#when she was vomitting for hours and near dead on the bathroom floor because he simply couldnt be bothered to get off his ass

[snarltoothed]

this would be so funny to send as a middle-aged wife whenever your good for nothing husband who fell either into addiction or abusiveness when he got laid off in 2008 starts acting up but you’re 55 looking 45 and he’s ambiguously in his 60s and unlike him you didn’t age out of your sense of humor and ability to socialize so he just has to humble himself and shut up

image found while on google images ©

[flashyourgreeneyesatme]

Sick as a dog. <Bradley Bradshaw x reader>

This is my first published piece of writing but my baby, Reese Withoutaspoon aka @greatbigshiningstar is sick with Covid, and I want to make her feel better even if I’m not where near her. Love you doll hope you can imagine Roost with this.

I hope you enjoy and anytime any one of you are sick just remember Bradley would buy you your favourite soup and cut your bread exactly the way you like it!

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x (f)reader

word count: 1846

warnings: Mentions of feeling and being sick, Bradley’s awful dad jokes, way too many curse words and sexual references (if you really squint hard enough – haha hard)

summary: The reader is home sick from the flu she got from work (can be whatever job you want I’m not going to explicitly describe what job she does) and wants to just curl up and die. Will Rooster let her be alone? No! He protect. He attack. He’s got his baby’s back! Just a cute little drabble of Bradley looking after her.

Pain. Pain is all I could feel, coursing through my body and destroying everything in its path. It's like if you gave the basic flu weapons and said, 'have at it!'. Now all I can think about are cartoon germs with machine guns shooting at my immune system until there is nothing left to destroy. Now, I'm an averagely smart person I obviously know that they don't have weapons and aren't shooting me from the inside but right now if you told me to stand up straight and count to ten, I'd be doing the macarena and wouldn't even notice the difference. I go to cuddle my pillow until I realise, I'm not even in bed I'm in my car and have been since 3 pm. 4 hours in my car just sitting there. No music. No phone. Just sitting. When did I get home? How did I get home? Did I accidentally kill anyone on my way home? I guess we'll never know.

I decide that I need to go inside and curl up and live my life in a quarantine-like staycation where I will not be talking to anyone, my best friend will be my cold bathroom floor and kid's drowsy cough medicine because I only like the strawberry flavour and apparently adult medicine manufacturers thought Let's make it taste worse than their own vomit and make them take it 3-4 times a day. Yeah, no thanks I'm okay with my kiddie medication, maybe that's why I'm always asked for parenting advice by new mums in the pharmacy. By the time I actually am able to get my dead legs out of the car, it's been 27 minutes and I stumble into my shitty home like a newborn deer learning to walk. All because of Jaida from work.

That bitch Jaida can get the flu, have a few sniffles and get on with the day. But puts everyone else at risk. Like okay, Jaida you've got a good immune system we get it! She gets to continue her day whereas I am reenacting the exorcist when I even try to drink water.  How is it fair? I enjoy my job. I want to be at my job. I unscrew the top of the medicine bottle and simply drink it like it's an energy drink, the door to my bedroom opens and I just lay on the bed. 

Suddenly I hear the front door open once again. All this time I've been thinking about myself when I forget I share this shitty home with my amazing boyfriend who has such an important job and if he gets sick, what if he can't go out on a flight and countless people die because of it? Okay nope, he's not allowed near me it is decided I am going to reenact another film, Contagion. 

"Honey I'm home!" I hear the naval officer yell throughout the house. The silence is deafening in response. He starts whistling about as if his version of echolocation will be able to locate me within the house. I stand up to back myself against the door so he cannot enter which feels like the biggest task I've ever completed. I hear him try to push the bedroom door open and fail imminently. "Why are you up against the door? Are you naked? You know I don't mind it's nothing I haven't seen before." He goes to push against the door once again.

"I'm not naked. I'm sick." I weakly croak out just enough for him to hear.

"Okay? So are you going to let me in or?" His voice is laced with confusion, boy take a hint, I love you but not happening. 

"I'm not letting you in because if you get sick you might not be able to work and if you can't work then Mav might personally send firing jets to shoot me." He can tell there's a frown on my face even behind the oak door. By now I'm sitting on the floor leaning against the door because all my energy is drained. I hear Rooster's knees drop to the floor and look to see him looking through the gap at the bottom of the heavy door and hear a little giggle. "Fuck off it's not funny!" I can't help but laugh which causes my chest and throat to hurt more. "I'm dying of influenza in here and you're laughing about me. Some widow you'd make Bradshaw." Again a fucking giggle easily escapes that man's mouth. 

"Right then if you're dying might as well get some things I've been meaning to say for a long time but never had the courage to say." He sighs and sits with his back to the door as I am also doing. A light tension fills the air. "You're a stupid bitch and I hate you. You're ugly too." 

"Right now I want you to get sick you dickhead." I lightly hit the door soon realising that hurt my whole body more than I reckoned. 

"Then open the door all you have to do is open the door and let me get my karma." His voice sounds tempting. He's got that charm that could sell the internet to an elephant. Not sure if that makes sense but I'm feeling like dumbo on wine right now so I don't really mind if my idiom makes sense or not. That man knows exactly what he's doing. Is it reverse psychology or is it gaslighting either way it's super enticing. I push myself off the floor and open the door. "Ah, a hideous monster!" He yells as I open the door. Bradley sees the upset and frustration on my face and knows I'm about to slam this door in his face. "Wait no! I'm sorry!" Allowing him to walk into our shared bedroom felt illegal to me. I keep my distance from him baking away as far as I can go before hitting the bed that stood in the centre of the room. "Am I not allowed to be near you?" I shake my head in response. 

"I'm not getting you sick dude that would fucking suck! And you're a child when you're sick so I'm not willing to play nurse. Love you, not that much." Rooster puts his hands up in a surrender-like fashion and stays where he is. His dark brown eyes scan me up and down. "Stop looking at me like that." 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a dying puppy." My lips form into a pout. 

"I want to look after you. That's all I want. I won't come near you I promise." His fingers form into a cross behind his back.

"And how do you propose that you can look after me without coming near me." I'm sceptical about his methods.

"Get into bed." A little smile forms on his face.

"I don't see how having sex is going to help bud." Scoffs pass his lips as he has given up with my bullshit. Before I can even process what is happening his long arms have been placed onto my shoulders and pushed my back onto the mattress. A small yelp escapes my lips. "I have no energy for this." I feel the mattress consume my weight as I sink in slowly but surely. 

"Get under the duvet and I'll be back." He's off! The room is suddenly quiet as I give in to his demands and get settled under the heavy duvet which I can't decide if it's too hot or too cold for it. The first noise I hear is the fumbling noise of the cupboards and then the slamming of them. Instead of Bradley coming back to the room the front door once again opens and closes. I want to get up and see where he has gone but this bed has grown more comfortable by the second and not to my recollection my eyes start to close and I doze off. 

I don't know how long it's been while I've been sleeping but I am slowly awoken by the smell of rich chicken wafting its way from the kitchen. My eyes slowly open and I am alerted by Bradley's figure standing in the doorway. My body does a small tense reaction to his terrifying stature. "Hey, sleepysauras. Temp check!" He works his way over to my still comatose body and sticks a thermometer into my mouth. A hmmm noise comes from my chest as I feel the cool plastic on my tongue. "Okay! 101*. You, little lady, have a fever."

"That's mean." My eyes roll around my head. 

"I made cheddar broccoli soup. Just for you. Because I love you!" I stick my middle finger up at him. His laughs fill the house as he goes to fetch the amazing-smelling soup from the kitchen. The soup enters the room before he does as he is holding it out at an arm's length. "So I don't have to come near you!" Weak fake laughs come from my mouth. The tray is set on my lap and the bread is cut my way. "Even though I'm pretty sure it's a felony I cut it horizontally because you're sick and I have to spoil you." I try not to break out into a smile and or cry because it is so stinking cute. "Now eat it up."

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Bradshaw, sir!" I give him a small salute. He goes to leave, "What you're not going to spoon-feed me as well?" He stops in his tracks and does a little 180* spin on the spot. The speed of his run could be considered inhuman, he could put the flash to shame. Instead of simply walking around the bed as a normal person would, Bradley leapfrogs over my side of the bed to his side. The metal spoon is lifted from the white ceramic bowl into his hands.

"I'm going to be honest with you I have already taster tested a lot of this soup. For your protection of course." My head shakes up and down in a mocking gesture.

"My hero!" Rooster's lips move closer to the spoon, which holds the cheddar broccoli soup, and lightly blows on it. Aeroplane-like noises advance from the aviator's lips as he spoon feeds me like a child. "It's nice." Dark brown eyes squint at my choice of words. "It's delicious, Gordon Ramsey would be proud!" Pride fills his expression as he seems very impressed with his amazing cooking. As I demolish the food in front of me my stomach churns only slightly enough to make me gag but not to be physically sick. Rooster goes white as a ghost in front of me, not very well-known fact is that Roost is a huge Emetophobic. Reassurance washes over his pale complexion as he realises I wasn't going to throw up.

My anxieties of not wanting to get him sick are gone as I open up the duvet for him to get underneath with me. He willingly does so and joins our bodies together. The warmth from his body and his arm wrapped around me sends me back to sleep. 

I hope you enjoyed!

[afrival]

AOT Characters When Drinking HCs

My friend and I were talking the other day and made some HCs about the AOT characters when they’re drunk— I shall share a them here 😎🤙

cw// alcohol, vomit

modern au shit so this like doesn’t apply season 4 characterization

The 104th Gang

Eren:

- Angry drunk

- To quote my friend, you would say something around him and he's just "ohmmy GODDD shutttt the fuck UP”

- It literally doesn’t matter what you say he will tell you to shut up

- Picks fights for no fucking reason, especially with Jean

- If they’re out to drink he would start a fight with a stranger

- Mikasa literally has to drag him away from fights

- Probably drinks too much and vomits for HOURS and then brags about how high his alcohol tolerance is

- Claims he doesn’t get hangovers but everybody knows he’s lying because he will absolutely just zone out of every conversation the next day

- Always looks like he is on the verge of vomiting again

Mikasa:

- Does not drink because she has to babysit Eren

- However when she does she does not drink a lot

- Probably gets like really flustered and embarrassed, maybe a little touchy b/c her head hurts or something

- Like she’ll lay her head on Sasha’s shoulder meanwhile Eren and Jean are yelling at each other in the background

- Does get a hangover but usually it’s just a headache and she’ll be EXHAUSTED

Armin:

- COMPLETE fucking lightweight oh my god

- Do not give this man alcohol he will absolutely get wrecked

- One glass of wine is probably enough to get him tipsy

- I can’t decide if he would be the kind of person that gets really emotional and cries about everything or if he would go on long drunken rants about the most random shit

- Probably both

- Like he would be crying about the fact that he learned about otters having a favorite rock or this REALLY round corgi he saw last weak and it was just too cute

- Mikasa has to babysit both Eren and Armin whenever he drinks because Eren will absolutely try and drag Armin into his fights

- And with the drunken courage he has Armin would absolutely join in by yelling or hyping Eren up

- He becomes such an enabler

- Would have a hangover if he didn’t pass the fuck out and sleep the entire next day

Connie and Sasha:

- Two for one deal, they are always hanging out whenever they drink

- They’re the most CHAOTIC fucking duo ever, like they would somehow get their hands on a bunch of firecrackers and let loose

- Sasha would probably try and talk to any animals near by

- Connie would be laughing and saying shit like “SASHA the dog can’t fuckin’ talk back 🙄”

- They spend their hangovers bitching and whining about how much it hurts

- Probably would wrap themselves up in blankets in a dark room and snacks and spend the whole day just waiting it out

Jean:

- Same thing as Eren

- Except he also gets more flirty, but it’s not good and usually he ends up embarrassing himself and scaring away the girl he was talk to

- Finds Connie and Sasha and joins them on their shenanigans if he ain’t arguing with Eren

- Probably claims he has really good ideas and then next thing you know all three of them are in a police station and it’s definitely his fault

- “What the fuck made you think taking that woman’s dog was okay”

- “It looked SAD, Connie! And Sasha helped me!”

- “NO—“

- Spends his hangover day with Sasha and Connie

Historia:

- The most giggly fucking drunk you will ever meet

- Laughs at EVERYTHING and asks really dumb questions because suddenly she just has one brain cell

- Also a lightweight just not as bad as Armin

- Ymir has to babysit her and then when Ymir is drunk is the other way around

- They take good care of each other

- Ymir thinks she’s the most adorable thing ever and probably gives into every dumbass request Historia makes

- “Ymir! Let’s go out to eat!”

- “Hist, it’s 2am.”

- “So? There’s someplace open somewhere!”

- “...Fine.”

- Also sleeps her hangover off but Ymir has some water and pain meds ready for whenever she wakes up

Ymir:

- Oh dear lord she becomes very cocky and flirty

- Hangs off Historia’s shoulders the whole time and absolutely starts a fight with whoever looks at her gf

- Eren tried to fight her once and he got his shit beat

- The next day she would be so dramatic about how much pain she’s in just to get Historia to pay attention to her

- And ofc Historia always does < 3

The Warriors:

Reiner:

- Mans becomes such a an emotional bro

- Like he will throw an arm around literally anyone and go off about how much he just thinks they’re the darndest thing

- “Bert have I ever told you how great you are?”

- “All the time. Like a lot. You’ve said it 12 times in the last 10 minutes. Are you okay?”

- Completely denies it happened the next day and pretend he doesn’t feel like shit

- Bertholdt would find him dead to the world on the couch in some weird ass position and then force him to get up and go to bed

- “Dude you smell like ass.”

- “Shut up and just get me some water please.”

Bertholdt:

- Does not drink a lot at all especially around the 104th

- He has to make sure nobody fucking dies, especially Reiner and Annie

- He would have a beer or five with Reiner every so often and then he’s like really clingy and cuddly

- He’s embarrassed about it the next day and also pretends he never got hammered

- Sometimes one of the 104th will walk into their house and Bertholdt would be squished betweeen the fridge and the counter

- He has somehow made his way into the kitchen and will just fall asleep it the weirdest fucking places

- Reiner leaves him there because he feels to bad to move him when he looks strangely comfortable all twisted

- Whenever he and Reiner drink together they will send drunk snaps to their friends

- “Bertholdt just messaged me???”

