. What are my options today?”

“There's sugar and cream,” Virgil says, since Nerdbot had offered those. “I doubt there's a milk steamer or flavored syrups, but our host is an excellent cook, so if he likes you enough to let you raid his spice cabinet I'm sure there's cinnamon and ginger, so you could attempt an approximation of pumpkin spice.”

Remy grins at him and saunters into the kitchen. He comes back a few moments later not with dry spices but with a bottle of creamer, which he pours generously into a mug before adding coffee.

He plops himself down in Nerdbot's armchair and makes casual conversation with Virgil, who doesn't have to tell him he can't talk now, he's working and there are other customers.

It's nice.

~~~~

Chapter 3: A Series of Unintended Events

[blueariel3-blog]

Together

Pairing: Poly!Dragonott x Reader

Summary: Draco is tasked with finishing the vanishing cabinet, but it's tearing him apart. You and Theo make a plan to help him.

You skipped down the hallway, your hand safely enclosed in Theo’s rather large one. Pansy made a joke about Trelawany’s outfit ahead of you and the group of Slytherins laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and sending some second years running. You nodded along and smiled, pretending as if you heard the joke and thought it was funny as you focused on getting to the great hall. 

The smell of fresh roast and gravy hit your nose and you sighed as you happily took your seat. Theo sat next to you, helped you fix your plate, and poured you a drink, smiling as he did so. You brushed a tender kiss across his cheek in thanks. There were several minutes of silent eating and chattering before you realized Draco wasn’t at the table and likely wasn’t coming. 

You gently placed a hand on Theo’s knee and gave a small squeeze. He gave you a quiet look of understanding and gestured for you to finish your meal. You did so quietly, nodding along to the conversation and trying not to let fear and worry consume you and ruin your appetite. 

When dinner was almost over, you made your way around to the kitchens to find the elves. They all greeted you warmly as you passed through, rich smells filling your nose and washing some of your nerves away. You stopped at the counter in front of the head elf and gently laid your hands on the counter. 

“Could I have a plate to go? Please?” It wasn’t unusual for you to often ask the elves for a plate to take, and you gathered they knew why. 

“Of course, dear.” The elderly elf climbed down from her stool and you watched her toddle around the kitchen to collect the food. In a magically extended box, they shoved a double heaping of roast and gravy, rice, carrots, turnips, pumpkin pastries, and cheesecake. She set the box on the counter and patted it, handing her a small extended pitcher of pumpkin juice. 

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly. The elf placed her withered hand on your cheek gently and nodded, motioning for you to get going. You gently took the box and pitcher and pushed open the kitchen doors with your elbow, meeting Theo right outside. 

“I’m worried about him,” you said as he took the box from you. You both started down the corridors, keeping track of the moving staircases in order to get to the room of requirement. You passed Snape in the hallway who nodded his head and continued on his way. 

“I am too. Maybe he’ll let us help today.” He sighed as he stepped in front of the blank wall, waiting on you to step beside him. You gave him a sharp look. 

“I doubt it. Show me the room of requirement.” 

The stones began to chip away until a door appeared. Theo turned the handle and sighed. A blast of warm air hit you in the face and you sighed, shrugging your robes off as you weaved through the stacks of lost and forgotten objects. A clattering sound to your right had you sharply turning and coming to stand behind a head of platinum hair. 

You placed a hand on his shoulder as you braced for an outburst. He turned to face both of you, dark circles around his eyes. You could see how tired he was and how stress had taken a toll on his body, but you had lost that fight more times than you cared to admit. 

Theo placed the box on the table beside you and stepped towards you both, placing a hand on Draco’s other shoulder. He sagged into both of your touches before pulling away and rubbing a tired hand through his hair, the movement slow and sluggish. He dropped onto the worn quilted couch you and Theo spent much of your time on while watching him. 

“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” he mumbled. He was a very closed-off person despite sharing a relationship with both of you and refused to accept help. You gently lowered yourself to the floor and sat against his legs as Theo took the open seat next to him. 

“We know we didn’t have to, but we wanted to. Don’t want you to be alone,” You whispered. Despite knowing no one else occupied the room and you could talk as loud as you wanted, you always kept your voice quiet around your boys. 

“Thanks,” he sighed. 

Theo gently patted his thigh and motioned for him to turn his body, laying his head down in Theo’s lap. He stroked the blond and stringy hair away from his pale face, scratching gently at his scalp. The hand that dangled over the edge allowed for you to reach out and grasp his cold fingers in yours. 

“How much have you gotten done?” Theo was always hesitant to ask but knew it was a conversation that needed to be had. 

“Almost done, just need a few more days.” Theo exchanged a look with you and shook his head. He had been saying that for weeks. 

“Why don’t you eat and rest a little while? Theo and I will wake you up in a few hours.” 

“Can’t. Need to finish the cabinet.” His words slurred together and his eyes dropped as he struggled to stay awake. You brushed a tender kiss to his fingers and gently massaged the pressure point on his wrist, the dark mark almost touching it.

You sat there for a few minutes as you both waited for Draco to drift to sleep. When quiet snoring filled the room, you pried his hand out of yours and pulled up from the floor. You silently cast a charm to extend the couch to a bed big enough to fit the three of you and placed a silencing charm around the posters. 

You helped Theo move his body and tug off his robes to make him more comfortable. He wore his white button-down and boxers when you were both done, curled under the silk green sheets and resting comfortably. 

“Want me to help,” Theo whispered. You shook your head and bent to place a kiss on his forehead. 

“No, stay with him. You both need some sleep.” Your lips hovered near his brow, pressing another kiss before standing upright and moving to the cabinet a few feet away. 

You cast another silencing charm around you and opened the creaking door only to find a dead bird inside. You sighed and banished the creature, shutting the door again to think. 

An hour later, you heard Theo’s snores join in with Draco’s. You turned to see Draco laying behind Theo, an arm wrapped around his waist as he buried his head in the curly chocolate locks. You smiled and turned back to the furniture. 

In the next hour, you managed to accomplish a few things. You altered the spells along the outside and inside of the cabinet to cushion the entrance and exit of whoever stepped inside. You also added a muffling spell to keep the sound contained and fixed the squeaky hinges that plagued Draco’s nightmares. 

It was another 3 hours and lots of charms and transfigurations before you decided to step inside. You knew if either of the boys saw you in the cabinet they would combust, but they were both happily sleeping. You took a deep breath and carefully shut the door behind you, trusting your spell work to be thorough enough to protect your life. 

With a deep breath, you muttered the charm and braced your hands against the walls. There was a light humming and a quick flash of light before the furniture eased back into its quiet nature. You carefully cracked open the door and were met with a room quite different than the one you had just left. A large smile appeared on your face. 

You cast a diagnostic and checked for injuries to make sure you weren’t looking over anything in your desperation for the cabinet to work. When you were sure you were fine, you closed the door once more and uttered the charm again. The same quiet rumbling and flash of light consumed you before it went still again. 

On the other side of this door were your two boyfriends wrapped in one another arms and snoring. You grinned, hardly containing your squeal, and jumped out of the cabinet. Another diagnostic confirmed you were not injured. 

You peeled off your uniform and transformed your dress shirt into a long t-shirt and slipped into bed behind Draco. The clock on the opposite wall read 4:55 am and you silently groaned as you set the alarm for 7 sharp. A few lost hours of sleep would be worth it for his well-being. 

You slipped a hand around Draco’s abdomen and lightly kissed his head, nuzzling in deep to the comforting scent of apples and chestnut. 

A few hours later, the sharp ringing of an alarm woke you from your sleep. You all three groaned as you moved around the bed, disentangling limbs. Draco suddenly shot from the bed and almost tripped on his trousers before stumbling to the cabinet. 

“I wasn’t supposed to sleep! I have to finish this cabinet in time!” He pulled at the roots of his hair and you shot up from the bed, coming to grasp his hands and prevent him from hurting himself further. 

“Draco, baby, I fixed the cabinet.” It was as if he was in his own world and couldn’t hear you. 

“He’s going to kill me if I don’t get this done! I’ll have to skip classes again to make up for it,” He mumbled to himself. Theo joined you two and pulled Draco into his side who tried to push him away. 

“Draco! Listen to her!” 

Theo shoved his shoulders and turned him around to watch you. Draco lifted his eyebrows as if surprised to find you there and reached out a hand. 

“Darling, I’m sorry. I have to finish the cabinet. Let Theo take you to get ready and I’ll try to get you for lunch.” 

“Draco I fixed the cabinet.” His hand stilled mid-air and he blinked at you. 

“That’s not funny.” He narrowed his eyes. You huffed and stomped towards the cabinet, pulling the door open and then sealing yourself inside. You heard Draco yelling from the other side. 

“NO! Theo, let me go! She’s going to die!” There was a brief sound of struggling and then silence. 

You opened the door to find a different room and sighed, closing it once again. When you opened the door a second time, both boys stood with their mouths hanging open as you stepped out. 

“Now, no more worrying. It’s fixed. You will go to class and eat with us and sleep in our bed and you will not spend another moment worrying about this wretched furniture. Either of you.” You gave them both a pointed look. 

“How did you…why?” Draco sounded astonished and his eyes began to glass over. You placed a hand on each side of his head and kissed him gently before resting your foreheads together. 

“It was tearing you apart and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something. It’s fixed now and you don’t have to worry about it for a while.” You placed another kiss on his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then each cheek, and finally another one on his lips. 

“Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He extended a hand behind him for Theo who gladly took it and joined the embrace. The dark-haired wizard placed a kiss on both of your heads. 

“Now that that’s sorted, let's all go shower, together. Then we can eat, together. And then go to class, together. And when the day is done we’ll all take a nap, together.” You smiled and hummed, leaning into his side. 

“That sounds lovely. I’ve missed both of you.” Draco gave each of you a short kiss and tugged on your hands, leading you to the pile of clothes on the floor beside the bed. 

You each helped one another dress slowly, sharing small smiles and giggles. It wasn’t long before the three of you walked quietly through the halls together to the bathroom, desperate to be in each other's arms again. 

[barn-anon]

Ormni or rather… “Ronnie” as his human calls him, let’s out a soft huff as he lazes on the large couch. The sunlight filters in and warms him. His keen hearing can pick up the sound of his brothers outside the house, calling out for him to get off his ass and join them.

He cracks an eye open at the feel of a familiar hand on his head, rumbling contently at the presence of his human. She’s getting on with age now and her strength isn’t what it used to be. He gets up from the couch and follows her to the backyard where the quilt she had just finished a week ago lies wet in a large pail.

Ah so she’s just finished washing it? He can take over now, easily squeezing the water from the quilt before hanging it up to dry. The sunlight is strong, it should be dried today.

He lumbers back into the house where his elderly human is heating up some of the muffins she made yesterday. His brothers…. They’re still outside causing a ruckus to try to get him out. They can wait though, his human went through the effort of baking these muffins and heating them up for him again.

He purrs as he nuzzles against his human, he didn’t think it possible but she managed to feed him till he has a nice layer of fat on him. All the better to hug right?

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

Last one for today

[creations-by-chaosfay]

End-of-Year Commissions

The vast majority of my commissions menu is now unavailable until Spring 2025. What I have listed below will be available until December 1st, 2024.

Two slots are available.

Pictures are below the cut!

Decorative quilted pins and magnets - These are very mini quilts, approximately 1.5x1.5 inches in size, with a button sewn onto the back. On the button, I'll glue either a magnet for you to attach this to any magnet surface you fancy, or a pin backing so as to make it possible to wear the little quilts. Time to finish: 2-3 days

Pine tree wall hanging - 17x30 inches, this is a quilt that looks like a pine tree. It can be made using whatever prints, colors, or themes you can think of. Do you want a Halloween tree? I can do that. Black and white? That too. Pastels? Sure, why not? These are an excellent option if you have a large pin collection you want to show off, live in a home with pets or small children, your home has extremely limited space, or you really don't want to deal with a tree (artificial or real). I'll attach a hanging sleeve on the back for a dowel or curtain rod, but you can also use drapery clips and Command hooks to hold it up (it's what I do). I offer the option of including decorative pins as stated above, as well as hand-sewing buttons. Though, if you have buttons you want to feature on it as ornaments, I recommend you save yourself some money and hand sew them yourself. Buttons are very easy to attach! Time to finish: 7-10 days

Rag quilt - These are made using three layers of fabric, exposed seams, and very little time. I can finish a baby size, 30x30 to 40x40 inches, in 2-3 days. These function well as weighted blankets without the risk of injury weighted blankets can cause. My preference is three layers of flannel, and it's extremely warm. Two layers of fabric is also an option. As for why it's called a rag quilt, one side is smooth, the other has the exposed seams, and with every washing these seams will get fluffy and fuzzier. A rag quilt is a great option if your space is cold, like a drafty room in winter. I've living in the US Great Plains and Midwest regions, winters with where a windchill under -30F is fairly standard. One of these will keep you very warm. Time to finish: 2-10 days, depending on size

Decorative pins/magnets - these cannot be washed except by hand. Doing otherwise will result in irreversible damage. I make these using scraps, and will fussy cut some to get a specific look, like the superman and little dragon in the second picture.

2. Pine tree wall hanging - The tree on the left, in pink, blue, and purple, full of pins and buttons, is mine. I have nearly all my decorative pins on it, and made it those colors because I can. The one on the left was a commission with "tree colored" in the description...so I used a print with trees in it. The client is very happy with it, and keeps it on display all year round. I highly recommend sewing the buttons on yourself, seeing as it will save you money, and you won't have to wait longer for the quilt to arrive.