- “Is he with Reiner?”

- “Yeah I think s— oh no.”

Annie:

- Doesn’t drink a lot either but when she does she also tries to start fights with people

- It never works out and she ends up having really deep and heartfelt conversations with them

- Like I imagine her trying to fight Armin and he’s just shaking I’m his boots and then she just stops and says

- “Ya know, sometimes I get really sad...”

- And so begins the start of their friendship

- For all the AruAni shippers I feel like she would be really protective of Armin and make sure nobody starts anything with him

- Or if they’re with Eren and the gang she will throw hands with Eren if he tries to drag Armin into his disputes

- She also probably hangs around Mikasa to make sure she’s okay and to pretend to hate it whenever Mikasa lays on her shoulder or thigh because she feels sick

- Banysits Reiner and Bertholdt whenever they’re drinking together, and then bullies the fuck out of them the next day

- “You guys are dumbasses.”

- “It was REINER’S idea!”

The Veterans-

Levi:

- DOES NOT DRINK even though he absolutely would

- He like becomes such a fucking mom lowkey especially whenever the kids are getting out of hand

- He’s dealing with a bunch of toddlers plus Hange and Erwin come on

- “Don’t touch that.”

- “Put that down.”

- “Quit yelling.”

- He never offer to clean them up or get them anything because that’s disgusting, however he does make sure everybody is at okay before leaving

- Like that they’re all breathing or nobody is missing

- After that he’s out and then the next day he just stares at them like the most disappointed parent ever

- He tolerates Hange and Erwin a little more, like they both get clingy and he actually lets them just hang off of him or something even tho he hates it

- Would probably hold Hange’s hair back if she throws up, or at least make sure it’s tied up. He has to resist the urge to vomit himself because he just cannot handle it at all

- But then he would just leave her on the bathroom floor asleep

Erwin:

- Oh boy he probably gets so emotional

- The complete opposite of his usual personality it’s so fucking funny

- Will cry about anything and once again like Reiner and Hange will talk about how great you are

- Doesn’t remember SHIT the next day and literally has no clue he acts like this and refuses to believe it whenever somebody tells him

- Hange recorded it once and he just “😐 Delete that, please.”

- Hangs around Levi and is very grateful that he lets Erwin be an annoyance

Hange:

- Tells the kids to be careful with alcohol and then immediately is found face down in a bush

- She becomes like 10 times more bubbly and absolutely batshit

- Laughs really loudly at everything

- She and Armin would get into excited like half conversations about fun science facts or whatever

- Like they absolutely geek the fuck out

- She also probably goes off about how much she loves everyone

- “LEVIIIIII!!! You’re so WOMDERFUL!”

- “Thanks. Now get off of me, bitch.”

- Levi has to babysit her and Erwin LMAO he’s the designated driver every single time

- Always knows the perfect cure for a hangover so she doesn’t usually have a really bad one

This turned out A LOT longer than I thought it would be, oops! Anyway I love doing these so I’m gonna start making more. I will probably do a lot for AOT and Hetalia so 😗✌️ prepare for cringe

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

[ragingpancake]

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part 2

It’s ten days before Carson deems Rodney “well enough” to return to his quarters. To date, this has been the longest infirmary stay that Rodney’s ever had and truthfully, he should probably stay a bit longer. His kidneys still aren’t functioning as well as they should, which means Carson’s been closely monitoring his water intake and urine output and a whole host of other things that John knows Rodney is embarrassed about. He’s also not entirely steady on his feet, courtesy of the muscle spams that wrack his calves and his thighs, bad enough sometimes to nearly bring him to tears. It’s ten days before John, Carson and Elizabeth have a very real, very difficult conversation about what a prolonged stay in the infirmary will likely do Rodney mentally, left with nothing really to occupy his time except, well, time to think about just how close he’d come to death. Carson is reluctant to release him; they haven’t yet gotten him back to solid foods and of course his kidney function is still a concern, but John knows Rodney, knows that he needs to be anywhere but here and he argues his case: Rodney can come stay in his quarters. His team is grounded for the foreseeable future, courtesy of John who is unwilling to go off-world without his entire team and while he’s offered to temporarily reassign Teyla and Ronon to Lorne, they share his line of thinking. Rodney can come stay with John, but he has his whole team who’ll be watching out for him, who will bring him for twice daily check ins, if needed, who will monitor any time spent in the lab, who just want Rodney to have some semblance of normalcy during his recovery. It must be an impassioned speech, because by the time he’s done, Elizabeth nods her consent and John finds for the first time in ten days, it’s a little easier to breath.

--- Rodney, predictably, complains about the arrangement. He’s not keen on having a babysitter and that hurts John’s stunted feelings more than he’d ever admit out loud. But when Carson makes it clear that the only option is an extended stay in the infirmary, he relents pretty easily and all that’s left is to prepare John’s quarters. Easy peasy. Right? Wrong. It turns out that the room John’s claimed for himself isn’t quite meant for two people. It’s small and while it’s fine for just him, he knows that it’s going to be too cramped, too claustrophobic and so he spends the eleventh day scouting out some of the larger quarters near the East Pier with Teyla, pretending to understand when she makes suggestions based on where the light from the rising sun falls and which room has the best view of the ocean, which she believes will aid in Rodney’s recovery. He’s never been much into new age bullshit that seems to be pretty common across two galaxies, but he’s willing to shove a couple of crystals up his own ass if it means getting Rodney better.

He enlists Ronon, Lorne and a couple of marines to help move their things. John leaves his own quarters to Wallace, Gregory and Barnes despite how uncomfortable the thought of them seeing his own personal effects makes him, and he takes Rodney’s room with Ronon and Lorne. Rodney, for his part, has a lot of stuff. It takes the better part of the afternoon to get everything moved over, including Rodney’s deceptively heavy prescription mattress, his four laptops and the whiteboard that he’d swiped from the labs within the first week of their arrival. John’s stuff, save for his own bed, mostly fits in a couple bags. By the time they’re finished, he’s tired, shoulders and back aching, reminding him just how fucking old he’s getting, but still, he trudges down to the infirmary, plastering a smile on his face for Rodney as he steps in through the paneled doors. “Hey buddy,” he greets. “Got us all set up in some new digs. Wait until you see the tub in this one,” he says, nodding as Carson comes over, Rodney’s chart in hand. “He all good to go, Doc?” “I suppose he’ll have to be, now won’t he?” He asks and there’s a scowl there that John cheerfully ignores. “I expect him back here at 10 and 2, Colonel. A minute late for either appointment and he’s back here, d’you understand?” “10 and 2, just like a steering wheel. Got it, doc. How about the food situation?” “Yeah, what he said,” Rodney frowns and John knows from previous experience just how miserable a clear liquid diet can be. “I’m alright with him startin’ on solids, but take it easy,” Carson warns. “Nothin’ too heavy,” and Rodney waves him off, but despite his lackadaisical nature, John really is taking this seriously, committing everything to memory. “Got it. We good?” Carson pauses for a moment before he sighs. “Aye. But not a moment late, Colonel!” He warns as Marie and Simpson come, pushing a wheelchair that Rodney tries to vehemently refuse. John settles a hand on his shoulder gently. “Hey, hey. C’mon. Easy. It’s a pretty long walk to the pier, alright? Let’s not push it too much on your first day.” “Traitor,” Rodney mutters under his breath and John actually does smile because it feels a little like it used to before those God damned Carneans. John steadies the wheelchair while Marie and Simpson maneuver Rodney into it and after what feels like forever, they’re finally on their way. “You did get my laptops, right?” “Yes, Rodney.” “And what about the Athosian soaps from the bathroom? Those were made specially for me by Gita and, and, and the medicinal properties-- “We got ‘em.” “My mattress?” “Of course.” Rodney harrumphs like maybe he’s expecting John to have forgotten something, as if John would ever. “What about—” “Your favorite red pen that you use to mark up all those damn physics journals? Yep. Got that too. We grabbed everything, buddy. And if there’s somethin’ you need that we don’t have, just say the word and we’ll make it happen.” Rodney falls strangely quiet at that. --- It’s easy to live with Rodney. Lorne had very nearly pissed himself from laughter when John said so after the first few days and honestly, John took a little offense to that on Rodney’s behalf. Sure, he’s messy and he’s loud and the longer he’s out, the more of his biting sarcasm is returning, but John’s all for it, especially when he considers the alternative. (And he does consider it, frequently, usually in the dead of night when he wakes up from nightmares of vomit and grey skin, of an antidote recovered too late). But honestly, save for the fact that John now has to deal with Rodney’s dirty clothes strewn across the room and the stupid whiteboard that takes up the space that John’s surf board should be occupying, not much has changed at all, a testament to just how much time the two of them had spent together even before this. John follows Carson’s instructions to a T, and okay, maybe that’s a little different too because John’s always been the one to avoid the infirmary at all costs when it comes to his own health and

well-being, but he’s not taking a chance with Rodney’s. He takes him to his appointments and at nights, when the muscle spasms seem to be the worst, John sits with him on that stupidly comfortable bed, kneading the tight muscles in his legs as he tries to distract Rodney with shitty 80s movies and random banter about anything and everything that he thinks will goad Rodney into a tirade that’ll take his mind off of the pain. He even lets Rodney have four hours a day in the labs, split into two hour segments with an hour break in between. Normalcy. That’s the goal here and Rodney’s always at his best when he’s in his element, berating scientists and defying all laws of physics. That’s where Rodney is when everything goes to hell. --- It’s been twenty days since the Carneans. Ten days of the two of them cohabitating, ten days of Rodney slowly working his way back to normal. He’s been subsisting entirely of power bars and MREs, which, while not entirely healthy has been cleared by Carson if only for the fact that they provide sustenance without being too taxing on Rodney’s still delicate system and John’s just thinking about whether or not he can try to convince Rodney to try something a little more substantial from the mess later that evening when the call comes in over the radio. “Zelenka to Colonel Sheppard, please respond.” He sounds harried and John closes the latest mission report from Lorne’s team, already on his feet and moving when he taps his comm. “Sheppard here, go ahead Doc.” “I need you in Science Lab 3 please. There is a… situation.” “What do you mean by situation, Radek?” But when Radek keys up his comm again, John can hear the panicked wheezing in the background and he picks it up to a swift jog. “I believe Rodney is having a panic attack,” he says. “I have tried to bring him around but nothing is working and I--.” “I’m on my way. Sheppard out.” He meets Ronon in the corridor and he doesn’t even have to say a word before the Satedan is altering his own course, following after John. They can hear it before they even open the door. Rodney’s on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of his ragged breaths interspersed with pained moans and Ronon is quick to clear the lab of well meaning scientists who are gaping at the scene while Radek tries to shield Rodney from view as much as possible. “Hey, hey,” John says soothingly, trying to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart is beating against his ribcage. “I’m here, buddy. Rodney, look at me. Hey, hey,” and he reaches out, finger under Rodney’s chin as he tips his head up, wild blue eyes meeting hazel. John wants to take Rodney’s hand, but his arms are wrapped around his middle, clutching his stomach so tightly and John glances over at the toppled plate on the floor, shards of glass now mixed with what looks like not-meatloaf. “Talk to me, Doc,” John calls over his shoulder at Zelenka. “What the hell happened?” “He was out of power bars, but hungry, so Miko thought perhaps he might be enticed to eat by something from the mess, knowing that this,” he gestures, “was Rodney’s favorite. He managed a couple of bites and everything was fine until… until it was not.” “Cramps,” Rodney rasps, reaching out to grip John’s wrist painfully. “Cramps. Poison, I—I can’t--.” “Get Carson down here,” John snarls, voice softening as he turns back to Rodney. “Hey. Listen to me, buddy. Carson told us this could happen, remember? The cramps. That’s why we started light. You’re okay though. I promise, Rodney. You’re okay, I’m right here and I need you to breathe.” It takes a bit of manhandling but John manages to get Rodney up enough that he can slide behind the other, drawing Rodney back against his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths. “C’mon, buddy. Breathe with me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Rodney.” That’s how Carson finds them a few moments later, Rodney trembling against the other, but thankfully no longer hyperventilating. “He’s alright,” John says, glancing up at Beckett. “Panic attack when

he tried to eat and cramped up.” “I thought—I thought--.” John pets through Rodney’s hair gently. “I know. You thought it happened again, but it didn’t, right? We’re gonna go down to the infirmary with Carson though and let him check you over so you can see for yourself.” “Easy, lad,” Carson says as Ronon comes over to help Rodney to his feet with more care than he’s shown anyone else, guiding him over to the gurney before he tugs John to his feet as well. “John—” Rodney rasps, the name catching his throat as the cramps hit again and he curls on his side, swallowing hard against the panic beginning to rise again. “I’m here,” John reminds him again, moving to take Rodney’s hand. “You’re alright, I promise.” And he is. He will be. John will be sure of that. --- The panic attacks don’t last long. He still cramps painfully when he eats, but the team is always with him at meal time to help him through it, John always, alwayseating a third of his food before switching his tray with Rodney’s for him to finish it, confident that there’s no poison. The effects of what had been done to him still linger, still present often and painfully, and sometimes, John doesn’t think what he’s doing is enough. That he should be doing more, that he should’ve done more back on that fucking planet to have saved Rodney from this entire ordeal. But Rodney’s getting better. John can see that when he goes longer and longer without a muscle spasm, or the first time he pees on his own and calls John in to see how clear it is, proof that his kidneys are finally starting to function normally. “You know,” Rodney says one night after they’ve pushed their beds close enough together that if they each scoot over to the edge, their shoulders are touching, “it probably won’t be too much longer until we can go back to our own quarters.” There’s an uncomfortable knot that twists itself up in John’s stomach at that but he swallows against the lump in his throat and says casually, “oh yeah? That’ll be cool. I guess.” “Yeah,” Rodney says and then he falls silent for a moment, as if waiting for something. Apparently, his impatience has returned full force because he doesn’t even give it a half a second before he’s speaking again. “I mean, unless we just… don’t?” Okay. That’s unexpected. “I just… this has been incredibly difficult, Colonel. Uh, John,” he corrects, “and you’ve… I know that this is probably because of some weird, misplaced guilt you’re harboring, because that’s how you are, Lieutenant Colonel Martyr, but… this has been okay… hasn’t it?” “Rodney, I--.” “I know I’m difficult. I’m messy and I’ll be going back to keeping weird hours soon enough and, and, and I know I can be annoying, but you’ve put up with that remarkably well and so I just thought--.” “I don’t want to go back to being alone,” John blurts out and he can feel the tension leaving Rodney’s body beside him. “Good. Me neither.” They fall into a comfortable silence then for a moment, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the sound of the ocean waves through the open window. (Teyla was definitely right about picking this room.) “It’s not guilt,” John says after a moment. “I mean, not that I don’t feel guilty, because I should’ve never--.” He clears his throat and stops himself before he goes down that road. “You’re… I dunno. You’re McKay. Rodney. And I… when I found you that day, I thought you were dead,” and he can feel Rodney flinch at that, but he needs to get this out, he thinks. “I thought you’d died and I just… realized that I would’ve gone out of my fucking mind if you had, Rodney. Like, legitimately crazy because you’re… You’re you and I’m--. I’m yours. However you want me. If that means we forget this conversation ever happened and go back to how it was before all of this, I’m okay with that, but I just… I had to tell you because I came really fucking close to never getting another chance to.” Rodney is quiet, doesn’t say anything but after a moment, John can feel the other’s hand brush against his own before he

squeezes two of John’s fingers. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time in all the time we’ve known each other.” And John laugh out loud at that, an actual laugh, and as he does, he feels that knot inside of him loosen just a bit. “Which is to say,” Rodney continues, “that I… would very much like to notforget this happened. I… suppose that I’m yours too. Maybe I always have been.” John doesn’t know where they’ll go from here. He’s under no delusions that this will be easy, any of it, but when has it ever been? All that matters though is that they have time now to work through it, to figure it out together. Maybe they’ll fix each other.

[soulwillower]

if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook. 

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him,  for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier. 

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill. 

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile. 

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame. 

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way? 

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently. 

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk. 

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel. 

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others. 

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho. 

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address." 

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please."  her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please."  and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks,  then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman  @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

[hoodedwing]

Soldier, Tell Me

Summary: Roy may have banished his demons but we know that demons, and bad habits die hard.

Characters: Jason, Roy, Cheshire and Lian

Warnings: Implied shipping? (not really actually), Drug abuse, depressive thoughts, major canon death. Vomiting and blood

Additional Notes: This was the 3k fic I spent months working on. I hope you like it as much as I did writing it :))

Word Count: 3,499 words 

***

Jason drums his fingers against the handles as he leans a little and presses himself into the seat. His earpieces played some old school song that he didn't bother changing as he took a left turn to a rather deserted road.

Up ahead, a huge building stood in relative isolation, save for a scatter of trees. Jason flips the indicator and takes another right towards the entrance of the car park before finding a small, vacant spot and parking his bike. Switching off the bike, he took a deep breath of the deep gasoline smell lingering.

It assaulted his senses in a good way, preparing him for what was going to happen incoming. He doesn’t know how to start everything with Roy. It’s not as if he could strike up a conversation about a mission like the yesteryears. He couldn’t slide up to him, smile and talk straight away to have expectations that Roy could catch up to speed.

He could try. Pretend everything was normal. Pretend everything was okay and that no one was sinking underneath the weight. Pretend they were still happy despite being scarred all the way through.

He had to accept the fact that Roy was probably in a cleaner slate than when he last saw him. Sometimes, he felt irrational hatred at himself for not seeing it earlier, for not stopping him, A part of him felt that he could’ve saved Roy from hell. He could be the barrier, the small glass shard that held the rest of the pieces up.

Hell, nothing could’ve almost prevented him from collapsing onto the floor when he found Roy out cold on the unforgiving tiles of the damp bathroom floor, a used needle on the floor and empty syringes. A discarded lighter and spoon told the shameful truth Jason wanted desperately to not be true, to not be real, to simply fade and become a figment of his imagination, a hallucination to be exact. An unresponsive Roy sent Jason towards a panicked call to the ER and a shot of Narcan he had in his military-grade belt. There was a splutter and then the vomiting out the offender and the slight feverish touch of the skin. Jason carded his hair and tore a piece of his shirt to keep his forehead cool and try to get his fever down.

Jason had waited outside the ER with trepidation, hoping he really caught him in time. Nurses came in and went. Oliver Queen was suddenly there and Jason doesn’t know what’s next but he sees Dinah Lance as well and all he could pray was that Queen hadn’t disowned Roy. All he registered was a faint squeeze of a shoulder and a soft voice of “He’ll be fine, they’re good at what they do.”

He doesn’t know what to do as he pushes himself off the bike and locks it twice to double-check. Tossing his bag over his shoulder which had a spare set of clothes, shoes and essentials for Roy, he shoves his keys in his jean pockets and his other gloved hand tightening around a Narcan jab.

-

He’s at the counter.

Jason lazily leans against one of those plastic colored chairs that's plain uncomfortable to sit on. His eyes draw slowly towards the anti-drug videos playing on the screen. Sometimes he wonders if it remotely worked, at all as he watched a video on psychedelics and withdrawal symptoms. He thinks about how the initial years would be hell, suddenly the high was taken away and the addict was suffering. He was shaking, chills and absolutely losing it. He briefly thought about heroin and opium. Then he hears the low whine of machines and the counter number calling for him.

He tiredly gets up and waits at the counter, an all too smiling nurse who kindly gave him a bunch of paperwork to sign. His grip on the pen was so loose the nurse had to gently remind him that his hands were shaking. Steeling himself, he signs the last few release papers.

“You don’t look old to be Mr Queen, don’t you?”

“I’m..I’m his friend. Here to take him home.”

He exhales, a hand in his frazzled bangs making everything a little more messy. The nurse takes it as her cue to take Roy and she leaves.

Jason tries to not imagine what Roy might look like after an entire year. In his dreams, it’s either he was a bag of bones or a hollowed face. Other days, he couldn’t see him, it was a blur of shadows and nothing much. All he remembers is the empty longing for his companion to make his trio complete. Sure, Artemis and Bizarro were lovely company but Roy was the one who truly understood him to the core. He knew so much about Jason it was almost as if he was psychoanalyzing him instead. Roy knew Jason’s preferences like straight black coffee, novels with petrichor or simply a rainy day. He knew too much to not be there and it ached Jason’s bones badly.

He wouldn’t admit it, he missed his best friend.

The nurse returns and the first thing Jason registers is the way Roy’s threadbare olive shirt was hanging off his shoulder blades. The constant micro adjustments he did to push the shirt back up to the collarbone to hide the rest of the boned wisp of a muscled and lean man he once was. The same went for his jeans, rolled up at his shins and looking half-dead yet terrified. He shuffled his feet and chewed rather loudly at a ridiculously pink bubblegum. Jason hasn’t had the chance to look into his eyes and see how much was lost.

Suffice to say, Jason needed time to get Roy back to himself completely. He quietly hoped that there was enough Roy to heal back.

Roy finally looks up and smiles imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curving up as he held a hand out to Jason. The bones were jutting out and it hurt so much to just take his own hand and try to not shatter his fragile ones. Scarred ones with numerous arrows he’s shot in another life.

Another life, Jason reminds himself, something stinging behind his eyes.

Jason stands up and gently embraces Roy, almost afraid of breaking his body completely into nothing. Roy returns the embrace, his hand running down Jason’s back. The nurse was holding Roy’s bag which Jason quickly snags with his free hand and quietly nodded as a sign of gratitude to the lady who walked away to rejoin her colleagues.

“Jason, I’m gonna go home, right?”

Jason lets Roy lean into him, lets him take in the warmth of his leather jacket he’s never quite ditched and into the sleeve of his ash-colored shirt. It was almost light-weight as he half-drags Roy into the carpark and towards his bike.

“Yeah, I'm taking you home."

He pretends to ignore Roy's rather weak grip around his midsection as he revved up the bike and drove out of the centre hopefully for the last time. 

-

Jason made the last turn to his safe house he spent some months converting into a livable house to aid Roy's recovery. The few azaleas he's grown are starting to gain height as he takes the bags and a half-asleep Roy to his doorstep. With some difficulty, he hunts for his keys from his pocket as quickly as possible before anyone nearby starts questioning him.

The door opens with a lazy whine as Jason hurriedly dumps the bags on the couch and drags Roy to his own bedroom. He lowers him gently onto the bed softly before opening his closet and fetching out a pair of his own clothes. He leaves them at the foot of the bed, pre-empting Roy needing to take a shower when he wakes up.

He heads back to the kitchen and starts prepping for a simple soup. After adding the last few vegetables (Roy needed strength on a weak stomach) and closing the lid to let the soup simmer, he takes out the folder of discharge papers alongside a whole host of anti-drug pamphlets which he promptly threw away. 

No need for them. He thought.

Taking the remaining papers, he heads back to the bedroom where he settled down in a ratty armchair beside a worn out and asleep Roy. 

The first sentence already starts to hurt to the bone and his hands shake again. His eyes keep darting towards Roy and back at the paper.

He OD'd twice during his stay. One time, they had to almost restart his heart because he was unresponsive.

Like that day in the bathroom 

Jason mentally supplied, the free hand clutching at the arm of his chair. He doesn't want to read the rest of the letter anymore and carefully folds it, slipping it into his pocket. 

He gently holds Roy's hand, lets his fingers trace along the veins standing out against the thin, almost transparent skin. Anger floods through him, how everything had hurt Roy so much. Jason rubbed gentle circles with his thumb as he waited for Roy to stir up. 

-

Roy awoke to a cotton-like feeling in his head and a remnant of sickness in his stomach. He laid there, staring at the repainted ceiling to force himself to not throw up as he blindly reached for a glass of water left by his table. With the blanket pooling at his waist, he sat up and leant against the headboard and tried to get his head on straight because he hasn't exactly processed anything in the last few hours.

He hears the clinking of a metal ladle and then the creaky cabinet with the dishes. A soft breeze filtered through the slightly ajar day and started a fresh bout of chills for Roy. He feebly rubs his arms against his sides and tries to stay warm.  He threw a pillow on his head because his stupid, stupid weak body couldn't regulate body temperature right. 

He stumbles out of the bed with the blanket draped around his shoulders. He opens the closet and takes out one of Jason's hoodies. He slips it and is instantly comforted by the warmth of the other. It smelt faintly of stale cigarette smoke (He knew Jason had dropped the habit when he was gone, determined to change himself) and gasoline. 

Roy pressed his ear near the doorframe and heard other ambiguous noises as he quietly closed the remaining gap of the door. A sudden wave of nausea hits him and he dashes into the joint washroom in his room.

He barely got onto his abused knees before spitting out the little he had in him. Bile dripped down his pale face and he leant against the cool surface of the bathtub. His eyes trail across the almost spotless tiles except for the occasional blood smears. Those must've been Jason's bad days.

Roy briefly wonders what bad days were to him. Every day kept throwing him off balance and he was always unprepared. 

He tried swimming to shore before, but his ankles always caught the anchor and he couldn't get out in time always. 

When he does free himself, he's so far into the past, it's just their ghosts teasing him and he's bloody trying but he's so tired. He's given up fighting against the waters.

He just opens his arms and welcomes the gush of cold and then the freak warmth of it all. He's so used to breathing without air and inhales water into his lungs. He knows what being waterlogged is like; he's been waterboarded a few times before. Oxygen was so sweet, such a promising relief.

The darkness however still held its charm.

Roy's shaky hand pats against himself, making sure he's still whole and not in pieces. Sometimes he doubted he was still human, the cracks too sharp for his fingers trying to join himself together. His fingers snag between, cuts open and warm blood always follows with the sting.

The sting was so much like when Queen ditched him. God, he never felt so fucking lonely before when his mentor left him to the wolves hungry for his skin. He was weaponless, powerless and defenseless. It was so easy to follow the shadows to the dark alleyway when you're alone, cold and desperate.

Even if it meant you'd sell your soul for relief.

Roy slowly flexed his arms, finding the feeling return to his emancipated limbs. Shaking, he's on his knees in a prayer position before getting up. His busty knees give way and he's so angry he can't even get up.

He felt like a failure. Was he going to be one for the rest of his life? Was he going to forever be trapped and feel he's lost control and never regained it back in any form?

He manages to return to the bedroom without cracking his skull open at the bathroom area. It would be a real shame if Jason brought him home just for Roy to die because he couldn't walk right. He chuckled darkly before making his way to the bag he left the facility with.

He slowly unzipped the bag and felt his way through. The sudden touch of stale fabric signaled to him that Jason hadn't touched the bag yet only because the fabric softener scent Jason used hadn't assailed his nose yet. He always liked the flower ones. 

His fingers reached a faux compartment and he lifted the fabric covering the pocket compartment. He fumbled at the zip before untying the zip tie. His hand plunged in deep and a crinkle sound pricked his ears.

He fished it out and unwrapped the gift box. Taking apart the next few layers, his eyes hungry for the prize.

It was at this moment Jason opened the door, a tray of the food in his hands. His eyes took one look at Roy and the offending item in his hands.

He dropped everything, the soup splashing on the ground and spreading so fast he doesn't know where it ends. Glass fragments lay out on the ground, offending weaponry to the victim. Roy is frozen and his eyes are locked onto Jason's wildly open eyes.

In one swipe, the broader man grabs the prize and throws it so far across the room Roy doesn't know where it is anymore. 

He felt his shirt being pulled and then the familiar feeling of being slammed into the wall. Light headed, his eyes pinched close in pain as he felt the shift in his skull.

Roy doesn't register someone leaning so heavily into him. It suffocated him before he attempted to throw a punch towards the offender.