3. Rag quilt - this is the front and backing, with the front being the fluffy side. You must dry this on its own because of the fraying effect. I made the mistake of leaving a small towel in with the blanket. There is no removing all those strings. Ever. Another note, these will take more time to dry simply because of all the layers. The one I made for myself is made using quilting cotton and requires a round on hot in the dryer, hang it for about an hour, then I toss it in again. That gets it dry rather well.

If you're outside the US, or in an area within the US that deals with a lot of weather, keep that in mind. From the US to the UK, it's usually around two weeks, most of the EU two to three weeks, Brazil two months. Even ordering rush delivery will not guarantee arrival before the end of the year. The longest anything took to ship from my location was eight months, from Oregon to South Africa.

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 1. FLASHPOINT

❝Killing must felt good to God too, he does it all the time. And are we not created in his image?❞

Cradle Rock M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

Every day was the same...

You woke to the gentle hum of your s̶u̶r̶r̶o̶g̶a̶t̶e̶ mother as she prepared breakfast, the facility's fluorescent lights a constant companion.

Sitting up on the edge of the quilted bed, you could only blankly gaze at the walls as you continue to slowly blink away the sleep. 

Decorated images of countless plants and animals filled your vision the longer you stared, painting a picture of an outside world you had never seen.

"____" You look over to see your mother already waiting for you at the table in the corner "It's 8:45..." Almost like a switch, you shoot up from the bed and scurry over to your seat.

Every day was the same...

In almost robotic, automatic movements, you took proportioned bites—just as the lab scientist taught you (much to your mother's dismay).

You take in your surroundings as you continue to eat, hoping to find something new within these same four walls.

The room was designed to perfectly develop a human being without leaving the room: a small library where you and your mother read together, a sleeping area, an exercise station, a cooking area, and a learning station where you were taught mini-lessons every other day.

Every day was the same...

Breakfast finished, you hand her your dishes and retreat to the small table in the learning station.

Pulling out a medical practice arm, you grab a needle and thread and began to work on your stiches, focusing on the precise movements your mother had taught you.

The sound of your mothers bustling movements fades into the background with every loop of the thread.

Every day was the same...

'Getting ready for work as usual...won't be back until nighttime.' A frown almost tugs at your lips at the thought before you brush it away with a light huff. 'Then again, she is a doctor. Can't be selfish if she's saving people...'

Hearing your mother's footsteps near, you pause your movements. The ends of her white coat flutters in your peripheral vision as you keep looking down at the dummy on the table.

But today?

"____...."

At the call of your name, you finally look up. 

A bag of medical supplies hangs in her grip, the remains of years old stickers and childlike drawings decorating its green leathered surface is what catches your attention first.

Trailing upward, you spot her favorite pink stethoscope looped around her shoulders before meeting her gaze.

Today was different.

Warm eyes gazed down at you. 

Her bag drops to the ground as she swiftly squat down to meet your height. Hands softly cradle your face which you gladly nuzzle against.

"...my sweet ____." Your heart jumps when she wraps her arms around you tight.

Not held as often, your arms are stiffen before you quickly hug around her and press your face into her shoulder as if she was going to change her mind.

She chuckles.

You look up to see her already looking at you in an unfamiliar way. Her hand softly brushes against your forehead. 

A part of you is confused. She never w̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶o̶w̶e̶d̶ showed you so much affection before. But you didn't question it.

Instead, you relished the extra attention, assuming it was just another day in your semi-isolated life.

Pulling away from the hug, she leans down and give you a kiss on the forehead, her lips lingering a bit longer than usual.

After a moment of content silence your mom stands up.

Her eyes are blinking as if to wipe away tears. 'But why is she cr—'

"I need to go. I will see you soon alright?" Picking up her medical bag once more, she reaches the doorway and unlocks it with a code before walking out.

You watch her until the door replaces your view, a tremor of unease washing over.

Shaking it off, you go grab the agriculture book Ms. Sunny had given you before continuing your task. It was one of your favorites.

Twice a week, Ms. Sunny would come to teach you about plants—how to grow them, and how to care for a garden. You always looked forward to those lessons.

Ms. Sunny wasn't like the others here. She was the only person aside from your mother who didn't treat you with indifference.

Ms. Sunny was a woman who always wore bright Sunflowered themed bows and greeted you with a sweet smile; a welcomed change from the cold sterile walls around you.

Your hands continued stitching while your eyes wandered to the open book beside you, multitasking like you often did.

Everything was normal—almost peaceful—until a knock on the door shattered the calm.

Bloodwork.

The guards (two of them as usual) came to escort you like they did every day. Over the years they had grown lazy, no longer strict in how they handled you.

They didn't need to be. You'd never caused any problems, never tried to run, and mostly kept to yourself.

You rarely even listened to what they said, staying in your own little world. After all you were just a kid. It felt wrong to listen in on adult conversations.

But today something catches your attention.

"They said the second subject failed," one guard mutters low, but not low enough.

"Rejected the dose just as the first."

"Really?"

"Yeah, infected ate them before they could even..."

You slowed unconsciously, your mind trying to grasp onto the meaning behind their words.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. Subject? Were they talking about another person?

'There's more of me?'

The thought sent a jolt of confusion and fear through you.

You'd never been told about others—never heard about anyone else being in this facility, let alone someone else undergoing the same thing.

But you'd always suspected it: sometimes hearing shouts or muffled cries from other parts of the facility when they took you for tests or scans. Overhearing whispers about "other subjects" and how they were "difficult."

You never pressed. It was easier to live in the bubble of not knowing.

A sharp yank on your arm brought you out of your thoughts.

"Keep moving," the guard barked, his tone harsher than usual. You flinched, shrinking into yourself. He'd never spoken to you like that before.

His voice usually neutral now carried an air of fear he couldn't hide. It wasn't about you. You could sense that much.

But whatever had him on edge only made you more afraid.

Your heart began to race once realizing you were pulled down an unfamiliar route. The hallway felt unfamiliar, darker. You'd never been down this way before.

"C-can...can I go back to my room?" You asked, voice small and shaky. 

No response.

Panic set in. You try to pull away but the grip on your arm only tightened. "P-please! C-can I just go back—"

The grip only tightened. No matter how hard you tugged, they dragged you forward without a word.

Anxiety gripped your chest as you glanced around trying to understand what was happening.

You began to catch glimpses of people inside the rooms you passed—blurred figures moving too quickly for you to get a clear look.

But the more you looked, the clearer the details became.

They looked...wrong.

Their faces were gaunt—ashen like they hadn't slept in days. Some looked like they had just woken up with slow and jerky movements, but all of them moved with the same mindless gait.

They staggered around, bumping into the walls as if they weren't aware of their surroundings.

'What's wrong with them? 'The thought gnawed at your mind as you were pulled further down the hall, your heart pounding in your chest.

At the end of the hallway you spot a group of doctors crowded around a window, scribbling notes on their clipboards as they observe something inside.

A few of them were familiar—faces you had seen during your medical examinations.

Your heart pounded as you got closer and you try to offer a small smile, a faint greeting—anything to break the tension.

But they didn't look at you. Instead they shoot shocked glances at the guards.

One of the doctors step forward, his face twisted in irritation. "Why is she here? She's not supposed to see this!"

The guard holding you scoffs unfazed. "Just following orders that were given. Subject's supposed to be moved to the next phase."

Subject. The word stings but it's not new.

You've heard them use it before. Still, the way they ignored you now...it hurts more than it should have.

Their argument faded into the background as your attention was drawn to the window they were all standing by.

Curiosity tugged at you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward to peer through the glass.

The room inside was just like the others—plain, sterile, white walls. Nothing unusual at first glance.

But it was something about the streaks and dark smears on the walls that made your heart skip a beat.

You lean in closer, squinting at the strange murky stains in confusion. Especially upon spotting a mangled child's body in the corner. 'Wha—'

A face smash against the glass.

A scream tears from your throat as you jump back, your body colliding with the guard's iron grip.

That thing on the other side of the window—the creature—wasn't human.

The grotesque figure presses its decaying face against the glass, blood and rotting flesh smearing across it.

You're frozen, wide-eyed and shaking, unable to look away.

It gnashes its teeth, bloody drool trailing down its chin as its soulless eyes lock onto you before slamming its head against the glass again.

"For fuck's sake...just take her back! Get her out of here!" one of the doctors snapped, her voice cutting through the haze of fear.

But you couldn't move. Your eyes never left the rotting figure as it continued to desperately and relentlessly smash itself against the glass.

And then that's when your gaze locked on in its decomposing head. Your breath hitches, body beginning to tremble the longer you stare.

It was tangled in the creature's matted hair, bright against the horror of its decaying form.

'Is that...?' You don't finish the thought. You can't.

The guard roughly pulls you away but it's too late. The damage is done.

It's burned into your mind, seared deep. You tremble violently, your stomach lurching as the horror of what you had seen sank in.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps and the taste of your breakfast soured as bile rose higher.

You barely registered being pulled away, barely heard the scolding voices of the guards and doctors as they argued in the background.

Everything felt distant. Muted.

It was like you were underwater, the world around you muffled and far away. Your limbs unresponsive as you're hauled back down the hall.

But your eyes...your eyes never leave the window. It remains fixed on the still-rotting figure behind the glass.

Locked on the Sunflower bow in her hair.

*･:*:✮:▹༓◃:✮:*:･*

You're thrown back into your room, your legs buckling beneath you as the door slammed shut.

The trembling hadn't stopped, your breath still ragged as your mind reeled, trying to process what you had just seen.

Your body was locked in place by fear and disbelief.

And then you heard her.

"Sweetheart?"

Your gaze snapped upward. There, sitting in the corner of the room, was your mother.

Without thinking you stumble to your feet and bolt toward her, the tears already spilling over.

"M-mom!" You collapse against her as you sob uncontrollably. She rocks you gently just like when you were little.

"It's okay baby. It's okay," she soothingly whispers into your hair.

But it wasn't okay. Nothing about this was okay.

You're shaking so badly you can barely speak, your chest heaving as sob after sob wracks your body. "M-m-Ms. Sunny..."

You miss the way your mother's face crumples in grief at the name before she pushes it down.

She holds you tighter, pressing you closer into her chest.

"I know," her voice cracks as she stroke your hair. "I know sweetheart."

For a moment you almost believe her. That everything will be okay because she's here holding you like she always does.

But then the door creaks open behind you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end and that fragile sense of safety shatters.

You slowly turn your head toward the source of the sound making your blood run cold.

There, standing in the doorway, was another one of those things. One of those monsters.

Just like what Ms. Sunny turned into.

Its lumbers forward with gnashing teeth, blood dripping from its cracked lips.

A terrified gasp escapes you as you tighten your grip on your mother. "M-mom we have to go! Please we have to go!"

You try to pull her up, your hands frantically tugging at her arm. But she lets out a pained grunt and stumbles, her legs giving way beneath her.

Panic claws at you—and for the first time, you notice the blood-soaked bandages crudely wrapped around her legs, already stained crimson.

Your heart lurches in confusion and terror. She was walking fine before. 'When did this happen?'

The creature's growl drags your attention back. It's getting closer.

"M-mom I—I'll get help," your voice trembled as you began to move.

You scrambled to your feet, darting toward the glass window that overlooked the facility's observation room.

Someone had to be there. Someone had to help.

But no one comes. Your cries grow frantic as you slam your fists against the glass again and again.

A sharp cry from your mother makes you whip around.

She's scooting back into the corner, eyes wide with fear as she tries to put as much distance between her and the creature as she can.

But her legs—those damned legs—keep her from moving fast enough.

Desperation surges through you.

You rush toward her ready to throw yourself between her and the monster, but before you can reach her, something yanks you backward.

Surprised, you twist around to see a guard—the same one from before—along with one of the scientists, their faces cold and emotionless. "Let me go! Let me go! I have to help her!"

But they don't listen. Instead the guard maneuvers you to the ground, slamming your body down with a thud that knocks the wind from you.

You let out a cry of discomfort as he twists your arm outward across the floor as he pins you down with a knee pressed into your back.

"Stop fighting," he growls, but you barely hear him. Your face is pressed to the cold floor as the doctor knelt beside you and grabbed your wrist.

You let out a sob as you struggled in vain to free yourself, watching helplessly as the monster drew closer and closer to your mother.

The prick of a needle pierced your skin and a wave of dizziness washed over you as whatever they injected into you began to take effect.

They release you and leave the room once again, door shutting with a thud.

You're too out of it to notice: limbs growing heavy, your strength drains as the drug takes hold. "Please...save her..."

Your voice slurs as the room begins to spin, everything tilting and warping in front of your eyes. 

"Wha...what did they do to me?" you murmur weak and strained.

Your thoughts feel jumbled, everything spinning out of control, but the only thing that pierces through the haze is one thought—your mom.

And then you hear it.

Her scream.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

It cuts through the fog like a blade and for a moment you snap back into reality just long enough to see it. You wish you hadn't.

The creature is on her. Its decaying hands are tearing into her, its teeth sinking into her stomach as it gnaws at her flesh with sickening ease.

"No..." The word barely escapes your lips. Your heart shatters, mind screaming in horror. "Momma...NO!"