That punch was quickly blocked and he was maneuvered right into the bed. Roy didn't have time to process anything before he was reaching out for the prize, body almost primal. Jason blocked him-

"Dammit- Stop fighting me."

Jason grits out, wrestling Roy away from where he spotted the prize.  His heart is trembling as he pushes Roy with such force back onto the bed.

"ROY."

Jason yells out, anger flooding his veins with something hot and haunted searing through him.

His eyes threaten to cloud but he forcefully shakes the tears. Roy is spent, panting on the bed as he sweats again. Jason kicks the prize away and rips Roy's bag away from the side table. He slaps him with such ferociousness, Roy is left reeling.

The room is silent. Not even breathing could be heard.

Jason dumps the contents onto the floor. Pens fell out, some artwork he was tasked to do at the facility. A picture of Lian.

Lian.

Jason was livid at the world and it hurts him to the bone as his eyes look at the glossed picture staring back at him from the floor. Her sweet smile formed cracks in his heart as she rode on the rodeo, his leather jacket draping her small figure. Roy's old cowboy hat sat askew on her mop of jet black as she grinned at the camera.

The pain of burying such a smile six feet under sobers him as he watches Roy regain his breath and sit up, a wince gracing his features before he freezes at Lian's picture.

Jason doesn't want to know what kind of scars Roy has sewn shut beneath his clear face. Sometimes Jason thinks he's run out of skin and soul to scar when Roy's at battle. Other days, he couldn't get out of bed and that's where Jason sees Roy for who he is.

A friend.

A friend he cannot afford to lose ever again.

"I miss her."

Roy starts, curling himself in and Jason doesn't look at his expression, all pain and hurting as he closes himself up into a ball, face buried in between as loose strands cross his features. Jason wants to reach out to squeeze a hand on his shoulder but it was still tingling where he slapped Roy. 

Jason thinks about napalm skies and burning cities all crumbling when he presses the stinging palm against his cheek, still radiating residual heat and some of the headache. He merely wondered if this was the price they paid for all those nights.

Nights that don't end. Nights that see them running for their lives. 

Was this what Jason wanted? To be headhunted, to have a bounty on his head so high the numbers keep flowing. To keep repairing himself and sew up like a doll. To never be able to live completely conscience free when he wakes up one cold night and realise another kid had died and he could've prevented it.

With the photo in Roy's hands, he absentmindedly stroked his fingers against Lian's lit face, trying to remember what her skin felt like. Warm and soft on a summer morning and always decked in daisies or sunflowers depending on which fields she ran to. His lap feels so empty but his heart is gone. 

"At one point, I had the power to bring Lian back."

Roy starts, voice rather strained with tears as he rests the photo on the bedside table. Jason's ears prick in confusion as he looks from where he's been brooding. 

"I didn't, even told Cheshire no. I think.."

He bravely draws in a breath to calm the incoming gush of throat-tightened and raw emotions he's not ready for.

"I think I'm doing her a kindness. If I brought her back, it isn't fair for her because she's gonna spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to her and why she doesn't remember. She's always going to be angry at a world that refused to stop when she died. I don't want her to end up like us.

I wanted her happiness because she's my angel. Angels do not deserve pain."

Roy quietly ends it, eyes all darting as he buries himself to cry again. Jason is thumbing his fingers because he hates where he is right now and he doesn't want to go too deep.

He still wants to be able to float.

"I think you did the right thing. You let her be free."

Jason softly says, his own eyes shining with tears as he reaches Roy for a hug. Roy inches in and there's nothing in between them as Jason's slightly larger frame encircled Roy a little, protecting him.

At that moment, nothing could hurt them. Not anymore as they both stayed there till sunset dusted their room in the soft afterglow of yesterday.

"I'm sorry, Jay. Don't cry-"

Jason looks up from where tears have drenched Roy's shirt as he blinks a little. Jason false starts before swallowing back shared glass

"I'm not. You're gonna ruin my bad boy reputation."

Jason jokes lightly as he playfully shoves Roy where a small smile appears on his face. There was still so much to do, so much to see-

"You can't do this alone."

Roy cocks his head, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. Every color died outside the window as night came, a sense of serendipity crosses him and he turns back to Jason.

"I know, but you're here."

"Don't do this for me. Do it for yourself, okay? I..I don't want to see you suffer anymore."

No one deserves to suffer alone.

Jason smiles and bites at his reddened lips. Roy's eyes dart over Jason before he turns back to the bed and falls back, a sigh escaping him. He nods to an exhausted looking Jason to lie down beside him too. Instinctively, he reaches for Jason (he was such a big heater) and curls himself against Jason.

"We're gonna be okay."

Jason says, carding Roy's hair to the side who closes his eyes and leans into Jason's gentle touch. When his stressed breathing evened out into calmer ones and later sleep, Jason swore that nothing would ever hurt him again.

He'll make sure of that.

[moskaisley]

migraine pt. 4 | tension

gif cred: @thestarwarsdaily​

rating: mature

word count: 5.7k HOO BOY

warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST EVERYONE IS ANGY, cursing, descriptions of vomiting and a panic attack, mentions of death, mentions of trafficking 

a/n: I KNO THIS TOOK A LONG TIME .. AND I'VE BEEN STARING AT IT FOR HOURS. THANK U ALL FOR BEING SO SO SO PATIENT AND THANK U TO ALL THE PEOPLE WHO LEFT LOVELY COMMENTS ON BOTH TUMBLR N AO3 <3

I really really appreciate you guys. As someone who doesn't consider herself a writer by any means, it's nice to know that people enjoy the stories I tell. I had a LOT of trouble with this, but the rest of the story is planned out so I'm hoping there won't be as long a break in between chapters again! we've got about 3 parts left :)) 

summary:

"Maybe you don’t hate him as much as he thinks.

Maybe you miss him as much as he misses you. Maybe you also long for him in the late hours of the night, replaying moments of your lives together over and over and over in your head. Maybe you didn’t regret taking this job. Maybe, just maybe, you will forgive this broken man and let him in your heart’s home once again."

Wherein wounds are reopened, split, and burned alive.

parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

ao3 link / masterlist

Detective Ira Volskaya was a shady guy. Incidentally, he was also your client. 

He couldn’t have been much older than you were, but years of police work and crime stopping have weathered him into a brooding, suspicious man with greying hairs and droopy, tired eyes. You and Mando ended up far away from the city center of Coruscant, Volskaya insisting that collection took place in an abandoned warehouse. Judging by how secretive this all was and how strict the detective was on his instructions, you figured that this little exchange wasn’t “in line” with Security Force policy. 

As Mando spoke with Volskaya, you helped unload Khan’s slab onto the docking station for his men to take away. Once they had it down the ramp, you walked over to them, catching his attention.

Taking a puff of his cigarra, he narrows his eyes and nods at you, “She wasn’t with you last time.”

“She’s just–” 

Mando’s head darted between the two of you, hesitating. 

“A coworker,” you cut in sharply. 

The detective pursed his lips in suspicion, but left it alone. Instead, he turned to the briefcase at his feet, handing it over to Mando. As he double checked the amount in the case, your eyes caught Ira’s men loading the carbonite slab onto a speeder. Your mind drifts back to something Mando said on the Slipstream.

“he’s wanted for running multiple sex trafficking rings throughout the galaxy…”

You look back at the detective, “What’s going to happen to the rest of Khan’s operation?”

“We’re hoping that his capture will cause a fracture in his little empire. Break up the chain of command and let it die out.”

Volskaya takes another drag and sighs, smoke curling off his lips, “But with the new intel that’s come in, there’s a chance it’ll create a power vacuum. A lot of people wanted him dead. Someone new could easily take his place.”

Your stomach twists as you remember Aayn’vida trembling on the bathroom floor. There are probably still thousands of girls like her, just as scared and helpless. It makes your mouth go sour. 

As if sensing your discomfort, Mando shuts the case abruptly.

“It’s all here. Let’s go.”

You kept repeating to yourself that nothing would satisfy you more than to get off this planet and move on from anything that had to do with Khan Horne. But there was a scathing pull at the back of your mind that tugged with each step closer to the Crest. Your gaze darted between the case in Mando’s hand, the slab on the speeder, and Ira Volskaya’s retreating figure. Furrowing your brows, you rub your fingers on your temple; collecting never felt this complicated. What’s gotten into you? You got your money and the job is done, so why was your brain screaming at you to stop Mando from closing the ramp?

Someone new… a power vacuum. 

“Wait.”

Mando’s gaze turned to you, fingers hovering over his vambrace.

Fumbling over your words, you say something along the lines of stay put and that you’ll be back in a second. Turning back to the warehouse, you jog away from the ship and call,

“Detective!”

He spins on his heel back to you, face twisting in confusion.

Squaring your shoulders and huffing your breath, you say, “Give me a list of everyone who was involved in Khan’s organization.”

He eyes you quizzically, “I thought bounty hunters didn’t ask questions.”

“I’m not asking as a bounty hunter.”

“Then what are you asking as?”

“Someone who can get to them faster than the Security Force can,” You swallow hard, courage pulsing through you, “Someone who can help.”

The detective raises his eyebrows at you, impressed. And then he smiles, throwing his cigarra to the ground and stomping out the ashes beneath his foot. 

--

Din Djarin was not good enough for you. He didn’t deserve you. This much he knew.

So he let you go.

He really thought he did the right thing. It escalated too quickly after the cockpit and he found himself falling hard. What started as relief for sexual tension turned into softer touches, shining smiles, flirtatious jokes that drove him over the edge.  

And then,

“Do you ever think there’s more to this?”

He digs his nose into the crook of your neck, arm slung over your bare waist. Half-asleep, dizzy from your warmth, he relishes in the feeling of your body next to his. 

“More to what?”

You let out a gentle sigh, “This life. Hunting. Living out of a tiny, broken ship hopping from planet to planet.”

“Hey, the Crest isn’t that bad.”

You slap him lightly against his chest, “You know what I mean.” 

“What did you have in mind?”

A cottage. The ocean. Family.

All in the afterglow of a kiss that tasted like peaches. 

Din had a feeling you’ve always wanted more, but this was truly the first time you spoke honestly and truly in length about it. Bounty hunting was rarely ever a sought after profession, and though you were good at your job, he knew it wasn’t something you ever planned on continuing. Twisting a peach pit in your fingers, you admit to him that your life would’ve been completely different without it. You would’ve taken over your father’s orchards and lived in your beautiful family villa, selling fresh fruit to nobles and townspeople alike. Your voice grows wistful as you recount sweet summer days spent chasing your older brother through the fields or weaving baskets with your mother. 

“I wore sundresses, Din.” 

He smiles against the soft skin of your neck and squeezes your thigh gently, “Sounds pretty. You should wear them again.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Very much so, yes.”

You let out a giggle, shoving him gently. He only held you tighter. A beat of silence passed between you before Din’s hand moved to interlace with yours, face suddenly contorting with unease. 

“What happened?”

“What always happens.” Your shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and you grip his fingers tighter. “I was seventeen when Imps occupied our valley. They wanted to clear the farm for military barracks; when my father refused, they burned everything to the ground in the middle of the night. My brother and I escaped with a few other refugees.”

“And your parents?”

“Firing squad.”

“What about our brother?”

He feels your nails dig further into the crevice of his hand.

“He was stupid enough to join the Resistance. I don’t know where he is, but I’ve assumed the worst already.”

His heart twists in remorse at the hurt in your voice. Removing his hands away from yours, he pulls you in closer, stroking your hair with his calloused fingers and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. In all your years of partnership, Din had never known the full extent of your past, only that you started young doing hits for spice cartels and eventually ending up in the Guild. Before, when he tried to ask why you started so early, your answer was always brief and bitter.

“There was only so much a girl could do to make money, Mando.” 

The conversation never went further than that. But now, in light of your vulnerability and candor, your questions about the future suddenly made sense. It was never supposed to be this way; your life since adolescence had been solely dictated by fear and the need to survive. When you spoke about it, you sounded exhausted. With the decline of the Empire, how could he blame you for wanting to be more than a war-torn orphan turned ruthless hunter?

The more he thought about it the more it tore him apart. 

Because suddenly he was 11 years old again, watching the carnage of his hometown disappear over the shoulder of a Death Watch soldier. Jarring visions of blood and empty eyes melted in between with hazy memories of happy trips to the market and bedtime stories. It felt like whiplash. The echoes of blaster fire and falling debris were loud enough for him to wake up shaking in a cold sweat. The pounding of his heart sounded a lot like cannon fodder and it was loud enough to give him the headaches you suffered from so often. He was ashamed to say that the only time he really remembered his mother’s face was when she was dead on the ground. But to his horror, in his nightmares, he began to see you instead of her, body lifeless and eyes devoid of any life. Everything he’d been ignoring since his youth, crushed and hidden after swearing the Creed and following the Way of the Mandalore, was suddenly washing over him like ocean waves in a storm. Because, unlike you, this life was so devastatingly simple and comfortable for him. It was almost sacred; he was bound by a near holy doctrine and devoid of emotional attachments. That is, until you came and found home under his skin. He was grieving for you before he even lost you. It was unbearable, filling his lungs and suffocating him until he was gasping for air–

“Are you okay?”  Your drowsy voice whispered beneath him. 

He swallowed hard and pulled you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Go back to sleep, sweet girl.”

Any semblance of a normal life was lost on him. Din knew he couldn’t give you peace he didn’t have. He wanted to, though.

He wished he could gift you every star that shone in the sky. 

Fuck 80%. He’d give you galaxies.

And yet, he still pulled a blaster on you and left you alone – too caught up in not facing his own demons. Din didn’t realize how much of a mistake it was to let you go until he was half-dead, bleeding all over your old bunk. A job went terribly wrong that day.  He was ambushed on some godforsaken jungle planet and running on two hours of sleep, dreams plagued with visions of you crying at the foot of the Slipstream. He was so used to having someone cover his blindspots that he made a colossal mistake that nearly cost him his life. No one had his back that day, and was there no one to stitch him up and call him an idiot. 

Existing without you was rougher than he thought it’d be since you’d seeped into every corner of his little life. He couldn’t pass a fruit stand without glancing over for your favorite peaches. When he’d wrangle with tougher bounties, he cursed at how much easier this shit would be if you were there. In the Razor Crest, you’d organized the kitchenette a certain way that Din couldn’t find a pot without tearing it apart, and then he’d wrack his brain to figure out how you organized it so neatly in the first place. He felt a chill when he passed your empty bunk. One day, he found a bottle of your headache medicine in the refresher cabinet. Din kept it. Just in case.

You were everywhere and yet, you weren’t. 

You ran together for so long that others noticed your disappearance. Even Xi’an. 

“Where’s your little puppy, Mando? She lost?”

He said nothing. 

The Twi’lek moved closer, running a hand up his chestplate, “Or did you leave her behind, too?”

“Don’t,” he seethed. The victory in her eyes was disgusting.

Mayfeld’s teasing voice cut in, “Competition, Xi’an?”

“Hardly,” She gave him a vile smirk, “Did she whine like a bitch when it finally happened?” Din was quick to seize her hand away from his body, twisting her forearm near the point of breaking. 

“I said. Don’t.”

She only laughed. He wished you were there to wipe that smirk off her face.

It was then that he decided to come and find you. As it turns out, bounty hunters don’t make great parents. The child had just barely survived again, and Din was getting desperate. He’d already lost track of how many times the baby was put in danger, and though he’d been able to keep him alive all these months, Din was definitely not a parent. 

After picking up the most lucrative, non-Guild job he could get, he flew straight to the one person he could truly trust in the universe.

When he saw you tensely poised at the cantina, ten paces felt like ten parsecs.

The first thing he noticed were the strands of grey peeking through your hair and the dark circles beneath your eyes. You were by no means an old woman, but you weren’t getting any younger either. In the state that he left you in, three years had aged you and your fiery spirit. Your once lively, spitfire demeanor was now cold and tired. 

In the beginning of this little reunion, Din was half convinced that he’d made a terrible mistake trying to make amends. He was desperate to be in your good graces. He needed to apologize. beg you. Grovel at your feet. Atone. Do penance. But you’d seem to shut down every time he tried, denying his pitiful apologies and forgoing any pleasantries. The Mandalorian was lost around you.

And then you got shot. 

At that point, Din was positive you were marching straight out of his ship and jetting away in the Slipstream the second this was all over – not before kicking his ass, of course. All the guilt that had consumed him over the years nearly drew him to insanity as he took your limp body from Aayn’vida’s arms, cursing in Mando’a and imploring you to stay awake. Wiping the tears from your eyes and tending to your wound, his thoughts were hysterical. How could he do this to you? Put you through all this trouble only to get shot? And for what? A chance to –

“Din?”

The name fell so softly from your lips. 

“Din, my head– it hurts so much.”

His mouth goes dry. He lets out a shaky breath, overwhelmed and eyes bleary.

“Sssh, lay down. You’ll be okay, cyar’ika.”

The Mandalorian only ever dreamed about you saying his name again. Upon your reunion, he noticed immediately how unnatural “Mando” sounded in your mouth, even if he’s heard it thousands of times. It stung when you refused to call him anything else. So hearing it whispered in the walls of the Razor Crest again made his heart beat violently in his chest and gave him the smallest sliver of hope.

Maybe you don’t hate him as much as he thinks.

Maybe you miss him as much as he misses you. Maybe you also long for him in the late hours of the night, replaying moments of your lives together over and over and over in your head. Maybe you didn’t regret taking this job. Maybe, just maybe, you will forgive this broken man and let him in your heart’s home once again.

--

“I saw Xi’an again.”

Initiating small talk felt physically painful, but he tried anyway.  After Jaemai, you seemed to be a little more comfortable speaking freely with him. If you were still angry, you kept it hidden well. Besides, it was hard to be upset with a cute baby on board.

“Really?” You responded with casual interest, attention mostly focused on the child in front of you while Din piloted the ship. 

“Yup,” he said, “She… uh...betrayed me and tried to kill the kid.”

“Sounds like her. Where is she now?”

“Prison.”

He doesn’t miss the cheeky grin that spreads across your lips. You softly chuckle and take the baby in your arms, cooing to him, “Good riddance, huh? That scary blue lady is gone for good, yeah?”

The kid gurgles in delight when he’s lifted up. Mando watches you lovingly play with the child, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  He doesn’t remember you being so good with kids, but then again, that was a rare opportunity in itself. The thought of you with kids of your own makes his cheeks flush with warmth.

“Where did you even find him?” You ask, bouncing him up and down in his crib.

“Arvala 7. He was the asset.”

You look at him now, puzzled, “The asset? He’s a child!”

“He’s wanted by Imps.”

“Huh.” You hold the child closer to you now, rocking him in your arms. “And you saved him.”

He hummed in confirmation. A beat of silence passes by. 

Mando notes the way the kid stares at you with warm, loving eyes, “He likes you.”

“Yeah?” You look back to the green baby raising him high in the air. His excited laughter is sweet in your ears and you giggle with him.

“Mando’s probably a mess when it comes to you. Probably forgets to feed you, doesn’t he?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s heart flutters all the same. 

Lowering the child back into his pod, the child fusses as you try to get him to settle down. You took the silver ball that was laying in his blanket and placed it in his hands to divert his attention. Din faces back towards the console while you sink into the co-pilot’s seat. Your old seat.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you pulling a data pad from your pack on the floor and plugging in a storage drive. You scroll through droves of information silently while Din keeps his gaze trained on the passing lights of hyperspace. But his curiosity only grew, and he was tired of straining his eyes to slyly look at whatever you were reading. 

“What are you looking at?”

Your eyes don’t meet his, instead continuing to scan over the information before you.  “It’s all the people who kept Khan’s ring running.”

“You got this from the detective?”

You nod. 

“Why?”

A long sigh escapes you as you power down the datapad and slip it away.

“I guess you can say I’m retiring.” 

Din’s body is quick to turn to you, “What do you mean?”

“You heard Volskaya, someone is just gonna take his place. There are still plenty of people like Aayn’vida. People who need help.”

Beneath his helm, his face twists in reluctance. He asks, “And you’re gonna do it alone?”

You furrow your brows at him, as if the answer was obvious. “Looks like it.”

Din straightens up in his seat, stomach turning uneasily. The air in the cockpit was suddenly suffocating, and he sensed your growing ire as you pressed your lips together.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Your judgy thing!” 

You point an accusing finger at his form, “The one you do with your face and your shoulders.”

“You can’t even see my face.”

“Mando.”

“Alright! It’s just–” he grits, struggling to find the words, “It seems...dangerous.”

“You say that like it makes a difference,” your voice cuts in, sharp like a blade, “do you not think I’m capable on my own?”

“What? No, I–” 

Kriff, why is it so hard to talk to you? Din lets out a huff, scolding himself to get it together.

“Listen, we both know you’re more than capable of handling yourself. But this? This is big shit. Not some bail-skipper or petty thief. You go after them and they’ll be on you for the rest of your life.”

“What life, Mando?” you snapped, “When I was her age, I could’ve easily been one of those girls. Bounty hunting wasn’t a life, it was survival. This is something that’s important.”

“Y/N, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Why does that suddenly matter to you?”

You both wince at the sharpness of your words and you turn away from him, suddenly embarrassed of your own outburst. Harsh silence blankets you both as you keep your gazes trained forward. The tension in the air is heavy and thick. 

Your tight voice cuts through the quiet with a single question.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He feels like he’s gonna be sick. 

“I–”

A giant crash abruptly resounds through the cockpit, causing the three of you to jerk forward. Alarms uproar through the ship as the two of you scramble into position at the console. Your fingers find the buttons easily, pulling up the radar and scanning the area for the threat.

A comm chimes in, “Give us the child, Mandalorian! It’s no use trying to run.”

“It’s a gunship, coming in from behind us,” you quickly inform, “Shit! The shields are weak, we need to get out of here now.” 

He nods in agreement, gripping the controls again and lurching the ship forward and speeding off. Your attackers follow in hot pursuit, blasting your ship again. A hit lands, shaking the Crest violently again, earning a strangled cry from behind you.

“Y/N! The baby!” Din grunts, veering the ship back on course.

“Right!” 

You nearly leap from your seat, securing and shushing the panicked child as you close his pram to keep him from falling amidst the chaos. Coming back to the co-pilot’s seat, you curse as you read through the multiple alarms flashing across the ship’s interface.

“Our shields are down, Mando. We need to end this.”

He curses under his breath, weighing their options. They didn’t have enough fuel for a hyperspace jump, nor the time to make any proper calculations. His gaze darts to the green planet approaching up ahead and bites the inside of his cheek. A crash isn’t ideal, but it solves the issue of being stranded in dead space. Another jolt and crash rock the ship forward. 

“Strap in,” He barks at you, “We’re shooting our way out and going for an emergency landing.” You nod, securing yourself in your seat and preparing yourself for battle.

--

“It isn’t the worst planet to get stuck on.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck.”

The two of you stood at the foot of the Razor Crest which was currently smoking and leaking fuel into the forest floor. Though you’d survived the gunfight above, the ship had taken serious damage. The shield generators were nearly destroyed and the repulsor grilles were shot, making it impossible to fly the Crest without spinning off course. Normally, with the help of a mechanic, the job could be done within a matter of days, but you were both stuck in a thick forest with the next town over being at least a day’s walk. Repairs could take at least a week with the spare parts that were already kept in the ship, and travelling into town could easily make it two, assuming they’d even have what you need. This posed 2 issues:

Every day you stayed idle, the higher the risk of another hunter (or worse, an Imperial) turning up and kidnapping the child.

Din had yet to feel the wrath that had been building up inside you for the past three years. If the hunters didn’t shoot him, you definitely would, and you wouldn’t miss.

He takes his gaze off the ship and observes your surroundings. All things considered, it was a pretty nice place. The forest was lush, rife with tall trees and bright flora. The air was fresh and cool, and the whistles of birds carried through the treetops. He was somewhat grateful; you could have easily been stuck in a scorching desert or some awful jungle. Past the clearing–which had inadvertently been made by the ship crash– there was a lake, crystal clear and stretching for miles. If the circumstances were any different, maybe you would have enjoyed yourselves, stopped and admired the scenery together.

But they weren’t.

The fact of the matter is that there’s something acrid that permeated the air between you. Sometimes, he could catch it in the way you looked at him, how your eyes flared with sharp, visceral rage and piercing through his beskar like a hot blade. He saw it in the cantina at your reunion, and he felt it twist his heart during your last exchange before you landed. 

“Why does it suddenly matter to you?”

Discussing the rift between you wasn’t a conversation he was eager to have. The attack on the Crest only delayed the inevitable, and now, shipwrecked on an unknown planet, he waited anxiously for the years to catch up on him. Your irritation with him didn’t die when you’d landed; it might’ve actually gotten worse. Every furrow of your brows, every curse under your breath only reminded Din of how much you were dying to say, and it only amplified his dread. But being the practical person you were, you remained focused on survival first, setting up camp and laying out a plan for repairs in the morning.  Going into town would have to wait, as you weren’t sure what state the ship would be in after its initial mending. You stayed silent in the hours you both tended to your respective duties and it wasn’t until the late afternoon that he felt your presence once again.

He was in the middle of counting ration packs when you said, “We need firewood. It might be cold tonight.”

Din nodded, but as he watched you begin to walk away into the woods, he couldn’t help but spill the words bubbling in his throat. 

“About what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he stood to his full height, “You’re–you’re right. It’s not my business anymore.”

You didn’t respond to him for a moment; your expression, frozen and unreadable. Your gaze tears away from him to look down at the toes of your shoes, and he hears you let out a dejected, breathy laugh as you shook your head. 

“You know what I don’t get?” You ask, cynicism dripping from your lips, “You never answered my question on the ship.”

Din clenches his fists, nausea suddenly returning to him.

“Khan wasn’t a hard job. You could’ve easily caught him without me, so why? Why did you bring me? Why did you find me?”

“I couldn’t go into the terminal without attracting attention.”

“No, but you could’ve waited for him to move. Tracked him somewhere else,” your tone grows more clipped by the second, “I know you. You’re the best in the parsec and you would’ve found him. I might’ve gotten shot, but there were way harder quarries than him.”

When he still doesn’t answer, you march forward, fuming with indignation.

“For once, can you just tell me the truth?”

Din’s heart was nearly bursting out of his chest, anxiety rippling through him as he confessed.

“I need help,” he croaks, nearly cringing at the weakness and desperation in his tone, “with him.”

He beckons over to the child, carelessly toddling along the floor. Din watches your expression soften with pity as you watch him play.  

“I don’t...I don’t know what I’m doing,” He continues, “I’m so confused and–and lost. I worry about him all the time. He’s always in danger. I’ve tried to give him a home, somewhere safe. But the Empire won’t stop until they find him.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one I trust in this universe.”

Din waits for your answer with bated breath, drinking in every reaction. You looked pained, fingers finding their way to the bridge of your nose, pressing hard and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“And I’m supposed to trust you in return?”

Once again, he doesn’t respond, fearing that he’d only make the situation worse.

“You know I can’t do this.”

You cross your arms, hugging your body as you turn away from the kid to face him. He feels his heart sink, distress clawing away at him. I need you; I can’t lose you again. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

“Could you at least think about it?”

“I can’t,” you say sternly, “I’m sorry about the kid, but I know you can figure something out. I’m not the right person, and you need to find someone else.”

You are. More than right. More than I deserve.

“I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

“Mando, you don’t understand,” your voice turns angry once again, “I can’t live everyday not knowing if you’re gonna stick around or not.”

“Things are different, Y/N. I’m not going to leave.”

“Why? Because you have a baby to take care of, you’re suddenly willing to stick around?  What happens if things get serious? What is keeping you from walking out tomorrow? A few weeks from now? Are you gonna leave me without a ship this time? Shoot me if I don’t cooperate?”

Stop stop stop stop. He raises his voice, not in ire but in desperation, “This isn’t about us, this is about him!”

“It’s always going to be about us!” Din is stunned to silence as your eyes turn glossy and red with tears, “And after everything, I–I can’t trust you.  I mean–kriff– you left me in the worst way possible. You only offered me a job because you knew I wouldn’t have listened to you in the first place, didn’t you?”