A surge of energy rips through you, stronger than anything you've ever felt before. You lunge at the monster, throwing yourself onto its decaying form with a wild and primal scream.

Your hands claw at its back, tearing at the decaying flesh. It keeps eating oblivious to your blows, its teeth still sinking into your mother's flesh as blood pours from the gaping wound.

"Get off her! GET OFF MY MOMMA!" you wail, tears streaming down your face as you pound your fists against its rotting body.

But it doesn't even react. It keeps devouring her like you're not even there.

You look past its head, your heart shattering into a million pieces as your mother—your beautiful strong mother—looks up at you.

Even as blood bubbles at the corners of her mouth she somehow—somehow tries to give you a reassuring smile.

It's faint and barely there, but it's the last thing she can offer you.

Everything goes red.

Your whole body trembles uncontrollably as rage twists your face into something unrecognizable.

Your eyes blur with tears and bloodshot fury but none of it matters. The world around you fades as static seem to fill your ears.

'Stop it.'

'Save Momma.'

'StOP IT!.'

'SAVE MOMMA!'

"STOP IT!!" With an animalistic screech, your hands move on their own. They dig into its decaying neck.

Its flesh peels away under your nails soft and putrid. And without thinking, you lean in teeth bared and take a vicious bite.

The taste is vile—rotten and sour blood floods your mouth, some of it seeping down your throat.

You spit the chunks of flesh and bones out with another animalistic cry and take a bigger bite, tearing away more of its neck.

You dig your fingers deeper into its softening skull, pulling until the head is ripped clean off. 

It's not enough. It tried to take her from you.

With a savage scream you though the body to the ground and straddle its back.

"GET AWAY FROM MOMMA!" you shriek, voice breaking with raw emotion as you grab its head and began to smash it against the floor. 

Blood splattered across the room; red stained your arms, your face, the walls. But you don't care.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOUUUUU!"

Each word punctuated by another slam, another sickening crack of bone as you continued to bash the creature's skull into the ground.

You don't stop—not until it's nothing but a mangled mess beneath your hands.

Your chest is heaving, breaths coming out in ragged uneven gasps. Blood drips from your hands, your clothes soaked in it, pooling under your knees.

The only sound now is your heavy breathing.

It takes everything inside you not to collapse right there next to the broken body of the thing you've destroyed.

"_...____.

Your head snaps up at the sound of your mother's voice. In an instant all the rage and fury you felt drains away.

You stumble toward her, your knees almost giving way beneath you as you fall at her side.

Your breath hitches when you see the gaping wound in her stomach, her pulsing insides exposed to the cold sterile air.

It's too much. The sight rips a sob from your throat. She won't make it. Not like this.

You turn to the door with desperation clawing at your chest. "I know you can hear me!" you scream, cracked voice echoing around the room. "She needs help! She needs medical attention! Please!"

There's no answer. No one comes. The door remains closed.

"Shh...don't worry," her voice is soft but it makes you freeze. You look down at her, your heart twisting at how fragile she seems.

You can't bring yourself to touch her at first, your hands trembling as they hover just above her.

"M-mom? I can't—I don't know what to do..." Tears spill freely down your cheeks.

She shakes her head gently before reaching up to cup your cheek with a trembling hand.

You pressing it against your face, as if holding on might somehow keep her with you longer. Her warmth is fading too quickly.

 More tears fall but you don't care. 

"C'mere," her voice grows softer, more distant. She pulls you close allowing you to lay your head on her chest and curl up against her.

Her heartbeat, once strong and steady, is weak now—each beat a painful reminder of what's slipping away.

It was slowing. Too slow. Too faint.

You press your ear harder against her chest, hoping—praying—that you could somehow keep her alive just by staying close.

Her shaky hand moved gently across your head as she begin to hum a soft melody causing your body to instinctively relax, the lyrics floating in your mind.

Baby mine, don't you cry

Baby mine, dry your eyes

Your chest hitched as you squeeze your eyes shut. You try to pretend that just for a moment it was any other night—that she was simply singing you to sleep.

That when you wake up, everything would be back to normal. But more tears surface because deep down you knew the truth.

There would never be another night like this.

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, baby of mine

The truth clawed at you but you fought against it, shaking your head in denial.

"No," you can't face it. You cuddle your face deeper into her chest as if you could hide from reality. "No, no, no..." The words became a broken chant, a desperate mantra to push the truth away.

You couldn't let her go. Not now. Not ever.

"Don't think. Go to sleep. Go to sleep." Every time you murmured the phrase you retreat further into yourself, trying to find that place where nothing hurts, where everything feels safe again.

The weight of it all becomes too heavy to hold and your mind slowly empties.

Little one when you play

Don't you mind what you say

It's quiet for a moment—too quiet—and it makes it harder for you to keep your eyes open.

You hold onto her a little tighter as you begin to get sleepy. "M...ma?"

She's quiet for a moment, her breath shallow. Then a soft "hmm?" reaches your ears.

"....I love you." the words is whispered out in a slow shaky breath, but filled with all the emotion you've kept inside for so long.

You don't see the way her eyes widen at your words, how they fill with tears she can't keep from falling.

Let those eyes sparkle and shine

For years you were always supposed to be a test subject and nothing more.

Her job was to prepare for this moment—for when you would no longer be in her care, when the role she was assigned would end.

But now that it's here...she doesn't want to leave you.

Her sweet baby. Her child.

As you drift off into a land of dreams and what-ifs you faintly feel it: the soft brush of her lips against your forehead, the warmth of her kiss lingering even as you slip further into sleep.

"I love you too..."

And with that she takes her last breath.

Never a tear, baby of mine

[testingthewatersss]

I never lost him Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture,  etc. Just unapologetic cuddling and comfort ft. Steve Rodgers. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 7 3890 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Post TWS Steve realises that he's not the only one looking for Sargent Barnes. Reader is Tony’s sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who recently resurfaced.

Y/N is still laughing when they reach the bathroom, and they’re both grinning by the time they’ve finished washing up.

Despite Bucky’s poor attempt at denial, she catches the way he lingers under the pressurised spray of water, and makes a mental note to get it upgraded to one that is more customisable.

She mentions the idea to him in the bedroom and he scoffs, telling him that even if she’d given him a hundred years he’d have never thought about making a customisable shower head. She laughs and says that there must be some kind of stupid thing that he’s always wanted.

‘I can’t think of anythin’ like that’ he tells her

When she asks him for his top ten favourite luxuries in general he rolls his eyes, towel wrapped around his waist and replies that he’s looking at them right now.

“I’m not a luxury, Barnes” she mock scolds, turning to grab herself some clean clothes from her dresser, “and I’m serious— if you could invent any 10, ridiculous, unnecessary, frivolous things, what would they be?”

“Oh, god, doll— I don’t know.”

She just laughs again, and gestures towards the clothes she’d laid out for him earlier.

“Well, why don’t you ponder it for awhile and let me know when you have some ideas.”

He scoffs, and dresses himself without further rebuttal, only pausing to relish in the way that it feels to have soft, clean clothes to put on for a change.

The socks nearly make him cry again, but instead, he finds himself tugging at his dog tag and waiting longingly for Y/N to turn back towards him.

It isn’t a long wait.

She’s ready in no time, spinning on her heals to beam at him, as she reaches out to hold his hand.

As the pair walk back out towards the living-room, Bucky makes a detour to the wicker basket, grabbing the same blue quilt he’d been fussing with earlier before leading Y/N back to the couch.

They curl up together, and when his head settles neatly into the curve of her chest, he realises that it feels strangely like he’s taking his first real breath of the day.

“Wanna watch some TV?” Y/N offers, “Maybe take a nap before lunch?”

He makes a soft noise of consideration, snuggling down impossibly further into her front.

This is his favourite way to sleep.

Between her thighs, with her arms around him, with his whole body pressed against hers.

“What do you feel like eatin’, doll?”

His voice is tired. She thinks that he’ll probably doze off before long, regardless of her answer.

“I’m not sure” she replies honestly, “haven’t really thought about it, how about you?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re havin” he mumbles, pressing a lazy kiss against her arm, “Do we have anythin’ here?”

“Sure we do” she replies, “I normally use the main kitchen, y’know, downstairs, but we have some bits knockin’ around.”

“Or…” he begins, “we could always ask Steve to pick us somethin’ up?”

That takes her by surprise. Genuine surprise, that makes her blink down at him dumbly for a moment as she wonders if she’s misheard him.

“We could” she allows after a beat, “but then he’ll want to bring it.”

“We were goin’ to let him see me today” Bucky reminds her, “and I… I figured this way it… it might be less awkward than him just bein’ told to come by and wave.”

“Alright” she chuckles, “Fair point, but it’s up to you, sweetheart— this whole thing with Rodgers, it's all you.”

He nods, brow furrowing in thought

“If you called him now do you think he would answer?”

“If I call him?” she says with a scoff, “yeah, Buck I think he would.”

He nods again.

“It’s one” she notes, “If I spoke to him now and asked him to swing by a bodega or somethin’ on his way back you’d have time to nap or change your mind before he gets here.”

“Okay” he agrees, “and if I do— If I do change my mind, then-”

“Then I suppose I could meet him at the door, tell him you’ve passed out on the bed and ask him to come back later.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure I would” she says, “but, this is all hypothetical, because we don’t have to ask him to bring us anything, we could always just order a delivery if you want take out that badly.”

His eyes roll just before he buries his face back against her chest.

“Can you call him, doll?” he asks quietly, “I think this is goin’ to be the way that gets me the least worked up.”

“Okay” she allows, “What shall I ask him to grab?”

“Whatever you want, doll”

That’s clearly one decision too many. She can feel the tension creeping back into his shoulders, so, she nods quickly, pressing a kiss against his brow.

“There’s a nice deli not far from where he is, you still like cheese-steaks?”

He nods silently, tightening his arms around her waist as she asks FRIDAY to make the call.

“Do you want me to take it on my cell?” she offers, “Or is speaker alright.”

“Speakers fine” he murmurs, “I’m goin’ to see him soon, no point hidin’ from his voice.”

Y/N scoffs at that, stroking a gentle circle across his back as she waits for the other man to connect.

“Hello?” Steve says, anxiety clear in his tone, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Bucky can’t help but smile as the woman he’s laying on chuckles.

“Sure I am, Steve” she replies, ever calm, “I’m fine, just wonderin’ if you could do me a favour whilst you’re out.”

“Anything-” he bursts, eager to accept, “Whatever you need.”

Bucky mouths an almost inaudible ‘Jesus Christ’ at the man’s desire to please her, and she rewards him with a smile and a playful swat against his hip.

“Can” she begins, swallowing laughter as he nestles down, kissing any part of body that he can reach, “Can you just, stop by the deli on 25th? grab a couple of the cheese-steaks.”

The silence on the other end of the line is telling. It lasts a fraction too long to be natural and Bucky can’t help but push himself up a little so that she can see the quirk in his brow.

Y/N’s hand is against his cheek before he can get too nervous about having over-stepped with his request. He’s still keening out towards her fingers when Steve finally clears his throat;

“I— Sure I can, are… where, where do you want me to bring them?”

“To my room?” she replies, “I’m back at the tower now, didn’t think about making a pit stop on the way”

“You’re home?” he asks quickly, “Are… are you alone?”

She meets Bucky’s eyes for a moment, genuinely curious about whether or not he’s going to speak. He gives her a small smile, before looking away, and that’s when she’s sure that he’s not.

“No” she admits, “Not, right now.”

The laugh Steve gives her is breathless, it’s so genuinely elated that Barnes is blushing when he hears it.

“So, he— is- is Bucky, is he there?”

“Steve” she warns, “Remember our little talk about patience?”

“Yeah” he says lightly, “Yeah, I do— but, but when I bring them back can— can I say hi?”

“—that depends—” Bucky’s tired voice inserts, “—are you goin’ to start bawlin’ or somethin’—”

Y/N is stunned. Truly, utterly, stunned.

and if the choked sound Steve makes is anything to go by, so is he.

“Bucky?” he asks after a moment, “Buck is it—”

“You know it is” he replies, confidence waining a little now that the interaction is real, “Y/N/N told you I was comin’ “

and then he’s back to laughing, the same disbelieving laughter that has almost become his trademark lately.

“I, god” he says, “I can’t believe it’s you— are, are you okay? do you have everythin’ you need? I can bring anythin—”

“Steve” Y/N cautions, more firmly than before, “Take a breath”

The look of gratitude on Bucky’s face is obvious. He hadn’t meant to set the man off like that, he… he hadn’t really meant to do anything other than say hello, and now all of this is suddenly feeling like… like a big step for a phone call—

“Okay” Steve chuckles, “Okay, yeah, you’re right— sorry— sorry, Buck I- I know you need time, and your own space, I- I get it, I swear.”

“Breathe” Y/N repeats, “take a breath- I wouldn't put it past you to be the first super solider to give himself an asthma attack”

To his credit, he does listen to her, despite her teasing tone. The way that he stops to draw in a real, grounding breath is audible, even via a phone call.

“I’m… I’m here and I’m fine” is what Bucky chimes in, “I… I’m just— it’s… this a lot, Steve”

“Yeah” the other man agrees, clearly a little bit calmer, “Yeah, I know- I’m sorry”

“Stop apologising” Y/N inserts, “It’s fine, you’re both fine-“

“She’s right…” Bucky agrees, “I… I trust you, I know you want to make this easy on me”

“I do” Steve agrees, “I really, I do, Buck- so anything, anything either of you need—”

“Let’s start with lunch” Y/N suggests, knuckle grazing Bucky’s chin, “Don’t rush back, just finish up whatever you’re doin’, stop by the deli and-”

“2 cheese-steaks” Steve finishes happily, “I’ll see you soon?”

That’s a question. It’s definitely a question.

“Yeah” Bucky answers, “See you soon.”

FRIDAY ends the call, and Y/N can’t help but tilt her head as the man in her lap sags back into her front.

“You can still change your mind” she promises, knowing he’ll need the reminder, “Baby, that was brave…”

“..I… I’ve missed him” he says, realising as he does, that it’s the truth, “I’m just, god I'm scared, I'm scared and I don't even know why.”

“I know”

She does know, too, she’s known that he’s missed Steve since she'd first had a real conversation with it, despite his frequent and sometimes playful denials.

“Will you stay close?” Bucky asks next, “When he’s here, doll, will you stay with me?”

“Sure I will” she swears, stroking a line from his temple, all the way across his neck, “I’ll stay wherever you want me to.”

He likes that, nodding before huffing out a deep breath.

“You know…” she says, thought just occurring to her, “…I don’t think Steve has actually ever been in here…”

“Hmm?”

“Steve” Y/N says again, “he’s never stopped by, it’s always been me goin’ to see him.”

“Well” Bucky sighs tiredly, “You’re a real pretty girl, and he’s never been real good at speakin’ to dames, maybe he’s a little scared too”

“Maybe” she agrees, “We’ll have to make sure he feels welcome”

He just hums again, daring to imagine how nice it might be to have his oldest friend come to visit.

To come to his home for a meal, like… like they’d done as boys.

To see him and Y/N laughing, to see the two people he cares for the most in the world together, together in one place, in one, safe place.

And then he’s asleep.

Y/N notices the rise and fall of his chest becoming deeper, and then, she sees the tell-tale way his legs twitch when he starts dreaming.

“FRIDAY, let me know when Steve gets close”

The AI hears her whispered request and replies almost silently so as not to disturb the man in her arms.

For a minute, she wonders what to do with herself, but then, she remembers the ‘code white’ protocol and the way that the list of programmed triggers have been transferred over to her.

In Tony’s defence, it’s actually not a bad list.

It includes basic behavioural alerts, and, an audio monitoring system that is set to catch any of his code words in every known language.

So if anyone tries to use them, if anyone tried to hack into anything and blast them over their speakers, or if anyone was stupid enough to try them in person, then they’d be alerted before anything could come of it.

She looks more into what exactly happens when it is activated, too, and when she does, she realises just how thoughtful Tony had been when coding it.

It doesn’t just remove Bucky’s access and send out a ping to their devices.

It locks him in whatever room he’s in, unless he’s with anyone the software isn’t certain is a friendly.

It secures him, safely, in one place, making sure that nobody could try and take advantage of the situation; and then, it sends a distress signal, her, Steve and Tony, not letting up until they’re within range of his location and even then, they still need to manually over-ride it.

There are details, too, details so thoughtful that she doubts that even she could’ve come up with anything better;

Wherever Bucky is, when this is triggered, is programmed to be as calming of an environment as possible.

The lights will stay dim, and the audio will be dampened— FRIDAY is still set to respond to him as family, so he won’t ever be left totally alone waiting for someone he trusts to arrive.

She only makes a few minor adjustments. She adds a triggers that they wouldn’t have known about, and eases the parameters for his biological monitoring to better allow for his enhancements.

“He’s not Steve” she tells FRIDAY quietly, “If Tony’s ever doing anything like this again, remind him that he was exposed to different stimuli, and has some more more complex internal components— it’s not just his arm, which, by the way, is more invasive than he thinks.”

The AI’s barley audible ‘Yes, boss’ makes her smile, so does the agreement she gets when she asks her to let her brother know how grateful she is for all of his hard work.

Tony likes gestures, Y/N thinks to herself, maybe I can finish up a project for him?

“Hey, FRIDAY?” she sighs, flicking her holo-tablet off, “Is Tony stallin’ on anythin? Somethin’ that he just can’t seem to make himself finish?”

“Now you mention it, Y/N- There is the end of year review for the STARK internship programme. He has been opening the files, but he has yet to make a start on the actual report, even though he has had the brief for the past 4 months.”

“Send it over” she murmurs, smiling to herself, “Will I have time to get started, or shall I wait until tonight?”

“Captain Rodgers is downstairs, I was just about to alert you.”

“Later it is” she decides, slipping back to normal volume now that she knows she has to wake Bucky anyway, “Hey, baby”

Her fingers curl through his hair as she shifts, repeating her greeting.

He’s still in her arms, face pressed against her chest, and as he feels himself becoming more and more alert, he starts to remember exactly where he is.

And then he’s smiling.

“God” he mumbles, “did, did I pass out?”

Y/N chuckles, rubbing her nose against his before pressing a kiss against his mouth.

“A little” she soothes, stroking his cheek, “did you sleep well?”

“Yeah” he replies honestly, “Yeah, I— I did”

“Good” she beams, kissing him again, “Steve’s on his way, have you decided what you wanna’ do?”

He ducks his head, bashful for a moment.

“I’ll say Hi” he tells her, “We… We should invite him in, too?”

“It’s your place” she reminds him gently, “You can invite whoever you want.”

That concept makes him smile, sweet and genuine as he nods.

“I… I might be a little jumpy” he warns her, “I- I’d feel better if you—”

“—Stay close?”

She nods as she strokes a line down, across both of his arms, feeling the softness of the fabric sleeves he’s wearing.

“You like the shirt?” she wonders, “Does it fit?”

“Yeah” he says, “Yeah it… it’s perfect”

“Good” is the last thing she manages to say before there’s a knock on their door.

Bucky freezes for a second. Eyes widening as adrenaline floods his chest, but then, he takes a breath, and moves so that they can both stand up.

He clings to Y/N’s hand the second he can reach, and doesn’t even think about letting go as they head towards the entrance.

“If you need to leave” she tells him under her breath, “just go to the bedroom— I’ll take care of Steve, okay?”

He nods, biting his cheek so hard that he tastes blood on his tongue.

“Here we go then”

The door opens, and Y/N nearly chokes when she sees Steve Rodgers, stood, in his full suit, shield strapped to his back, with a bag of cheese-steaks in his hands.

“Oh my god” she scoffs, blinking rapidly, “What are you wearing?”

He looks down at himself, gawking.

“I- I was doin’ press” he stammers awkwardly, “I-”

“You didn’t think about changin?” Bucky says, shock making him forget his nervousness for a moment

“Well-” Steve says, smiling shyly, “You did make me promise to keep the outfit, remember?”

Out of all the ways that Bucky might’ve reacted, Y/N thinks that him, letting go of her hand whilst stepping forwards to hug his oldest friend is probably the best.

Steve is clearly so taken aback by the gesture that he doesn’t know what to do, because the way that he barely grazes the other mans back with his arms is telling.

The whole thing is so sweet, so desperately, earnestly sweet, that she doesn’t know what to do.

The pair separate quickly enough, and Bucky retreats to her side with a flush of red in his cheeks and eyes that look awfully full.

Y/N suspects Steve is crying too, but if he is, he hides it well by turning to fuss with his shield.

“How many subs did you get?” she asks, looking at the bag he’s still clutching, “That’s a little big for only 2?”

“Oh” he chuckles, “yeah, they— they gave me a bunch, insisted when they, saw— y’know? they would’t even let me pay! I had to get FRIDAY to wire it across”

Y/N sniggers a little at that, at the image of a fully dressed Captain America standing in line at a Deli.

“Want to come eat with us?”

Steve’s jaw drops when Bucky asks him that.

When he looks at Y/N, face full of surprise and she just offers him a one armed shrug.

“I… are— are you sure, Buck, I- I don’t want to gate-crash”

“It’s not gatecrashin’ if you’re invited” Bucky counters, feeling awfully proud of himself, “I- I’m not sayin’ I’m ready to throw a dinner party but, you should see where I’m stayin’ at least.”

“Yeah” Steve grins, “Yeah I’d, I’d love that, Y/N/N- is, is that okay with you?”

“It’s his place as much as mine, ‘Cap” she says, leading the way inside, “and he’s right, you should see it— honestly I can’t believe you haven’t stopped by sooner.”

“If I’m bein’ honest” he says, closing the door behind himself, “I’ve only ever been this high up once or twice.”

“Roof parties or for the labs?” Y/N asks, watching calmly as Steve’s eyes widen, obviously captivated by the space,

“Once of each” the pair say in unison.

Steve lets out an awkward chuckle, still taken aback by inside of her suite.

“C’mon boys” she coos, acutely aware of the way that Bucky has frozen, now, hovering by her side, fingers tight against her own, “Let’s eat?”

The nod Steve gives her is much more natural than that of her partner.

They walk to the couch, and sit, together, with Steve hovering awkwardly in front of them until Y/N rolls her eyes and points at the arm chair.

“Sit, Steve, Jesus— You’re acting like you thought I lived in a- well I don’t know, what were you expecting?”

He opens the bag, pulling out three sandwiches, and passing her two before looking up and around again.

“Not this…” he admits, “I’m, I’m not really sure, darlin’— maybe something a little more…“

“Modern?” Bucky guesses, recalling his earlier observations.

“Yeah” Steve agrees, grinning, “yeah, that’s the word.”

“It’s plenty modern” Y/N retorts playfully, “Almost half the stuff in here is custom built technology, god, I think even the cutlery is vibranium.”

“I didn’t mean it like that” Steve says, taking a bite out of his sub, “I meant the… the stuff”

Her eyes roll again, and she notices how the only one of them who hasn’t even unwrapped his meal is Bucky.

He’s still clinging to her hand, sandwich abandoned on his lap.

Y/N meets Steve’s eye a second before he considers mentioning it.

The look she gives him speaks a thousand words, and he finds himself ignoring it completely, containing the polite chatter he’s making with her, instead.

"You know why me and Tony have all the important stuff up so high?" she says, "It's so if we ever have to jump out the window, there's enough time for the emergency suits to deploy- we had to get measurements so we knew which floors we could claim"

And Bucky is insanely grateful. He’s so, so grateful to not have to try and speak right now, when all he wants to do is watch.

Y/N just keeps hold of his hand, as she eats with the other.

She nods along with Steve and hopes she knows how important it is that he doesn’t push too hard right now.

This is already such a huge step. It really is the epitome of running before you can walk, though, so she doesn’t want to do anything that might cause him to stumble.

A few minutes pass and they’re done with their food.

They’re done, and Steve knows that he should probably leave.

“Did you tell T that we’re back?” Y/N asks

“Yeah” Steve sighs, “but it kinda seemed like he already knew.”

She scoffs, bringing Bucky’s hand to her lips.

“Sounds about right” she murmurs, pressing kiss against his knuckles, “Tell him I’ll catch up with him tomorrow? I think we’re due a quiet night in, huh, Buck?”

His head tilts when he hears his name. He blinks, looking almost dazed before he smiles and nods in agreement.

“Yeah, doll” he murmurs, “a… a quiet night in sounds good…”

“I’ll pass it on” Steve swears, going to stand, “I- I should go and get changed”

Y/N chuckles at that, not bothering to stand, “You should definitely change” she agrees, “Romanoff is gonna kick your ass if she catches you roaming the halls like that”

His laugh is silent, it’s embarrassed but real. He nods in agreement and catches Bucky’s eye.

“I’ll see ya’ around, Buck” he promises, “and remember, if either of you need anythin’ then just-”

“let you know” Y/N chimes in softly, “We will, I promise, but for right now, I think we just need some time to settle in.”

He smiles at that, and nods in agreement, offering her a two fingered salute as he turns to leave.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | x | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

[wild-lavender-rose]

Sorry, first time requesting anything im not sure if im doing this right haha. But can you do a gender neutral reader with hank lawson. Where reader gets shot, dr mike does surgery, and we wake to up hank there. Fluff please!!:)

I've been waiting for inspiration to write this, anon, and it finally arrived! I hope this is fluffy enough for you :) Please feel free to send me another Hank request, I'm pretty sure we're the only two on here who love him and I'd love to grow my Dr. Quinn master list!

My Fault - Hank Lawson x reader

Warning- Cannon-typical language

It had been your own fault. One second you were between Hank and the black-clad stranger, trying to keep the two from killing each other over a misunderstanding about a horse. You had focused on the stranger, knowing Hank would listen to you and stand down the moment you intervened. You thought that the matter was settled and had turned around, walking back to where Hank waited, broody and silent.

The gunshot had sounded practically in your ear. You had fallen forward, pushed by the bullet. More gunshots. People were screaming. You tried to get up and fight. Hank was shouting but you couldn't understand him. You felt numb and cold all at once. The dirt was wet under your hands. Blood. But whose?

"Get Michaela, now!" Hank was on his knees next to you, keeping you from getting up. You had looked at him, vision blurred. You called to him, your voice sounding hollow and distant. His blue eyes were the last thing you remembered, frantic and helpless. He picked you up and the world went black.