His shoulders go rigid, head dipping in shame.

You scoff, sucking in a deep, shaky breath before you go on, “We can’t act like nothing ever happened and just push it aside for the kid; it’s always going to be there. Every time we speak, every time I look at you I–”

You cut yourself off, hesitating to finish your thought. Running your fingers through your hair, you tug at it at it as you let out yet another frustrated huff, “I spent three years of my miserable life trying to figure out what I did wrong. If you can tell me right now what was going through your head that day, then maybe I’ll consider staying. But if you can’t, you need to find someone else.”

The words are there, but get caught in his throat. He’s terrified; speaking them aloud might just rip him in half, but if he doesn’t, he loses you a second time. But they don’t come; they linger and fester and rot on his tongue, and he can only clench his fists harder at his own cowardice.

The way you look at him is soul crushing. 

“I thought so.”

You pick up your pack and sling it over your shoulders, skulking into the woods without another word.

--

You didn’t come back for hours. Night fell across the forest as Din paced outside the Razor Crest, playing out your conversation in his head over and over again until it made him dizzy. His gut was filled with dread as each minute passed by, and he couldn’t figure out if he wanted you to come back at all. It wasn’t until he heard a soft whine from the floating pram that he realized that so much time had passed. Din nearly forgot to feed the child his own hysteria.

“Hey, little womp rat,” he sighed, gently picking him up, “She’s right, huh? I really am a mess.”

The baby’s big glossy eyes stare up at him as if sensing Din’s unease. His tiny hands grab at the thick cloak around his neck, pulling himself upwards and nuzzling his face in between his neck and his pauldron. Is he… comforting me?

Something forms at the base of his throat as he croaks a gentle, “Thanks, kid.”

But this quiet moment of peace is interrupted at the cracking sound of a stick. He stills, listening further as footsteps grow louder and louder. His blaster is out and aimed behind him before he can even think to look. He whips around, clutching the baby closer to him only to see you abruptly dropping the chopped wood in your hands to the floor. The baby begins to cry at the sudden shift in movement.

He relaxes, letting his arm fall to his side but not holstering his blaster. Instead, he gently bounces the child in his other arm in an attempt to soothe him.

“It’s okay. It’s just Y/N,” he says softly. When Din looks back to you, you’re still frozen on the spot. His brows furrow beneath his helmet.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You stutter, “Can you put that fucking thing away, please?”

He looks at the child, and back to you. A flare of irritation ignites in his chest.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Every time you point you point it at me, I expect you to pull the trigger.”

Oh. Shit.

Guilt pierces through his chest. He quickly slips it back into his holster

“I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you,” he apologizes. You’re still unmoving, looking at him as if he’d just burned you.

“Y/N, you know I would never–“

“But you were going to.”

“Not even then.”

As Din begins to walk forward, he notices the way your body shakes violently. His hand gingerly goes to rest against your arm to comfort you, but you tear yourself away from him, wrapping inward as you seethe.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

The look in your eyes makes Din’s blood run cold. Your pointed stare was piercing and hot and raw. It seared and flared with white hot wrath. Your breathing was ragged, chest heaving up and gasping for air. There it is.

The visceral rage and contempt you held for him had finally surfaced. It festered and boiled over, consuming you to the point where Din thought you would’ve killed him on the spot. But then, revulsion contorts your face, and you quickly shove past him, leaving him paralyzed in your wake. You disappear behind the Crest, and he hears you dropping to the ground.

He winces at the sound of you heaving the contents of your stomach into the lake. 

Din sets the baby down into his carrier, and quickly rounds the corner of the ship to see you on your hands and knees at the edge of the water. 

He’s speechless. The only words he could manage sounded disgustingly miserable from his vocoder.

“I’m so sorry.”

You sniffle as you drag yourself up from the ground. You don’t turn around to face him. 

“You don’t have to tell me why you left. Even if I deserve an explanation,” you say, voice strained and pathetic.

“Because when this is all over, I don’t ever want to see you again. Keep your money and your jobs. I don’t care if it pays enough for ten lifetimes. If you ever try to find me, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

-

taglist:

@bella-ciaao , @tiffdawg thanx loves <3

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.5

When Life Gives You Lemons...

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)        x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3420

Summary: As one of you put it, we shall see how our lord and saviour Steve Rogers is doing - hint: not good. And spy!Natasha is plotting, because of course she is.

Warnings: mentions of violent death, vomiting, swearing, angst and more angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, breaking and entering, a bit of blood... and sad sad Steeb

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

It had been two days since he had woken up. The first day was brutal, but he had been in and out due to pain-meds and anaesthetics specifically modified for his metabolism, forcing him to sleep through the process of healing his burns and nearly broken bones. The second day, he had woken up with his body perfectly healthy and had been released.

He came to his room, his gaze falling onto his bed and his eyes immediately filled with tears. His insides twisted painfully at the memory of you, a ghost of sensation on his skin as he had always enveloped you in his arms and nuzzled his nose in your hair.

Just for that, he gaged on nothing, his empty stomach rolling over and he barely made it to the bathroom to spit the gastric juices—and the pit in his stomach remained, leaving his body trembling and cold.

His knees wobbled when he finally got up from the bathroom floor, stripping the t-shirt someone had brought him to the medical. He froze at the picture of his torso.

Soundless ‘no’ escaped his lips, his trembling fingers touching the most precious thing he had left in horror. His brain must have been playing tricks on him, right? There was no way it was… his fingertips brushed the angry line over the words on his skin. It was like God realized he had made a mistake and scratched the words, deciding to write something different and never sharing his next thought.

The words were… crossed out.    

Steve closed his eyes burning with fresh tears and leaned onto the sink, his hands gripping the ceramics hard enough to make it creak. A bitter scoff echoed in the bathroom, coming right back at him, mocking him.

Of course the last piece of you tying you to him was inevitably ruined. It was how it was supposed to be, right? No memory of you would stay intact. Steve knew that.

If he buried his face in the pillows, he would be able to smell your shampoo – but with time, it would fade away. He would be finding your clothes, or the clothes he lent you, but with one wash, your mark would dissolve. Your words to him should have been the only thing for him to keep, his brain had rationalized, just barely beginning to adjust to the thought that you were gone; and it turned out he wouldn’t get that either.

Steve stumbled into the shower, hoping to wash away the past few days. As if it was possible. As if he could drown the gnawing guilt settled in his very core.  As if it would bring you back, make you re-appear in his bed, waiting for him to tuck in beside you.

He knew it couldn’t. His brain knew that, his heart too, but neither would truly acknowledge it. Because it couldn’t be real.

When he emerged from the stall, water actually turning cold, which was something Tony claimed was impossible, his first steps went back to the mirror, wishing to see a change – someone taking an eraser and getting rid of the evil line denigrating your precious words.

He had no such luck. It was still there. An eternal reminder or how empty his life became – how empty he had made it.

You were gone. You were gone and never coming back. That fact alone hurt so fucking much. Every memory of your time together felt like acid poured into his chest. Recalling how exactly that happened though, how you had been taken away, that was like a punch to his solar plexus with his own shield. And wasn’t that ironic.

It was because of him. Because of what he had done. He had made that choice. He had killed you. He had your blood on his hands. He hated it with every ounce of his being, hated himself for it with every shed of his torn soul, now missing its other half.

He had lost you because he was the hero, always putting the lives of other people before his own. But this time he only destroyed his own and actually taken someone else’s. This time there was no numbing coldness of the ocean to welcome him, no, there was only a throbbing pain in his chest, a harsh line over the words you had told him when you had first met.

Oh no, there must be a mistake.

Yeah, it was a fucking mistake. You should have never crossed paths with him. If you hadn’t, you would have still been alive, smiling at people behind the glass at your counter. Lightening up their day with a simple curl of your lips; lips that were dead now, not cold and lifeless, but torn apart and burned to ashes in the explosion he could have stopped. But he hadn’t. He had chosen to kill you.

He choked on an angry sob, his fist hitting the mirror, where the words mocked him. The glass shattered, an unbearably loud noise, broken pieces falling in the sink and on the floor by his feet with a heart-breaking clutter.

Steve’s head fell in his palm, not caring for the blood that started dripping from the cut from where his strike collided with the glass. He felt like bleeding these past days anyway. He felt like his heart was bleeding and always would.

He was such a fucking idiot. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he let all the people die, the math should be so easy, but you-- he had lost you. He had thrown away his soulmate. The soulmate he could never hope to find after crushing the plane into the ice and waking up after seventy years.

He chuckled bitterly as he remembered his first words to you, regarding his age. How silly they had been. How much he would wish to tell you the words one more time, brush his lips over the scribble on your skin, the action always giving both you and him a special thrill. He just wanted to hold you and never let go of his perfect soulmate.

‘They’re right, you know?’ his own voice echoed in his ears, your playful response following.

‘Are we talking shedding clothes or us being perfect for each other?’

Sharp pain attacked his left collarbone, his hand automatically covering the incriminated place. It felt like having his flesh torn open and yet, it could barely compete with the pain he felt whenever he thought of you being gone – which was constantly.

Few seconds of agony, sensation not foreign to him, and then it ended as suddenly as it started. Steve frowned, raising one of the larger pieces of the glass to look at the spot.

His heart nearly stopped when he found a new set of words on his skin, causing him to throw the shard away harshly, breaking it into smaller pieces.

That was just insulting. A new soulmate? Was that what it was supposed to mean?

Steve wanted to puke again, the sudden dizziness swaying his world off its place.

He didn’t even get to bury you yet – not that there was a body to bury – and there was another promise of love of his life scribbled on him? Was it… was it a joke? Was the higher power mocking his pain? Or was this supposed to give him hope?

Well, fuck this.

He wasn’t gonna meet her, whoever she was. Ever. He loved you. You might be gone, but he would never forget you just to be happy in someone else’s arms. He didn’t want anyone else and he didn’t deserve another chance in the first place.

And if he ever was to meet this woman accidentally, he was gonna make sure to have her escorted to the other end of the world where he couldn’t hurt her, where he couldn’t be tempted by hope of something in his personal life actually working out, only to have it ripped apart.

No, Steve was done.

He had shown the world that he was always gonna put his own life last and that was his new mission. Save as many as he could and never stop, not for a second. Because if he stopped going, the world might as well stand still. If he stopped going, he might have to think of you or worse, of her, the one whose mark he carried now, dishonouring a memory of the woman he had fell in love with as easily as if it was meant to be.

Funny thing about fate – it sucked.

Steve was about to kick fate in its balls this time. There was no chance on happiness for him, not again. And some stupid words, telling him I’m sorry? would change nothing about it.

He crumbled into his bed in the clothes you had borrowed for sleeping the last time you spent the night and he face-planted into the fluffy pillow still smelling of you. If it wasn’t for the lack of heat coming from your body, he might even believe you were there.

He was lying there for what could be a minute or hours. He couldn’t tell and he didn’t care.

Jarvis had tried to communicate and to get him to the kitchen to eat something; it had been a day the A.I. said.

Steve wouldn’t have known. It didn’t make a difference to him. It didn’t really matter.

His soulmate, his better half, was gone. And all he felt was that you had taken the other half, the one that had used to belong to him, with you too. Steve hugged the pillow and fell asleep with a feeling of emptiness in both his gut and heart.

He just wished the emptiness swallowed his brain as well, hell, swallowed him whole so he didn’t have to feel anything.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Samuel Wilson entered his apartment exhausted. Throwing his keys onto the shoe cabinet next to his door, he cursed as he missed the bowl and the keys slid from the wooden surface. Today was a very long day; while the streets were still busy when he walked them, it was freaking late. New York indeed was a city that never slept; he would know. He had talked to insomniacs, among others, every day at the therapy centre.

He sighed as he reached for the light-switch, already half-bent to raise the keys from the floor; only for the light not turning on and his eyes catching a glimpse of a figure near the window.

Sam froze.

Well, shit.

It looked like the very long day just stretched to an enormous measurement. His mind immediately jumped to the gun shoved in the shoe rack and he made the tiniest move towards it.

Samuel Wilson might have been a retired solider, but he still was one. There were three guns hidden in his apartment, mainly because he was a paranoid bastard; there had been an alien invasion, so sue him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a female voice warned him icily, a hint of a mockery scratching it.

Sam’s blood turned into ice. It wasn’t just because of the threat or the fact there was a stranger in his apartment, clearly knowing about his weapon, probably removing it so he couldn’t use it, no. It was because of the exact words the woman said. They were familiar. Too familiar in a way he didn’t want to think about, especially considering they came from a woman who had broken into his home.

“And why is that?” he asked in a voice that sounded way more strangled that he wanted to.

There was a beat of silence and Sam realized that this truly must have been it. Well, fuck this. The universe must hate him for sure.

“Something tells me you know why,” she accented her words with an unmistakable click of a gun and the magazine hit the floor a second later. Two more followed.

Yep, she had got them all. Sam shoved the intrusive thought of this woman maybe not being his soulmate since she hadn’t actually commented on their first exchange to the back of his mind. Really not the time. Then again, was it ever?

“You can come out, you know,” she sighed and Sam figured he didn’t really have a choice.

He peeked from behind the wall dividing the hall and the kitchen, seeing the woman standing by the window with her arms crossed on her chest. The street lights weren’t enough to show her face; Sam could only tell her height and built and watch the light reflect on her dark red curls.

Her stance seemed almost relaxed. Sam forced himself to ease the tension in his shoulders a bit, but was still ready to jump behind the couch in case she was about to draw a weapon and shoot at him. Those things happened, he knew. People shot at him – or hey used to. Perk of his past job. Not nowadays though and he didn’t feel like returning to the old days.

“Who are you?” he asked the logical question despite not expecting an answer. People didn’t break into houses to introduce themselves. “Why are you here?”

“I need your help,” she replied softly, causing Sam’s eyebrow to fly to his hairline.

“Really? Ever heard of a phone, lady?”

“I needed to meet in person.”