The next time you woke you were in Dr. Quinn's office lying on her examination table. The pain was white hot, coming from your right shoulder. You cried out, trying to move, to escape. You were calling for someone over and over again. Hank. Hank, please. It's my fault, I'm sorry. Please.

Dr. Mike appeared over top you, pressing a white gauze to your nose, calming you with a soft voice and worried eyes. You sank back into darkness.

The next time you woke you were in one of her recovery rooms, the sunlight highlighting the cream colored quilt you were laying under. You were naked from the waist up but were covered by the quilt. A thick bandage was wrapped around your right shoulder. You felt stiff and hazy, but the pain was gone.

"Hey," a familiar, husky voice sounded by your head.

You looked to find Hank sitting by the bed, his oversized form hunched over in a chair too small for him. He smiled, his eyes even more bleary and red-rimmed than usual. It looked like he had been crying.

"Hank," you tried to talk but your tongue felt thick and fuzzy.

"Here," Hank hurried to pour you a glass of water from a basin sitting by the bed. He raised your head, helping you to drink.

Finishing the glass, you cleared your throat, trying once more. "Did he, am I," you glanced at your shoulder.

"Shot you in the back," Hank shook his head. "Bastard."

"You get him?"

"Jake did. Right in the head."

"Shoulda had a trial." You muttered, pretending that you weren't glad that your attacker.

Harry gave you a half smile. "Talkin' like Michaela now."

You smiled back, the gesture lessening as the memory of earlier washed over you. "M'sorry, Hank. I should have kept out of it. I just, I didn't want you hurt."

"Hey, shh. Don't worry about it," Hank leaned forward, brushing at your cheek with a soft and uncertain touch. "You just focus on resting up, all right?"

"Hank,"

"You'll be back to bothering me in no time." Carding his hand through your hair, Hank blinked a few times, smile wavering.

"Hank," you reached up, fingers tangling in one of the locks of hair falling in his eyes. You caressed his grizzled jaw with the back of your hand, your touch causing his eyes to close.

Hank leaned into your touch as if starved, like he was trying to memorize the moment. You felt yourself drifting off once more but fought to hold on, touching his face, conveying the thoughts you were unable to explain. I love you, you thought. I couldn't live without you.

Your hand grew weak, falling back rest on the quilt as your eyes fluttered shut. Hank pressed his hand, warm and steady, over yours. He whispered something you probably weren't supposed to hear. Something you would never forget.

"I love you, sweetheart. Don't leave me."

Fanfic Masterlist

[callsignspark]

Mar[r]y Me | part four

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, an asshole man from Hinge, discussions of body image, conversations on what it’s like to be a fat woman trying to date in today’s society, suggestive language, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 6.6k

previous part | main masterlist

note: happy Friday! I am extremely excited about this part and I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts on this chapter!! a big thanks to Jordan for all the yelling in the DMs over this one as I was writing it. and thank you for the love on three and 3.5!

part four - perfect post-beach meal

Ding Dong!

The doorbell echoes through the house, disturbing Mary, but not fully waking her.

Ding Dong!

Her left eye cracks open and immediately shuts, pulling the quilt over her pounding head to block the sunshine streaming through the blinds. I knew I would regret that fourth glass of wine last night.

Ding Dong!

The third ring makes her decide that whoever is at the door can go fuck themselves. Jehovah’s Witness or Girl Scout be damned. If it was important, her phone would be ringing.

Brrrrrring! Brrrrrring! 

The ringer volume alone makes her stomach churn, combined with the brightness of her screen as Danielle’s face flashes at her; it’s an all-out assault on her hungover existence. She questions every decision she’s made since turning eighteen.

Ding Dong!

“Please tell me this is an emergency.”

“Answer the door. Then chug some water and sling back a few Tylenol.”

The line clicks off.

Ding Dong!

“I should have partnered with Brett for chemistry. He was dumb as a box of rocks and couldn’t stop staring at my tits. But I think it would have been a better decision overall.” The doorbell goes off again, somehow sounding more aggressive. “Alright, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Rolling out of bed and getting her robe on without dry heaving feels like an accomplishment and a half. Her trek to the front door takes an eternity, the previous night’s wreckage strewn through the house.

Her bra lays outside her bedroom door, in the same place she dropped it after her intoxicated brain decided it had to go.

The uncomfortable dress, the one Danielle had spent hours talking her into, is crumbled in the hallway. The zipper is probably broken, she thinks mournfully, remembering how she had struggled to get the restrictive piece of clothing off by herself.

Her heels are unceremoniously dumped next to the front door. What had started as a cute outfit decision had quickly turned into a nightmare accessory and almost resulted in a sprained ankle when the evening took a turn.

She’s glaring at the culprit of her current state - the empty wine bottle and a lone glass - when she catches sight of the time.

“Who the fuck is at my door at 8:30 in the morning.” She exclaims to an empty house.

Ding Dong!

She rips the door open, ready to yell at Reuben for interrupting her much-needed post-cry sleep but loses all of her steam when she comes face to face with Bradley.

“Wha-” She doesn’t even get a chance to finish her one-word question when a tiny body slams into her legs.

“Auntie Mary!” Annabeth disappears into her house before she can process what’s happening.

“Don’t worry! I got her!” Jake - where the fuck did he come from? - hustles past her, following the little girl. “Cute outfit, M&M.”

The exaggerated wink he sends her way reminds her of what she’s currently wearing, the realization washing over her head like a bucket of ice water.

Her bathrobe is covering her favorite silky nightdress.

And nothing else.

She pulls her robe together, tying the knot as tight as possible and clutching the top together with her fist. Her panic causes her to miss the longing look in Bradley’s eyes. His brain focusing on the width of her hips, the dip of her waist before traveling up and locking on the way her nipples press against the pink fabric.

The confusion and stress on her face snaps him out of it. He hands over her favorite drink from Starbucks - something he is very proud of himself for memorizing - and doesn’t say anything until she’s taken a sip.

“We’re babysitting today.” Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out except for a squeak. Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up, “Are you okay?”

Mary’s head drops and she groans, moving her hand from her robe to rub her forehead. He’s not sure what to do, slightly distracted by the cleavage that has appeared, when she turns and waves him into the house. He locks the door and follows her toward her room, slowing down as he takes in the trail of clothing leading down the hall.

He catches up to her in the bedroom, eyeing the messy, unmade bed. “Did we interrupt something?”

“What could you have interrupted?” She questions, taking some pills with a water bottle from her nightstand, following it up with a big gulp of her iced tea. “Why am I babysitting?”

“We’re babysitting. To give Reuben and Danielle a bit of a break. I’m not confident enough to try and watch the baby, but I know I can handle a preschooler.”

“How did I get pulled into this?”

“She knows you better, and frankly, trying to brave the bathroom situation seemed like too much for my first time. So I needed another adult, preferably a woman, preferably you.”

“And Jake is here because?”

“We’re giving Javy a break, too.” She snorts at his joke. “Get ready; we’re going to the beach! They sent us with snacks, sand toys, and enough sunscreen to cover the entire 7th fleet.”

“I need to shower and eat something.”

“Go ahead and shower; we’ve got time. I brought you a ham and cheese croissant.”

“I have some watermelon and baby carrots in the fridge. Can you pack those up and put them in the cooler while I get ready? The cooler is in my office.”

“On it.” He’s already moving toward the kitchen, throwing a thumbs up over his shoulder and forcing himself not to look back where he knows she’s undoing her bathrobe.

She’s brushing her teeth, feeling better after washing away the previous night’s disappointment, when she has the sudden realization that her clothes are still littering the floor. Mary hustles out of the ensuite and can feel her face start to burn when she sees the remnants of her outfit sitting on the dresser. She swallows her pride and walks into the kitchen, which she’s surprised to see has been cleaned. “Where’s Annie?”

“They’re outside, and she’s giving Jake a lesson on… something. He’s gotten smacked with her fairy wand about seven times so far, so she’s either cursing him or fixing him. Only time will tell.” He turns from where he’s washing a knife. “That baggie has your croissant. You ready to go?”

“Did you put my clothes in my room?” She blurts it out and immediately wants to hide in her room.

“Uhh, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, red blooming on his cheeks. “Sorry if that’s weird.”

“No! Not- I just-” She stutters over her words. “I wasn’t expecting it! It’s nice, but you didn’t have to do that. You also didn’t have to clean the kitchen. Thank you!”

“No problem; Danielle mentioned you went out with a friend last night, and you might be a bit hungover, so I figured I’d help some; besides, you only had like five things in the sink. It took no time.”

“Well, thank you.” A muffled shout comes from the yard, and Jake storms into the house with Annie tucked under his arm like a football.

“Okay, is it time to go yet? Annie Oakley and I are ready to dig in the sand! Race you to the front door!” He plops her on the floor and pretends to take off, watching as the little girl books it towards the door.

He shoves something at Mary’s chest. “We are leaving that fucking wand here. She keeps smacking me and telling me her spell isn’t working. That I’m still not “cute” like Bob. Fucking, Bob.”

“Jake!”

“Coming, munchkin! Hide that thing now!” As he jogs toward the front door, the hissed instruction breaks the other two.

“We should probably go before our children get into another fight.” Mary giggles at Bradley’s statement, grabbing her beach bag and food, her brain rotating the “our children” over and over in her mind.

“For you!” Annie shoves a seashell into Bradley’s hand.

“Oh, thank you! Look at how pretty this one is, Mary.” He shows off the tiny pink shell before putting it in his pocket.

“You’re growing quite the collection.” Mary mummers, smiling as she’s gifted a tiny lavender shell. The morning had been filled with splashing in the waves and building sandcastles that did not want to stay up, and then Annie wanted to look for seashells.

“So are you.” He puts the shell in his other pocket, the one holding everything Annie has handed Mary. “Jake is going to be so jealous.”

The two adults pause their meandering to look back at their blanket, where Jake volunteered to stay and watch their stuff. Apparently, he’s made a friend while waiting for the other Daggers to arrive.

Mary runs her eyes over the woman flirting with Jake. Her body is encased in a red string bikini that perfectly fits her thin, tanned figure. She suddenly feels very secure in her decision to keep her coverup dress on.

“Hey, how was New York? How’s your family? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the Secret Santa party.” She turns her attention back to Rooster, who has crouched down to assist in the search for more shells. “This one is for mommy? Okay.”

“Christmas was good; family is fine. Everyone was their usual selves, so nothing new there. Although I’m 74% sure my favorite cousin is pregnant again, and no one else has figured it out yet. So, now it’s just a matter of waiting for a Facebook announcement post to see if I’m right.”

She smiles when she hears laughter coming from the blanket; Jake deserves someone who makes him happy. Her good mood disappears in an instant as Annabeth starts splashing in the shallow water, soaking the bottom half of her coverup.

“Oh, Annie!” She stops herself from yelling, knowing the preschooler didn’t do it maliciously. “Okay, how about we have some watermelon and dry off before lunch arrives?”

The little girl sprints up to Bradley, raising her arms to be picked up. “What? You want a piggyback ride?”

She shrieks in joy when he flips her onto his back and starts jogging toward their spot, moving very carefully to avoid hurting her. Mary follows behind them at a slower pace, dreading the visual of what she’ll look like next to the blonde goddess who has joined Jake on his towel.

“There’s my favorite girl!” Jake catches Annabeth as she jumps into his arms the moment Bradley sets her down.

Her tiny hands clasp his face. “Watermelon.” She demands, making the four adults laugh.

“Watermelon, please.” Bradley gently reminds her, already opening the cooler, handing the sunscreen to Mary when she reaches for it.

“Watermelon, please.”

“Come here, baby.” Mary puts her arms out for Annie. “We gotta reapply sunscreen, and then we can have watermelon.”

“Nooo!” She whines, trying to hide in Jake’s neck.

“The sun is hot! We need to make sure we’re protected, kiddo!” Jake assists.

“Jake too?”

“Yes, me too.”

That’s all she needs to allow herself to be sprayed with the sun protectant, insisting on holding Jake’s hand while Mary sprays him down too. She’s happily munching watermelon on Jake’s lap when she asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m Tammy, a friend of Jake’s sister! I just stopped to say hi for a second. What’s your name?”

“Annabeth Fitch! I’m four years old.”

“Annabeth! That’s a pretty name!” She looks down the beach, waving at a group getting ready to leave. “I gotta go, but it was good to see you, Jake. I’ll have to tell Olivia I ran into you when we get back to school! I love your suit, by the way, it’s so cute! Bye, guys!”

Her last statement is directed at Mary, who has pulled her damp coverup off to dry in the sun and is standing there in her black one-piece. Bradley gulps, thankful that his sunglasses block his slow pursual of her figure. She looks incredible. Curves in all his favorite places, and her clipped-up hair shows off the neck he’s dreamt of marking up.

A low whistle interrupts his favorite daydream, the one that includes Mary, the backseat of his Bronco, and the dog tags he never wears but stores in his glove box.

“Damn, Mariella!” Phoenix is leering over her sunglasses, arm in arm with Yale’s very pregnant wife, Kristina, who is pumping her fist and chanting her name. Logan, Bob, and Javy slowly follow behind, carrying beach supplies, while the Lee kids run straight to Annabeth.

“Oh my god, stop it, you two!” Mary laughs, her face red enough that Bradley isn’t sure if it’s from their cat calls or the sun.

“Absolutely not! You look hot!” Kris' attempt at a hug turns into a side squeeze, her belly getting in the way. “We brought pasta salad, but please tell me you have more watermelon. It’s all baby #4 has had me craving.”

“We do! It’s in the cooler behind the pile of children on Jake; help yourself!”

The guys finally arrive with chairs, a cooler, and other supplies. The adults catch up while Kristina lays out ground rules for her kids before handing out sandwiches and bowls of pasta salad to everyone.

The men wolf down their food before starting a two-on-two football game, and the kids beg Bob to help them build a sandcastle, a request he happily completes, leaving the three women relaxing in chairs. They spend the next few hours in relative silence under the umbrellas, reading and occasionally chatting or reapplying sunscreen to the children and Bob. 

It’s when Bradley makes his way back to their spot, carrying the youngest Lee, that things change. He hands the three-year-old off to her mother. “Yale said she was getting cranky, and it might be good to let her chill with you guys.”

“Yeah, it’s almost her N-A-P time. Come here, sweetie, let’s cuddle a little.”

Bradley groans, “An N-A-P sounds good. Is there room for me under the umbrella, honey?”

“Of course, you should put more sunscreen on if you’re going to lay down, though.” She ignores the eyes burning into the side of her face and the jaws that drop when she complies with his ask for help getting his back.

Using her folded coverup as a pillow, he lays on his stomach in the shade and gets comfortable. “Wake me up if you need something.”

She gets exactly ten minutes of peace, just enough time for Andrea and Bradley to fall asleep, before the other two start in on her.

“So, I heard you had a date last night. How did that go?” Kris tees up, casually flipping through her magazine.

“Oh! Where did you meet him?” Natasha’s faux innocence annoys her.

“Well, if Dani told you that I had a date, then I’m sure she also told you how bad it was.” She snaps, staring steadfastly at her book and pretending to read. She isn’t actually reading; she can’t. The words have started to blur together from her tears. “And if she told you how bad it was, then you definitely know we met on an app.”

The sniffle that punctuates her sentence springs the other two into motion.

Nat sits in front of her in the sand, taking the book from her, and Kris holds her hand, her mom voice kicking.

“Hey, woah, okay. What’s wrong? How bad is bad? Did he hurt you?” Mary shakes her head, taking a deep breath to avoid crying. “Want to talk about it?”

“I went home to Brooklyn for Christmas as usual, but with this new job, I get more days off during the holidays, so I stayed longer than normal. Which was a mistake. All it meant was three extra days of my mom complaining about my lack of a love life and how I haven’t given her grandkids - that usual spiel. But she took it a step further this time. She actually tried to set me up with the son of one of her friends from her book club.”

“How did that go?”

“It didn’t. I refused to go. Then there was a lot of screaming - mostly about embarrassing her - and I got the first flight out of JFK that I could. I spent the rest of my holiday week on the couch watching Parks and Rec. And I felt so defeated that I redownloaded Hinge and updated my profile.”

“You met on Hinge?” Nat sounds surprised.

“Yeah, I figured it was better than Tinder.”

“Was it?”

“No, just as many dick pic offers.” The women laugh, Mary wiping her eyes where a few tears had slipped by.

“Anyway, I matched with this cute guy, Jeremy. We chatted for a few days, and he asked me to dinner. We had been clicking, and he seemed nice, plus he hadn’t tried to send me any photos, so I said yes.” She pauses to check on Annie, making a mental note to make an apple pie for Bob as a thank you for keeping the kids occupied.

“So what happened?”

“We met at that steakhouse downtown, Samson’s, and he texted me that he was at the bar. Apparently, there was a wait even though we had a reservation, and I was fine with that. I’ve spent enough time in restaurants to know that shit happens and sometimes you get behind, but it very much was not fine with him. He was incredibly rude to the hostess and the bartender. And then when our table was ready - only like 15 minutes later than planned, by the way, it was nothing - he looked at me and went, “This isn’t going to happen. You don’t look like what I thought you would based on your photos.” and left me with the check for our drinks.”

The small chorus of “what the fuck” makes her start to hysterically laugh.

“I know! It’s so fucking ridiculous that that was his reason! Like, I know what I look like.” She gestures to her body, her voice slightly shrill. “I know better than anyone else what I look like. I know that men don’t like bodies that look like mine. I know that men need to get to know me before they’re interested in me. I know that no one is attracted to me at first glance. I am so fucking aware of what I look like, and I am meticulous about choosing photos that accurately represent what I look like. Yes, they're flattering photos, but they very clearly show that I am fat.”

“Mary! That’s so ridiculous! You’re beautiful!” Kristina scolds her.

“I know I’m pretty, Kris, but I’m also fat. And I’m not saying that to put myself down or fish for compliments. It’s just a fact. I have brown eyes, I have a master's degree in project management, I’m fat.” She sighs. “But guys can’t get past the stomach or the hips or the slight double chin. I could look exactly like Farrah Fawcett, and men still would be stuck on the fact that my thighs are bigger than their heads!”

The group falls silent. Neither of the other women know what to say.

“I know what I just said sounds terrible, but please don’t feel bad. It’s how it’s always been for me; I’m used to it. I know how to work the system, how to figure out if a guy is good for me or not.” She chuckles humorlessly. “Though apparently not electronically; don’t worry, I already deleted my profile for good.”

“I’m sorry we teased you. Danielle didn’t mention this guy was such a dick.” Nat apologizes.

“That’s because she doesn’t know. The bartender was really nice and said she would give me three drinks on the house if I ordered an appetizer to go with it because he was so awful. I took her offer, got severely tipsy, took a Lyft back home, and then polished off the bottle of wine that was taking up space in my fridge. White is always a good accompaniment to crying if you were wondering.”

“Wait, so how does she know the date went badly if you didn’t tell her?”

“After finishing the wine, I realized I wasn’t just tipsy but drunk, and then suddenly, my dress was suffocating me, but I couldn’t get it unzipped. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that when I was getting dressed because Danielle helped me. I remember crying harder and calling Dani when I couldn’t get it. I’m guessing the hysterical breakdown was a clue of how the night went. And she must have talked me through it because the dress wasn’t on my body when I woke up this morning.”

“God, why does everything go extra wrong when you’re sad and drunk?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I ripped the zipper of my brand-new dress because I got overstimulated.” She pouts.

“Oh, that’s an easy fix!” Kris waves her hand like she’s waving the problem away. “If you did break the zipper, just give the dress to Logan or bring it by the house sometime, and I’ll fix it for you, no problem!”

“Really? That would be am-”

“What about Jake?”

“What?”

“What about Jake?” Phoenix repeats, “Why don’t you date him? The two of you flirt all the time! And as much as it pains me to say it, he’s a good-looking guy. And - bonus! - he’s way less insufferable than he used to be.”

“Oh! Yes! You two would be so cute together!”

“You know we’re not actually flirting, right? We banter and “flirt,” but it’s all platonic. And Jake is handsome, but he doesn’t do it for me.”

“That man is sex on a stick, and he doesn’t do it for you?” Kristina questions.

“Not in that way? Like objectively, I know Jake is very attractive; there’s no doubt that he’s hot, but I’m not actually attracted to him. It’s the same way with Maverick. He’s a good-looking guy, but I have zero interest in fucking him.”

That sends the group into laughter.

“Okay, okay! I get what you mean!” Nat forces herself to stop laughing, “What about Bradley?”

Mary looks down at the man sleeping soundly on the towel beside her, and her heart twists.

Bradley.

Her good friend who does things to help her without even asking what she needs. Who frequently brings her an afternoon snack because she gets derailed in the repair shop and forgets to grab lunch before the canteen closes.

Bradley.

Who overwhelms her senses every time she sees him. Whose cologne makes her heart skip a beat. Who always wraps her in a warm hug, but never before checking if it’s okay. Whose hands touch her with a level of care that she’s never experienced before.

Bradley.

Who, when she tries hard enough, she can trick herself into thinking that he’s actually flirting with her. That he actually wants her.

Bradley.

“It’s the same thing as with Jake; he’s a good guy, a great friend - good looking, too - and he play flirts with me. But that’s all it is.”

“Mary-”

“Please don’t.” Her whispered plea cuts them off. “Don’t be like Danielle and Reuben and try to tell me how much he likes me. That he has a crush on me. I know he doesn’t, so I can’t let myself think that. I don’t think I could handle the rejection and the disappointment.”

The sound of crying swiftly stops the conversation, Mary running down the beach to where Annabeth is holding her head, cradled in Bob’s arms.

“She tripped and bonked her head on a bucket. It wasn’t too hard, and she’s not bleeding. I think she just scared herself.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” She brushes over his hair affectionately before scooping her niece into her arms. “Come on, baby, let's take a walk.”

She stands and starts making her way down the beach, waving to let the others know everything is okay and trying to soothe her crying goddaughter.

“Hey! Everything okay?” Bradley jogs up to them, rubbing his hand over Annie’s hair, checking to make sure she’s not bleeding. “Sorry it took me a minute, Phoenix slapped me. You okay, Miss Annie?”

Annabeth buries her head in Mary’s shoulder as she explains what happened, big crocodile tears wetting her shoulder. “So we’re gonna walk for a little bit. And then I think it might be time for H-O-M-E. Someone seems a bit T-I-R-E-D.”

“Okay, that sounds good. Just let me know, okay?” He drops a kiss on Annie’s forehead and turns to head back, giving the girls some privacy.

“Rooster!”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Annie makes grabby hands at him. “Want me to walk with you?”

She easily transfers to Bradley’s arms. With Annie curled up on his chest and Mary tucked into his side, holding on to his arm and resting her head against his shoulder, the three of them walk down a deserted stretch of sand. Completely unaware of the multiple cameras capturing the sweet moment behind them.

“I thought you said the perfect post-beach meal includes your Aunt Lindsey’s potato salad?”

“It does.” Mary grabs the container filled with creamy, dill, red-skin potato salad and smiles at the man working the deli counter. “Thank you, have a good one!”

She drops the clear quart container into their cart and tickles Annie’s neck, making her giggle and try to squirm away.

“Then why are we buying potato salad for dinner?”

After their walk down the beach, Mary called Dani to let her know that she was going to have Annie sleepover at her house while Bradley packed up their stuff. Once she found out she was spending the night with her favorite aunt, Annie immediately asked for beach meal, prompting Bradley to ask what that meant.

“The perfect post-beach meal! It’s something my cousins, and I created when we were younger. It’s a fully-loaded cold-cut sandwich, served with my Aunt Lindsey’s potato salad - a family secret - and a handful of potato chips. Best paired with lemonade.” She explains in the car, inviting him to join them for dinner and a movie in her living room.

He immediately accepts, eager to spend more time with Mary and Annie, the little girl quickly wrapping him around her little finger. “We’ll have to stop by my place so I can shower; I don’t want to drag sand all through your house.”

“Just grab a change of clothes; you can shower at my house. We’re going to have to clean up, too, huh?” She turns around to the backseat, tickling Annie’s tummy, smiling as her shrieks of laughter fill the Bronco. “If we’re going to do post-beach meal, we need to stop at the grocery store for a few things, too.”

She chuckles, “That is the secret. Aunt Lindsey’s secret recipe is that she always bought potato salad from the deli down the road and put it in one of her nice serving bowls.”

Bradley laughs! “That’s cheating!”

“No, that’s being smart and saving yourself a ton of work. If you knew how big my family is, you would realize that making enough potato salad for everyone ends up being an all-day ordeal.”

“How big is your family?” He’s curious. He knows she has a bigger family; every story has a different family member attached to its background, but she’s never given exact details.

“I’m one of four; all my brothers have at least two kids. My mom is one of five, my dad is one of six, and all four of my grandparents had multiple siblings. Thirty-one people on my dad’s side moved from Sicily in 1888 or 1889, I can’t remember right now, and my mom’s side came over before World War II. They set up shop in the city, and everyone has pretty much stayed in the Brooklyn area since then. Last family reunion, there was easily over a hundred and fifty people that showed up.”

“Wow…” Bradley blinks at her unexpected answer. “People still do family reunions?”

“Mine do.” She answers distractedly, searching for an acceptable red onion. “You like red onion, right?”

He’s leaning on the cart when a little hand tugs at the sunglasses hooked into his shirt, his eyes shifting from Mary’s legs to Annie. “I’ll eat anything except for radishes, hard-boiled eggs, and anything Jake grills - I just don’t trust him, despite his self-proclaimed Texas grillmaster skills.”

“Noted. Okay, we just need lettuce and lemonade because I’m not making that from scratch today.” She looks up from the list on her phone. “Oh! You look cute, baby! I think Bradley’s glasses might be a little big for you, though.”

“Ah, she’ll grow into them. Right, peanut?” They both laugh as the shades fall off her face when she nods in agreement. “I think I should hold onto these for you until you get a little bigger.”

“You guys wait here for a minute, I’m gonna grab a head of lettuce, and then we’re basically all set.” She rubs a hand across his back as she walks away, smiling as Bradley realizes he’s losing the argument about what movie they’re going to watch with dinner.

“Ho-le-y shit! Look at that!”

“Oh. my. god. Do you think he’s single?”

“I hope so! That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The frantic whispering drags Mary’s attention from the iceberg lettuce display. She watches as a group of pretty, twenty-something girls point and ogle in Bradley’s direction. Her eyes flick towards the shopping cart her goddaughter is sitting in, her pink striped coverup swallowing her tiny frame.

Well, they’re not wrong. He does look sexy.