“Yeah, this feels really personal,” Sam bit back sarcastically, his mind racing. His help? “Are we talking counselling? Because there’s a therapy centre for that, once again with a phone. I have hours there. No need to break into my house… and murder my lamps.”

Perhaps he only imagined the corner of her lips rising for the shortest of moments, not trusting the game of shadows hiding her face.

“Yeah, I need a therapist.”

Sam swallowed the ‘clearly’ that was on the tip of his tongue.

“The sessions are listed on the internet or in the centre. Have a good night,” he grumbled and made the mistake of turning his back to her, trying out another light switch. He groaned in annoyance when it only clicked and the room was still drowning in the dark. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s for a friend,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. Her voice was low now, intimate, revealing a secret she wasn’t comfortable sharing. Yet, she did. “He’s… he needs help.”

There was a tinniest crack to that voice and Sam’s heart jumped, his brain switching into his job mode.

Oh dammit, shut up, brain! We’re not helping the lady who can pick up a lock and lurks in the dark, even if she cares for her friend. No. Nope.

“And he’s welcomed to join the group sessions,” Sam said levelly, half-blindly moving to the kitchen counter to help himself with a glass of water.

“You are the top therapist in the state specializing in PTSD and helping to find a way after losing one’s soulmate.”

Sam tried not be proud of her knowing that he was ranked as one of the best – that was a bit creepy, right? Plus, everyone liked different approach; for someone he could be the top; for another, he could be the worst person to talk to, ever. Still, he had an unpleasant feeling in his chest at the way she said it; there was an edge to it he had trouble identifying. Not to mention the faint longing that washed over him, knowing too well what it must have felt like for this friend of hers.

“Then he’s welcomed to visit my sessions if he wants to.”  

The woman sighed as if losing patience with him, explaining something for the hundredth time. “That’s the thing. I don’t think he wants to – and he definitely can’t visit your support group.”

Sam downed half the glass before responding. She sure was insistent. No shit, Sherlock, she picked a lock and went to talk to you in the middle of the night.

“So pick another therapist who has private sessions. There are plenty in the centre, all of them great,” he offered, turning to face her – well, kinda face her.

“He lost his soulmate in a rather traumatising way. The guilt is haunting him on top of everything else. And you kn— you’re the best,” she said slowly and Sam could tell she hesitated. She held something back. He put the glass down, squinting to catch a glimpse of her expression.

He didn’t want to think of the worst, but she was making it really hard. She knew, he realized. She knew, didn’t she?

“I’m sorry,” he consoled. “But he’s not the only one. We deal with people who lost their soulmate to a car accident and were driving. People who lost their partner to a house fire, because they left a candle burning.  We understand the guilt and we worked with it. He can join.”

The woman wavered again, but when she spoke again, her voice was determined. “The circumstances were a bit unusual, I’d say. There’s a reason why I came to you specifically. I know you know guilt. Riley was his name?”

Sam sneered, lunging after the woman, but she was like a hummingbird – one moment she was by the window, the other at the other side of the room. Sam didn’t give a fuck if she was dangerous or if her friend needed a help – if there even was one. How dared she to-

How dared she?!

No one spoke of Riley. No one. No one but him, never mentioning his name when he shared with people of his support group the grief of his own, the guilt of seeing his wingman and original soulmate fall to the ground, shot down by RPG.

“Don’t you say his name!” he growled as he followed her around and she released a frustrated huff.

“Sorry! Okay, sorry! I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot, goddammit!” she whisper-yelled in earnest. Sam didn’t let her deceive him this time though. Fucking bitch! “I’m sorry!”

Sam stopped in his tracks then, grinding his teeth, but giving her the last chance to explain herself. She had her hands raised in a harmless gesture, the streetlights now playing games of shadows on her face, tracing her delicate features. In any other situation, Sam would have found her beautiful, even without truly seeing her. Now she was simply pissing him off.

“I want nothing but to help my friend. I promise. I’m sorry about your partner, I truly am. But I came to you, because I think my friend could use a talk with someone who understands.”

“The offer to join the group still stands. Just don’t let him tell me he’s with you, ‘cause then I might hate him just because and that’s not exactly professional,” Sam spitted out and the woman lowered her hands and released a shaky breath.

“He can’t just walk into your support group,” she repeated, but explained nothing.

“Why?” Sam insisted, annoyed, but with his anger levelling as fast as it burst out. “What is so goddamn special about his case that he should get an exception?”

The woman slowly reached to her pocket, pressing a button on a device not bigger than a phone. Sam was ready to jump behind the nearest vertical surface to take cover, but it wasn’t necessary. The device only assaulted his eyes as the light he had previously tried to turn on flickered to life and finally revealed the woman standing in his living room.

Sam was pretty sure he was hallucinating now. Because the woman… she looked familiar. He had seen her on TV. But that couldn’t be. Right?

“You’re—are you…?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed simply and Sam only managed to stare, his mind blank. She simply couldn’t be. Then again, it would explain a lot of things.

“Your friend…?”

“Doesn’t know I’m here. I would merely appreciate at least an advice, to be honest. But if he ever agrees to meet a therapist, I think he would appreciate a little privacy. I think it was enough that his last moments with his soulmate were broadcasted all over the US.”

Sam gulped, remembering seeing the live-feed as well. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Black Widow sure was an annoying woman with no boundaries and she pissed the hell out Sam when she mentioned his deceased fiancé, but Sam found himself unable to say no. He rarely did, but when she asked for an advice to deal with Captain America – losing his soulmate in order to save thousands of others’ lives –, it was beyond impossible to ignore the cry for help.

His shoulders slumped with a heavy exhale and he fell to the couch, sloppily gesturing towards the rest of the seats in wordless offer.

“Alright. I’m listening. What can you tell me and what do you hope I can help you with?”  

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 6

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

I was ridiculously excited about this chapter. I guess I just enjoy torturing Steve as much as keeping him in a fluffy blanket of love. What can I say...

Also, LOOK OUT. Check the gifs I use, because now we have Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff and Sam Winchester and ‘Natasha Rogers’, so... you know 😂

Thank you for reading!

P.S. - a little surprise is coming up next ;) Hopefully you’ll like it!

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Tags: @mysterioh @smilexcaptainx , @murdermornings @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall @eliza5616 @rayofdawnworld @victor-criss-bish @skychild29  @elysianecho @simmisblog @scentedsongrebel @orions-nebula, @sergeantrosabellaswan @songofcosplay, @ilovesupersoldiers @wxstedhexrt @silver-winter-wolf @guardian-tn @janieavalos  @vxidnik, @patzammit , @annathesillyfriend @maravderofthephoenix @thehumanistsdiary​

Anyone wants in or out, shoot me a message or an ask :)) It’s (usually) no problem ;)

[gabriellexhunter]

drunk nights and streetlights

warm. too warm.

was all that went through gabby’s head as the sun beamed down on her face, cursing herself for drinking, and not shutting the shades and for even being awake at what was probably some ungodly hour. letting out a small groan in protest her mind seemed to catch up to her body as her hand reached out into the spot next to her. the redhead peeked her eyes open when her hand didn’t meet a warm, just as crabby human next to her. Her hand tangled in her sheets as she sat up, holding the gray thin fabric to cover her chest. Maybe Max got up and made coffee? He was always an early riser, but maybe he had work? Or maybe he’s just in the bathroom waiting for her to get up?

Everything in her mind was telling her to panic, to freak out when she didn’t see him there. Or hear the familiar creaks of the house as someone walked through it, he wouldn’t just leave, right? And not say goodbye? Green eyes fell onto the floor and as her clothing was scattered everywhere still, his were nowhere to be seen. Hera chose this time to hop up onto the bed and meow towards her, probably hungry, and a part of her hoped he was just there, maybe doing the crossword so she couldn’t at her table.

Scratching behind her cat's ears, she brushed through her hair as she got up, the afterglow from last night had turned into grossness and tacky skin, shuffling her way into the bathroom she took the fastest, hottest shower she could. Gabby slipped into her lounge wear and pressed her palms into her eyes as she tried desperately to not overthink. This wasn’t the easiest situation, but he wouldn’t just dip. She knew him. He was an ass sure but after something so altering to their dynamic?

Bouncing down her stairs, a cat strong at her heels, she paused a bit at the end of her staircase, staring into an empty, undisturbed area. Her wine glass was still on her counter and the near empty bottle was in the sink, and the towel that was hung over her stove was discarded on the floor, probably from them. This also meant he wasn’t here. A part of her brain was accepting defeat, but the part that was so tightly wound with her heart couldn’t accept it. Moving to make a pot of coffee, her actions felt slow, like she was dipped in syrup trying to get out. Gabby’s cellphone sat dead on her kitchen island and as she picked it up, she prayed some small impossible thing would happen and he’d call. When she placed her phone on the table charger she poured her coffee, watching the phone more than her own movement, watching it light up and turn on and it even took her a few extra seconds to realize she was over pouring her coffee onto her counter.

“Fuck shit” Was mumbled out as her hand grabbed that towel and threw it down over the mess. “Get it together” Gabby said softly as she moved to dump a bit of the extra filled coffee out of her sink and each new ding rang out as messages and emails flooded the small screen. Taking a gentle sip her hand reached over the mess to reach anything that was popping up, every new thing pushed aside when it wasn’t from who she wanted it to be from. Her finger dangled a bit in front of his contact, the silly stupid picture staring back at her as she swallowed down the anxiety and took a deep breath. Meeting his voicemail was something she didn’t expect.

“hey uh- sorry I woke up so late i know you’re an early bird” this was more embarrassing than she thought it could be. her fingers pinched her nose before she took a deep breath and continued. “i know you might be busy or you know working or whatever but if you umm have time later we could talk about everything? i mean if you want? im sorry im so fucking nervous i just- i want to make sure we’re okay. you’re my best friend Max, just call me okay? i could word vomit forever.”

Staring down at her phone screen, she paused for a few extra seconds as she finally hung up the call. Her fingers curled around the device as she tucked it under her chin, shutting her eyes as she let out a shuddering breath. The thing was that now that this happened, it wasn’t like she could just ignore it. Looking back down at her phone screen she went to their texts as she mumbled to herself as Gabby deleted and retyped something a thousand times, trying to find the right words. The right way to fix this, because if she didn’t pick at this; it’d be her undoing.

‘Just call me when you can, okay?’ was all she typed out and let out a scream when she actually sent it. This is why she didn’t do things like this.

Twenty four hours.

It was the anxiety of it that was killing her the most. Not knowing. Not sure of where things were, or if he was upset or how he felt. She had to sit with her own emotions only, and that was almost worse. Max wasn’t there to tell her she was overthinking it, or being irrational towards herself and the situation. Gabs tried not to let the sadness creep in, she truly did, but when the text moved to delivered and she still never got a response, or a call back, a part of her heart broke. What if that was all he wanted? Seven years of build up just for sex? Max wouldn’t do that to her, he couldn’t do that to her.

Kicking her door closed, the redhead let out a groan as she pressed her back to it. Her gym clothing was sticking to her, and even though it was her normal coping mechanism, it didn’t touch the anxiety that sat on her shoulders or in her chest. She must have looked wild to those around her, carrying her gym bag under one arm and two bottles of wine in the next, but at this point, all she felt was defeated. Dropping her bag down and kicking off her shoes was the easy part, and as she dragged herself to the kitchen the first thing she did was find a bottle opener. Not even bothering with a glass and taking a big swig caused her to burp as she stared down at her phone. Gabby took another long sip, trying to build up the courage to text him again.

‘Can you at least tell me if we’re okay?’

Half a bottle of wine and a change of clothes later.

‘Max just give me something. I cant do radio silence, please?’

Full bottle and half a sandwich.

‘We dont even have to talk, send an emoji or something.’

Two bottles and a long cold case marathon later.

‘Don’t act like i won’t show up to your job’

‘I mean i won’t because you’re already avoiding me and i think it’d cry if you ignored me in person’

‘Im sorry im not trying to be that girl who demands something after a one night stand but

I just hoped i was more than that’

‘sorry’

Two days.

This asshole had ignored her for two days. The hangover was absolutely not worth it. And her sadness turned to anger overnight. Even if he didn’t want something serious, a single text would shut her up. One. single. Text. and he couldn’t even do that? Calling out was not in her work ethic but the anger she felt was all consuming, the sadness that would creep in would be overshadowed in anger and the need to hit him.

Her phone was her enemy, and every buzz and ding that came from it was false hope. Max was going to get a punch to the head when she saw him next, that was for sure. Did she completely waste her time with this? Did she push him too hard? All of these questions clouded her head for two days, but now they were replaced with venom. How could he do this to her? Were the things he said to her a lie? Maybe he didn’t want to give up his bachelor life. Or maybe he didn’t care as much as he thought and now she was just left in the dark. Gabby cried too much over this, sad and angry tears but there was never any relief. When she was getting a divorce there was a moment where everything turned calm again, and she stopped crying over it all, but that never came for this situation. She was just angry.

Wanting to text him and yell at him was her worst character flaw, she couldn’t leave things well enough alone. But he knew this about her. Did he just think she’d let this go? That she wouldn’t annoy the fucking shit out of him until he answered? The anger she felt from being completely disregarded was holding her body hostage, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. All her normal coping ways didn’t even scratch the surface of it all, she was left feeling more angry, and in a sense betrayed. Even if he didn’t see this going anywhere, or wanted to stop all this, why wouldn’t he just tell her? Why leave her like this? Not knowing. Consumed. Burning.

When she finally gave in to text him again, all she wanted to do was spit hate at him. React bitterly and angry, like how she felt, but the thought of lying and telling Max she hated him, didn’t sit well. Puffing out a giant breath, her thumb hovered over the call button, and every time it rang she hoped he’d pick up. If he just answered she’d feel less angry. When his voicemail played again, she hung up the first time, “Get a fucking grip, you can yell at him it’s fine” and tried it again, and her anger flared again as it played again.