The muscle shirt he’s wearing shows off the hard work he’s put in recently. The team has been hitting the gym more frequently since the new year, starting to prepare for a short deployment they have coming up in the spring. He’s golden from spending the day in the sun, and his brown hair is fluffy from the salt water. Combined with how he’s entertaining an adorable little girl, who is clearly enamored with him, she completely understands the thirsting happening next to the avocado tower.

“I’m going up to him. How do my boobs look?”

The brazenness of the group leader stuns her.

Absolutely fucking not.

Without looking, she grabs a head of lettuce and hustles back to the cart, grinning at Annie when she points at her. Bradley turns and smiles, pulling her into his chest as he drops the lettuce next to Annie in the cart. “This one has insisted that we need ice cream to round out this perfect meal of ours, and I think I agree with her. What do you think, honey?”

She melts into his hold, savoring the way his arm feels wrapped around her waist. “Well, I do have chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles that are dying to be used up. So I think you’re absolutely right; we should get ice cream.”

Bradley and Annie high-five as he starts booking it toward the freezer section, leaving Mary in their dust. She snorts at the ridiculousness she’s brought to the grocery store and starts to follow them.

“Hey!” A voice behind her catches her attention. She turns, vindication spreading through her chest when she sees the disappointed faces of the group of younger women.

“Congrats on him; he’s a beauty.” The leader gives her a thumbs up and a wink like she had just bagged a prize deer.

She laughs in response, giving a small wave over her shoulder as she works to catch up. Knowing that without supervision, Annie will con Bradley into buying five flavors of ice cream.

“Alright, that’s your final number of the night, twinkle toes. Time for bed.” Mary lifts herself off the couch where she’s spent the last forty-five minutes leaning against Bradley.

After dinner and mini ice cream sundaes were eaten and Cars had finished, Annie shoved the adults together on the couch and demanded they watch her dance around the living room to Top 40 hits.

“Time to brush my teeth?”

“Yes, time to brush your teeth.” She swings Annie onto her hip. “Wanna watch that James Bond movie you were talking about last week?”

“Yeah, if you’re up for it?” Bradley gets up when she nods in response. “Awesome, I’ll finish the dishes and set it up.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back after she’s asleep.”

He watches her walk down the hallway towards her bedroom, talking to the sleepy preschooler in her arms before moving into the kitchen. As he washes the ice cream bowls, he thinks about how much he’s enjoyed the day. He never thought the highlight of his week would be fighting for an hour to secure a car seat into Bronco and then spending 12+ hours caring for a four-year-old. But it has been, and he’s enjoyed every moment.

He pours them each a glass of the Moscato he picked up at the store and sprawls on her pink couch, scrolling through his phone while he waits for her to put Annie to bed. It’s not too long before soft footsteps grab his attention, and he gulps when she rounds the corner.

“My leggings were too uncomfortable, so I changed into my pajamas; I hope you don’t mind.”

How could I mind looking at your ass in those shorts?

“Course not; want you to be comfy.” He watches her bend down to add detergent to the dishwasher, her sweatshirt catching his eye. “Do you have an aviator boyfriend somewhere in Florida that we don’t know about?”

“What?”

“Your sweatshirt. I’ve only seen people who come out of flight school with those.”

“Oh, this! I always talked about how I wanted one of these sweatshirts, so when I announced that I was leaving to come out here, my favorite admiral got me one as a going-away present.” She points to her sleeve as she sits beside him, “He even got my call sign embroidered on it!”

“Cute; how come I’ve never seen this before?”

“I only wear it at bedtime. He ordered it to be oversized for me, which I appreciate, but it was so big that it practically was a dress. Dani and I tried to crop it one night, but we didn’t measure, misjudged it, and well…” She lifts her arms slightly above her head, her tummy and the very bottom curve of her breasts coming into view. “Not exactly public friendly.”

He hums, distracted by how if she had lifted her arms one more inch, she would have completely flashed him.

“You, uhh-” He clears his throat, “You ready to watch the movie? I poured you a glass of wine.”

“Thank you!” She hits play as she takes a sip. “Oh, Bradley, you did such a good job picking this out.”

He grunts in response, his brain fixated on the little moan she let out after her second sip.

Twenty minutes into the movie, he pauses it when she squirms for the tenth time. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Sorry. My back hurts, and there’s not enough room to lay down.”

“Come lay with me. There’s plenty of room here.”

“Really?” She asks as she’s already moving around the coffee table to his other side. “You don’t mind?”

“Just come lay down, Mary.” She slots herself next to him on the chaise, resting her head on his shoulder and throwing a leg over his thighs. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She pats his chest in thanks, and he starts the movie up again. He wraps an arm around her, slipping his hand under her sweatshirt and rubbing her back when she doesn’t protest.

When the movie ends two hours later, she yawns and shifts on his chest as the credits roll. “I liked that a lot; I think that’s Daniel Craig’s best movie.” She bends her leg, pulling it further up his lap and freezing when she feels him.

“Sorry.” He grunts, trying to scoot away, yelling at himself for making her uncomfortable.

A hand on his chest stops him.

“It’s okay.” She quietly reassures him, her hand sliding up to cradle the side of his face, turning him to look at her. “I don’t mind.”

The look in his eyes takes her breath away. He looks hungry. Like he wants her. The way his breathing gets heavier when she sinks her hand into his hair gives her the confidence boost she needs. Summoning all the grace she possibly can, Mary sits up and swings a leg over his hips. His hands guide her onto his lap, her eyes widening when she sits down.

“You’re so hard.” She says breathlessly, shocked at how aroused he is underneath her.

“You’ve been pressed against me for two hours in these tiny little shorts with no bra on, and you smell good.” He shrugs helplessly like he had no control over the situation.

“Bradley…” She trails off when he moans as her hands tug his hair. She leans into him, heart pounding as their chests and noses touch. Her eyes flutter, a quiet whine escaping as she enjoys the way his hand grabs at her ass, big and warm through the thin material of her shorts. The other hand runs up her thigh and slips under the hem to hold her hip, thumbing over the lacey edge of her panties. Mary moans as he pulls her further into him, tilting her head and letting her lips brush his.

“Aunt Mary!”

She sits up straight, balancing herself on his chest. “Annie?! What’s wrong?” She climbs off Bradley, apologizing as she goes.

“I- I- I had a bad dream! Th-the dinosaurs were there!” She wails, tears pouring down her cheeks as she hiccups.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay! It’s okay! Those dinosaurs aren’t real. They were just machines for the movie. They can’t hurt you.” She bounces Annie, trying to soothe her. She’s going to kick Reuben’s ass all the way to Australia for allowing Annabeth to watch Jurassic Park. Knowing it’s his fault that she and Bradley were interrupted.

“Can we watch Frozen?” The sniffles break her heart, and she immediately gives in.

Mary sighs, “Yeah, let's wipe your face off, and we’ll watch Frozen.” After the tears and snot are washed away, she settles on the opposite end of the couch with Annie in her arms, wrapping a blanket around them and turning on the movie.

Once the citizens of Arendelle are singing about ice, she risks a glance over at Bradley to find him already watching her. Her heart skipping a beat at the intensity of his stare. She lets herself openly watch as he adjusts himself through his shorts before dragging a hand across his mouth, his eyes only leaving hers to watch the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip. She can’t remember the last time she was this turned on and mourns the fact that she didn’t even get a chance to taste his lips.

Eventually, she breaks eye contact, looking at the movie when Annie points. Bradley doesn’t look away - can’t look away - her cheeks are flushed, and she's still slightly panting. He’s annoyed they were interrupted and feels bad about being annoyed. But he’s never going to be able to forget the way she felt on his lap. So soft, so warm. How she fit perfectly into his hands, like she was made for him. He can’t think about how her hands pulled his hair and how she wiggled on his lap, or he knows he’s going to get hard again. Those 90 seconds are going to star in his dreams for the rest of his life.

She’s perfect. I’m gonna ask her out next week, and we’ll go to dinner somewhere nice. We’ll go to Samson’s. He decides.

I can’t believe that asshole didn’t want her.

Who wouldn’t want her? 

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fic tag | credit for dividers here

[capt-carter-mostly-official]

I don’t think that I will ever be able to truly express how it feels to come home to a a place that is now more than a house, a place that is lived in.

When I came out of the ice I was given an apartment furnished like a typical, upper middle class, forties home. But it wasn’t really a home, because there was no heart to it. I had no family to speak of, no friends, and only my past to dwell in. So of course when Anthony told me the Avengers were moving upstate, I came. And I got Steve and Bucky back. But they had a home they made together, and I still didn’t.

My apartment is full of light, and it’s a blend of classic wood furniture from the forties and modern sofas, art, and everything in between. I have tapestries I purchased in Scotland from weavers and quilts purchased from makers across the globe. And that helped, but it was empty, all like a museum. Because you can try to shake a century of military habits, but you never do. The beds are made with sharp corners, dishes are washed up promptly after meals, loose blankets are folded as soon as I’m finished.

But then I somehow became a mother to three lovely daughters who spend time here, two of them live here. They’ve had their own rooms since I adopted them, even when I thought they might never even see them. But it feels like a home when I can walk in and there are dishes waiting to be washed by the sink, Floyd’s dog toys all across the floor, pillows kicked off the couch and shoes tossed haphazardly by my door. Being able to look into their rooms and not see spotless army-neat sets but unmade beds or books on desks and half-drunk water bottles. Signs of lives being lived, like doodles and schoolwork pinned to my ice box and the cocoa dusted over the counter. It’s home now.

[kt-creates]

Finally finished this late last night. It was my first block of the month from Quiltpatch Lane in Spokane. Of course the top took me more that two years to finish and it’s been at least a year or so since then waiting to be quilted. Well that ended yesterday when I tried my first matchstick quilt pattern. I used 6mm bamboo batting from Stitch Quilt Shop. I’m excited to wash it and see how the batting reacts.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: trafficking references, implied sa references, manipulation, conditioning, implied abuse, imprisonment, kidnapping, loss, blood and wounds

AO3 link

Chapter 44 - Inej

Inej kept her knocks on the door of the safehouse distilled to a light tap, but even so as Elodie leaned nervously into the corridor she pressed a finger to her lips. The fright in the girl’s eyes seemed to calm a touch when she saw it was only Inej waiting on the other side, though they had not had much opportunity before now to gain any closeness they had seen each other multiple times at the Crow Club and Inej suspected that Nina had promised Elodie that she was safe to trust her, but it did not entirely subside. As far as Inej could tell, it never did. 

“She’s sleeping,” the girl whispered, glancing back into the flat.

It was the middle of the day and the high sun was attempting to peek through the thick layer of typical, grey Ketterdam clouds, but Inej could see that the flat was mostly darkened behind Elodie; the curtains pulled closed and the candles flickering. The bedroom door was hovering neatly ajar, not quite open, not quite closed, and beyond it Inej could see the vague edge of a shape that was someone lying still on top of the quilt and blankets. 

“I rather don’t want to wake her,” Elodie murmured, “she sleeps very little. Can we…?”

She hesitated and Inej let the few pieces of I formation that Nina had been able to give her about the girl wash over her. She did not like to ask for things, to ask questions at all. 

“I don’t know much,” Nina had admitted, her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming tea as she perched next to Inej during one of those endless days as Inej lay unhappily still with her leg raised in the sling Jesper had set up for her, “I think the White Rose was the first place to hold her contract, but - well…”

“Go on,” Inej had prompted gently, when the story lost its thread. 

Nina pursed her lips. 

“I think her parents - I mean…,”

Inej felt the grim expression spreading over her face even before Nina had finished speaking, realising correctly what she was about to say. 

“I think they sold her,”

Nina’s gaze had drifted to the window, like she could not quite bring herself to make eye contact with Inej. It was then that it occurred to her that Nina - for how could she when Inej never spoke of it? - did not know the circumstances of Inej’s being brought to Ketterdam. There had been other children on the slaver ship who had been sold by design, one girl, Inej remembered, by her brother so that he could clear his gambling debts. She wondered if the girl was still alive; she wondered if her brother had cleared his debts only to acquire new ones; she wondered if he had any other siblings to keep selling. 

“That’s harder, I think,” she’d whispered, watching Nina’s eyes rove over the curtains with falsified fascination, “Knowing that they chose to do it. I’ve always known that someone out there loves me, cared about me then and still cares about me now. I think… I think it would be worse otherwise. Knowing that they let you go, that they… I think that’s a different kind of loneliness,”

For a moment there had been silence, as Nina looked slowly back to Inej. 

“Maybe,” she said, quietly. 

And what of Nina? The thought struck Inej quite suddenly. She must have had parents, at some point, mustn’t she? Was there anyone in Ravka, with the memory of a little girl carried away by the Grisha testers, left to wonder what had become of her afterwards? Inej drew a picture of them in her head, this make-believe family. A mother and a father, maybe siblings, maybe aunts and uncles and cousins. But maybe not. Because who were these people, this close knit family she’d devised, that let their little daughter be ripped away from them and never even - what? What possible choice could they have had in it? Nina was Grisha; she belonged to the Second Army, and not to anyone else. Not her parents, not herself. 

“How old were you?” she dared to venture into the silence that had sunk between them, like a rock dropped into a slender pool too gently to ripple too wide or fall too quickly, “When they took you to Os Alta?”

Nina looked a little surprised as she replied with a gentle shrug and a smile that seemed to quiver only the tiniest bit, only for the briefest second: 

“I don’t remember before. Not really,” 

Inej wasn’t sure what to say, and after that the conversation had dwindled once more but she couldn’t shake the thought of it, of wondering if there was somebody somewhere in Ravka to think about a little girl with brown hair and green eyes, who was whisked away one morning with no questions to be asked and no prayers to be answered. Was there someone waiting in the hope that one day they would hear her name in some announcement or other of Second Army soldiers? Did they have vague hopes that the girl she had become would recognise them if they saw each other again, even though they knew in the heart that she would not? Did they fear that one day they would happen to be lucky enough to glimpse her, and not know that the woman they saw had once been their daughter? 

Inej looked at Elodie, now, driving her thumb deep into the fabric of her sleeve as she fidgeted. Since having her Tailoring undone she looked healthier, though she was still thin and undeniably pale there was better colour in her cheeks and she looked less gaunt, but no less afraid of everything and everyone that crossed her path. 

“We can talk out here,” Inej nodded, stepping back to give Elodie the space to move into the corridor. 

Elodie didn’t lock the door behind her but she did pick up the key from the side table and slip it into the tight hollow of her fist, like she needed to know that it was there and if the door had somehow locked itself she would still be able to open it again. 

“Kaz wants to know if you can be at the Crow Club tonight,” said Inej, citing the official reason that she was here, “And… well, I was hoping to speak to Jeluna but I can come back another time. The main thing is whether you can get to the Club tonight,”

There was a private game that they needed extra hands waiting tables for, and Layla, unusually for her, had sent word that she had fallen ill and was not up for the task. Kaz was considerably annoyed about it, but considering that they’d once watched her try to come to work with what had later turned out to be firepox - Layla had to be quarantined for three weeks and she was reportedly furious, but of course no-one except Pietro had seen that first hand - Inej had managed to pointedly convince him that it was clearly serious enough to not be worth coming into work. And besides, if she had some kind of fever or anything else similar then they probably shouldn’t have her all over the clients, or their food and drinks. 

“It was you who realised she had firepox,” Inej had emphasised, pulling her leg up onto the window ledge behind her. 

She was refusing to admit to the pain that still contorted in her knee after the thrust of Oomen’s knife - or rather Liesbeth’s knife in his hand - but she could make small concessions like this one; idle, casual, hooking her hand beneath her leg to lift it up with her because that tiny touch of support beneath it was better than nothing at all. Had Kaz noticed? If he had, he hadn’t said anything. 

“It was lucky that I did,” he grimaced, “it was early enough on to still be safe,”

If Kaz hadn’t seen her until even a week later, Layla may very well have died of the fever she’d been insisting was just fine. Inej didn’t know how he had realised what it was, the most telltale sign of firepox was the characteristic blisters and pustules, infamous in their shape and colour, but they didn’t appear until later. When it got you, so she’d heard it said, it started with aches, chills, the cough and then the fever. By the time the pustules had appeared, the disease had probably been passed on to twenty others - but Layla’s quarantine and undoubtedly expensive medicine cleared it up in good timing, and although the panic amongst the staff had slowed things down at the Crow Club no-one else in the Dregs ended up presenting symptoms. 

“I…” Elodie hesitated, and as Inej had already noticed in her it was clear that she struggled to say no, “I can, but someone else should be here. Jeluna shouldn’t be alone,”

Inej heard Kaz coming down the hallway before he spoke, and it seemed that Elodie did as well. She flinched at the first audible strike of his cane against the boards, then stepped back slightly as she clutched the key tighter in her palm. 

“Stay,” he said, his words directed towards Elodie, “I’ll find someone to cover for you. Jeluna will only distress if we keep changing things, and then we won’t be able to get anything from her at all,”

Inej resisted the urge to sigh - of course it couldn't just be about trying to achieve some sense of stability for the girl, Kaz had to have yet another motive. What did he want from her now? There seemed no hope of devising what had happened whilst she had been missing, if she could remember nothing at all. But Kaz always had another reason for everything he did, most often multitudes of them. Everything was precise and decided, purposeful, laden with intent - Inej could just never be sure if the intent was good.

Why had he felt the need to follow after her, when he had sent her here to speak to Elodie? The growing suspicion that he was checking on her was grating at her edges. When she’d stood behind him in his office, Wylan opposite them with no knowledge of her presence, Kaz had said that he wanted to know if Wylan would realise she was there. 

“You were testing me,” Inej had not been able to stop the words from falling clumsily free, quivering anger becoming harder to hold onto as it gathered its energy into vibrating faster and faster and faster, so it leapt right out of her grip, “You think one injury will ruin me? People who can see can’t see me, Kaz, do you think-?”

“I was testing him,”

Inej frowned. 

“Testing him?”

Kaz had been stood up by then but he gestured for her to sit and then returned to his chair, nodding slowly. 

“The kid intrigues me,” he admitted, watching Inej with dark eyes as though he was trying to determine her reaction. She let her features remain neutral, though she was sure he knew that she was studying him in return, “I think - I don’t know what I think. I think there’s an answer in him, but I don’t even know what the question is yet,”

There was nothing Kaz hated more than a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Inej just hoped for Wylan’s sake that he would find a satisfying answer. 

“Something doesn't add up here,” he’d said, after a long silence, keeping his voice level and entirely matter of fact as he continued: “I think that he can see,” 

If there had been words in Inej’s mouth they didn’t make it any further. She scoffed, shaking her head. It was ridiculous - what possible reason would Wylan have to lie? And he had shown no acknowledgement of her presence, everything about his surroundings that he was admittedly good at keeping track of he seemed to do by sound, he walked with caution and tracked his pathway with his hand - and Roeder’s reports suggested no difference even when he believed he was alone. 

And yet… Well, when was Kaz wrong about people? He read people faster than he did words on a page, understood them and consumed their contents faster than one could any book, any letter. 

“What are you doing out here?”

Elodie’s cheeks flooded crimson, her eyes flickering between Kaz’s shoes and her own. 

“Jeluna’s asleep,” she managed, “I didn’t want to disturb her - she doesn’t sleep often. And only in the day, never a night,”

Kaz frowned, but nodded. Still he went to the door, paused for a brief moment, looked back at Elodie and Inej. 

“She’s awake,” he said, simply, before pushing his way inside. 

A brief, frightened skittering of footsteps followed from within the flat as the little group filed in to find Jeluna having rushed quickly backwards from the door. She folded her hands behind her back, dropping her eyes to the ground, waiting. 

Kaz directed her to sit down as Inej quietly killed the flickering candlelight and Elodie pulled the curtains open. 

“You were listening to us,” said Kaz.

It wasn’t a question and he didn’t pose it as one. Inej stepped behind him, something nervous fizzing in her stomach, as Jeluna shuffled briefly and then fell still. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I thought - I’m sorry,” 

“If you're going to eavesdrop, get better at it,” Kaz nodded to the other chair at the table, “May I?”

She stared at him for a moment, almost leaning back in her seat, before giving a very shaky nod. Kaz sat down and stretched his bad leg in front of him, leaning his cane against his knee and slowly curling his fingers over the handle as though to savour the movement for as long as he possibly could. 

“Jeluna, I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them as truthfully as you can, do you think you can do that?”

For a moment there was fraught almost silence, the only sound the kitchen tap running behind them. 

“Will you let me go home, if I do?” 

Kaz sighed. Inej bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, unaware she’d done so until her mouth tasted of metal. 

“You don’t have to go back, do you?” said Elodie, with the air of someone very patient with having had this conversation many times, pressing a glass of water into Jeluna’s hands so she had no choice but to take it, “You can stay here, now,”

Jeluna’s lower lip quivered. 

“You don’t understand,” she shook her head, “the longer I’m gone the worse it will be when I go back, I have to go back as quickly as I can or it will be worse, it will be worse, it-”

“You don’t have to go back at all,” emphasised Kaz, with less patience in his tone than Elodie, “It doesn’t matter how late you return if you don’t return,”

“But I will,” Jeluna whispered, like the words had been ripped from her, “You’ll get bored. Everyone gets rid of me eventually. But not Tante Kaatje. She’ll let me stay, so long as I am grateful. And I’m not being grateful-” a croak that threatened tears began to gather “- I’m being so dreadful, I’ll be so late, I- I- I will have to…” 

Elodie glared at Kaz, the closest she had seemingly come to ever standing up to anyone, and then gently shushed Jeluna through the thick tears that had begun to pile over her cheeks and guided the hand holding the water glass up towards her mouth. 

“You drink this now,” she told her softly, “You just take a deep breath,”

Inej wanted to be able to say something, anything, but she found that her voice had entirely abandoned her. She just stood there, hovering behind Kaz’s chair, like she had begun to silently choke on absolutely nothing at all. Kaz appeared unmoved. 

“You are staying here,” he repeated, “Now do you think that you can answer my questions, or should I return tomorrow?”

Jeluna shuddered slightly, clutching her glass closer to her chest. 

“I can,” she murmured, “I’m sorry,”

Kaz waved off her apology somewhat distractedly. 

“Does the name Hoede mean anything to you?”

Hoede. Inej had heard that name recently - yes, she had meant to tell Kaz when she saw him tonight, the house was being shut up and boarded off. She’d seen it when she went to look into these strange reports of late night goings on along the Geldstraat, and found the entire place crawling with stadwatch. The rumour was a plague outbreak. 

Jeluna shook her head. 

“He’s a member of the Merchant Council,” Kaz pressed, “You met him a few weeks ago,”

Jeluna frowned for a moment, then seemed to catch herself and sculpted her features back to passivity as she continued to think. 

“Not everyone gives their name,” she said, “But if you want information I may be able to-”

“He gave his name,” said Kaz, “You left the Willow Switch with him - or with someone who works for him, more likely. They took you somewhere, his house or a different location, and that was where you met him,”

For a brief moment Jeluna’s eyes were slightly distant, then she shook her head. 

“I don’t leave,” she said, “Tante Kaatje is very cautious of it, she says I am unwell. Viri has to help me, very often. She’s a Healer,”

Inej frowned - as did Elodie, opposite her, and she could hear from Kaz’s tone that he was as well even though she couldn’t see his face. 

“Unwell?”

“Of weak disposition,” Jeluna murmured, “I need to be kept close, kept safe,”

A long moment passed. 

“Jeluna, how old are you?”

“Fourteen,”

Her voice was light, but the tension in her shoulders was unmissable. Kaz shook his head.

“How long have you been at the Willow Switch?”

“I don’t… are you testing me?” 

It was exactly what she’d said when Inej asked her the same question. 

“Jeluna, you aren’t fourteen,”

“Kaz-” Inej finally found her voice, only to be immediately cut off as Kaz pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and said: 

“Can you read Kerch?”

Jeluna shook her head. 

“Okay, here - see the numbers?” he pointed, “That’s the year that you came to Kerch - to the auction? How old were you?”

“Nine,”

“Right. And this is the year that Kaatje bought your contract; four years later,”

Inej frowned, trying to figure out where he was going with this. 

“Yes,” whispered Jeluna, undaunted. 

Elodie glanced down at the paper and almost gasped, looking back up at Jeluna with an unreadable expression in her eyes - some mixture of shock and pain and pity. Kaz continued as though he hadn’t noticed. 

“Jeluna, do you know what year it is now?” 

She opened her mouth, closed it again. 

“Jeluna,”

She shook her head, confused or frightened or maybe both, leaning away from Kaz. 

“Jeluna, you have been at the Willow Switch for six years,”

“No…” her voice was quiet at first, and then became a strangled cry, “No, no that’s not - that can’t be-”

Inej didn’t have time to process what he was saying; she shoved furiously past Kaz and knelt down in front of Jeluna, holding her hands flat between them for the girl to take only if she wanted to. 

“Look at me,” she whispered, “Look at me. You are safe here, no-one is going to hurt you,”

“No- no, you’re lying,” Jeluna moaned, scrambling backwards as though she could climb over the back of her chair and vanish. Inej wasn't sure if she meant she was lying about not hurting her or if Kaz was lying about the date, “No, no, no,”

“Jeluna-” 

“You aren’t unwell, Jeluna,”

“Kaz be quiet,”

“She was forcing Viri to Tailor you,”

“Kaz-” Inej tried again, but he ignored her.

“Jeluna, you are nineteen years old,”

Jeluna shook her head, her distress only growing. She’d begun to claw helplessly at the sleeves of her blouse, still pushing herself backwards in her chair even though both Inej and Elodie had stepped away to give her space. 

“Kaz, please-”

But he didn’t stop, was apparently somehow blind to Jeluna’s tears and desperate, quiet little sobs as over and over again she whispered that it was not true, could not be true. 

“It is a lie,” he repeated, “You have been there for six years, you are nineteen years old and you are not unwell, all of it is her doing. Do you understand me? She made it up. She-”

“Kaz, get out!” Inej whirled and took a pace towards him, barely aware she was doing it until she’d done it. 

She’d shouted like the words had been ripped straight out of her chest, like she had thrust her hand inside herself and pulled out her bloody, beating heart to show it to him. She’d shouted at Kaz.

She had never seen such shock on his features as she saw now. They stared at each other as silence fell like a heavy blanket, no sound but Inej’s furious breaths burning loudly through her. He stared at her, and she stared at him, and for the tiniest, briefest, most fleeting moment she could imagine, Inej might have been afraid. Kaz marched from the room, his cane thwacking the boards so hard it might have dented them. The door slammed shut in his wake, and she could hear the thunk of his cane all the way down the corridor and vanishing off over the stairs. There was no time to just stand there, waiting for her breathing to slow and settle. There was never any time for calm.