“Hey Asshat, I get it okay? This is a lot but you have to give me something. You know I don’t work well on silence and and avoidance, I’m just so fucking mad at you, All you have to do is answer me. An empty message at this point would be better than nothing. I hate...” Pausing, knowing how it was going to sound to him, she quickly tried to fix it. “I just hate that you responded like this. This isn’t right, this is stupid im not doing this I can’t do this. It hurts too much and I’m too angry at you, talk to me when you’re finally ready to have a big boy conversation.”  

Staring down at the phone, her breath caught in her throat as it all came down on her. What if they never recovered from this? Was she going to lose him for good? Pulling up the messages she saw all her one sided moments and typed before she could even stop herself,

“I love you but i also fucking hate you right now, all you had to do was stay.”

And with that, she accepted her anger and finally broke down in tears again.

Day three.

This was the day that hit the hardest. She could only call out for so long before others were asking if she was okay, and how serious her stomach bug was etc. Gabby wanted to crawl into her bed and just scream, and nap and mostly scream. Holding her coffee close to her chest as she walked through the familiar doors and all the way to her desk, Oliver insisted she make up for the lost time before her normal drive along. Her partner was already there waiting for her, probably waiting to give her a hard time.

“Marky I swear to god if you’re here to start shit I’ll turn around and walk out” The redhead started as she rolled her eyes at him, she knew they all meant well, “You missed two days of ride along and you expected to get through without shit? Come on Hunts, you know me better than that.” He was laughing, nudging her shoulder like it was nothing and dropped a muffin bag onto her desk. Markus was one of the ones who knew of her special deal with Oliver and her therapist, and a part of her was always nervous he’d say something, make some wack ass comment, but he always kept it respectful. The department welcomed her with welcome arms, many knew her from her previous work but when Oliver introduced her as Officer Hunter the cheers were all the welcoming she needed.

The three hours of desk work was killing her, every shift and turn in the chair was making some new part of her crack. Pushing her glasses up a bit and taking a sip of her coffee, she struggled through a few reports, only stopping when she got a clap on the back and an overeager Markus on her right. “You ready?” He asked, giving her a pleased smile when she nodded. Shutting the folder and placing it in her locked desk drawer, the woman grabbed her jacket and moved forward, following closely behind him. “Are we in the normal area tonight?” Gabs asked carefully, shrugging on her jacket and adjusting her shirt a bit as they entered the garage. “Yeah, we’ve got a few routine stops, and we have to check on that one family again but other than that we’re sitting on our asses tonight.”

Just like that the night moved on. New cups of coffee every hour, normal buildings and streets passing by in blurs. Streetlights either too bright or not bright enough, the rush of it all was just enough to distract her, shift her focus from the absolute emotional jail cell she felt trapped in. But good moments only last so long, it’s not all saving kids and eating donuts, there were days it tested her and tonight was one of those.

They were first to arrive on scene. Gun shots, domestic dispute, children involved. None of it was a good feeling. Things like this only had two ways of ending, bad or good, and there was just no telling which one they were getting. Markus and her stood by the door, weapons drawn as a few other officers were next to them, needing all the back up they could get at this point, medics on standby in case someone was injured. As they knocked on the door, identified themselves, and when all they heard was yells and screams it took less than ten seconds for Mark to kick the door down and they were in. Clearing each room, and right when she was going to check the final door with another officer that’s when all hell broke loose. Kids were crying, a woman was crying and all they saw was a man holding the woman by the neck and using her as a shield. There are moments when the universe is warning a person about something, she felt this years ago, when she was at that scene before she got hurt but this was part of the job. Gabby couldn’t back out now, not when the lives of others depended on it, it all happened so fast the woman was shoved to the ground and the man took off running. The other officer was helping the lady up and Gabby took off after him, “Adams is on the run! Officer Hunter in pursuit” She heard a few confirmations and Markcus staying close behind but she barely heard a damn thing.

Running through the streets of the Mission District was the last thing she wanted to be doing. Shoving people out of her way as she followed him, “Move move move!” Was all she could say as they continued running. He had to get tired at some point, she was near huffing. Rounding into a smaller side street, the redhead watched Adams disappear down a smaller alley and instantly her gut told her to turn back, save herself and just forget about him. Drawing her gun again, her steps got softer as she rounded the corner slower than him, her eyes bouncing back and forth between each side, each sound and every small movement she could. The further she went down the darkened alley the worse her belly ached, and that anxiety she felt for days felt minuarture to the anxiety and fear that held her body hostage. Swallowing slightly, she licked her lips as a soft breath passed through her lips, eyes taking in every detail she could, he couldn’t have gone far, he was slowing down a few blocks away, he was close. He had to be.

The clanging of metal made her turn, gun raised as she watched a stray cat run from behind the garbage cans, shattering from the area. One move fucked her, and as she heard the shuffling of shoes and rock, she knew. Barely having time to turn, Adams was right there; 6’3 and near two hundred pounds and he was taking her out like she was nothing. The distant sound of cop cars and sirens weren’t enough to stop him, really it only made it worse. Tackling her down to the ground was nothing to him, and even when she tried to stop it, scraping her hands, ignoring the sting and blood rushing, it wasn’t enough. Her gun flew from her hands, metal scraping against the ground, head smashing off the ground and it took everything in her to fight back. Her fist collided with his cheek, temporarily shocking him, and it was just enough to attempt to move. She was scrambling up trying to grab her gun, trying to get some sort of leverage over him but he was too quick, too big, too strong. His hand wrapped around her ankle, dragging her back to him, her lungs were burning, her head hurt in ways she didn’t ever want to remember and she could practically hear her heartbeat.

Dragging her back only added to the scraps and cuts on her hands, she was clawing her way at the ground trying desperately to find something, anything to get her out of this. His hands were gripping her so strong she was sure she’d have fingerprints, turning her around his fist connected with her face. Blood was rushing down her nose as he laid another smack down onto her, gabby was trying to shove him off, claw at him, harm him in any way, but he was a lady hitter, this was probably fun for him while she fought through everything just to make sure she made it out okay. His one hand reached down to grab her throat as his other hand reached behind him, and into the back of his pants and tugged out the firearm he was previously. The hand on her neck tightened as the gun pressed into her forehead, at least this one had enough brains to aim for the head.

BANG BANG BANG

Gabby’s eyes shut instantly, and when she wasn’t met with pain and darkness her eye creeped open watching a bloodied Adams start gasping as he toppled off her. Shoving him fully off of hef, her eyes widened as she tried to drag herself away from him, feet and sirens were closer and suddenly Markus was sliding next to her, trying to get her to sit still, wait for a medic, but she couldn’t function. The pain in the back of her head made her vision blurry, her hand was gripping Mark’s arm hard as she tried desperately to catch her breath. A medic was by her side in seconds and they were helping her up, trying to talk to her, but all she could think about was how much pain she was in, how the ringing in her ears wouldn’t stop and the phantom feeling of his hand around her neck wasn’t disappearing.

What a shit fucking week.

..

...

....

“Hello is this Max Fields?.... Right, Hi. This is Captain Oliver Lee with the San Francisco Police Department I’m calling in regards to Gabby Hunter..Listen, Gabs has you as her emergency contact and she got hurt tonight in the field. She’ll be fine but she’s gunna be benched for a bit, you just gotta come sign her out or they won’t let her leave. We’re at Saint Frances..room 603 Just get here when you can, she’s pretty out of it right now so you got some time. Don’t leave her hanging, can’t wait to meet you.”

[spookyboywhump]

Previous Parts

Tag List:  @constellationwhump, @what-a-whumpy-world, @faewhump, @inky-whump, @slaintetowhump, @sodapigeon, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @insanitywishes   Let me know if I missed you or if you want to be tagged!

also, @ a recent ask I got, I’m not sure how you feel about emotional whump so I have some special Zander whump coming for you later <3

 This is a bit of a self indulgent filler part, the first half mostly to lead up to what I do to Wren next part and the second half is a look into Zander and his relationship with Vanessa. So uh, big TW for implied/referenced dubcon/noncon and TW for aftermath of dubcon/noncon kind of, and TW for a bit of self harm

 ***

 He’d won. He’d actually won, somehow surviving the fight and also escaping his handler’s vicious punishments. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lucky, because he knew that’s all it was this time, pure luck. 

 He’d been left in that cell again and told to wait for his handler, he dropped down against the wall almost immediately, suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion. It was less from the fight and more from the stress that had wracked him all day long finally leaving him. He finally allowed himself to relax, he didn’t even have to fear punishment because he’d finally done something right. 

 He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he reached up, wiping blood from his nose on the back of his hand. He didn’t think it was broken, but he could feel the throbbing pain radiating out across his face. It would probably hurt even more in the morning, but not as bad as a beating or whipping or any other punishment Cain would’ve inflicted.

 He must’ve waited hours for the cell door to open again, Cain standing there with a look he’d never seen before. He was happy. It wasn’t that sadistic grin he got, it wasn’t mocking, it was genuine happiness. It almost looked unnatural. 

 “You did such a good job, little pup! And on your first try too!” He knelt down in front of him, hands placed on either side of his face, it took Wren a moment to realize he didn’t intend to even slap him.  He hesitated to respond, unsure of how to react to this side of Cain, but he was looking at him expectantly.

 “Th… thank you…?” It came out more like a question, but Cain seemed to accept it.

 “I never once expected you to do this well, to even win at all.” He laughed. He got up, pulling Wren to his feet. “I’ll reward you later pup, I’m sure you’re ready to head home.” He said, leading him out of the cell. He didn’t even yank on the leash, he was careful, knowing he was likely somewhat unsteady. It was almost disorienting, this change in him, he knew it should’ve been a relief but he just felt more on edge now. They had to find Zander before they could go home, Cain said that Vanessa had dragged him off shortly after Wren’s fight. The thought turned his stomach, from how she had spoken about him during their last meeting he felt like she shouldn’t be left alone with him.

 When they finally found them she was trying to leave through one of the many exits, dragging Zander with her. She had joked that she was just kidding about trying to steal him and Cain snapped at her, apparently this wasn’t the first time she’d done this. Zander himself looked almost unscathed, save for the marks littering his exposed neck and the familiar shade of red lipstick smeared on his face. That near permanent scowl was still there, but he kept his eyes averted, refusing to look at him or Cain. He was concerned, but didn’t dare say anything, knowing he should save it for later.

 By the time they returned home he just wanted to pass out, having been drifting in and out of sleep the whole car ride. Cain didn’t drag or yank him to the room, rather guided him gently while expecting Zander to simply follow. Before he locked them up for the night he smiled at Wren, something he still wasn’t sure how to react to, and reminded him that he would receive his reward the next day. He wasn’t sure what Cain considered a reward, but a part of him was excited, hopeful even that maybe he would do something nice for him. Or at the very least, something not completely horrible. 

 “Good job.” Zander said once he was gone, finally speaking up. “For your first time, that was pretty good.” 

 “Thanks… I think I just got lucky though, if I hadn’t hit him in the throat I probably wouldn’t have won…” He said, heading into the bathroom so he could clean the blood off his face, leaving the door open though.

 “From the way he went down, I don’t think you hit his throat.” He told him, coming to lean against the door frame. “The jaw maybe, that’ll do it for sure.” It made sense to Wren, his knuckles hurt from the impact, the same way they did when he was trained for work, when he was younger and reluctant to hit even his instructor. It was almost comforting to know though, a hit like that to the jaw was sure to cause less damage than to the throat. 

 When he finished cleaning away the blood he turned to Zander, taking in his current appearance, which he had yet to comment on himself. Despite finally getting a break from fighting he looked exhausted, and more disheveled than normal. His hair was a mess and the top buttons of his shirt had been undone, there was nothing to hide the purple marks decorating his neck and the lipstick left behind on his skin.

 “Are… are you alright…?” He asked hesitantly. He knew for a lot of people that was the result of a good situation, maybe not to him but he didn’t exactly know Zander’s preferences or say in the matter. He didn’t look like he’d enjoyed it though.

 “I’m fine.” He said curtly, his tone made it more than clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Wren knew better than the try and force it, brushing past him as he left the bathroom. 

 “Okay… um… Cain mentioned something, about a reward…” he said, trying to change the subject. “Is he serious or should I be worried…?” Cain didn’t exactly seem like the rewarding type, but he also didn’t seem like the type to smile and be careful and gentle with him. This whole night had been several hours of confusion and Wren was getting a little bit tired of it. 

 “Any fight after this you can look forward to it, once you get him in a good mood he can be somewhat generous. I’ve gotten some decent stuff out of him before.” He shrugged, glancing away from him as he spoke.

 “After this? Then what do I get this time…?” He frowned, anxiety creeping up on him again. For a moment Zander didn’t respond, unbuttoning his shirt further instead. He pulled it away, baring his right shoulder to him, the single initial burned into his skin. Wrens stomach dropped, eyes widening as it sunk in.

 Of course, Cain wanted his property marked, and that’s all he was. His property.

 ***

 Zander couldn’t help but feel guilty, further ruining the poor kid’s night. He could’ve just let him have a moment of relief, a moment to rest and think he was safe because he did good, but he would’ve felt worse if he let him believe Cain would give him something to look forward to, only to have the harsh reality burned into him. He knew, the shock would be so much worse if he believed it until he saw the branding iron himself.

 He waited to shower until Wren finally fell asleep, still insistent on sleeping on the floor. Zander didn’t understand that, he’d offered him the bed since day one but he adamantly refused. He thought it was stupid, especially now when he’d completely burnt himself out, too exhausted to even let the fear of his impending “reward” keep him awake. He was dead asleep, so Zander easily lifted him up, laying him down in the bed and pulling the blanket over him. It almost felt weird to him, handling another person without the intent of hurting them. Sometimes he forgot that he could be careful and gentle.

 Once Wren was settled he went and locked himself in the bathroom, turning the shower on to the hottest setting. It was almost a ritual for him when Vanessa was done with him, burn away the feeling of her hands on his body and her lips against his skin, scrub away that feeling that he was disgusting. He’d been covered in blood, sweat, tears, sometimes even vomit, yet never felt as disgusting as Vanessa made him feel. 

 He scowled at his reflection when he went to undress, he’d rather see himself beaten and bloodied than see the aftermath of her. Vanessa liked to make it obvious, mark her territory, he may have belonged to Cain but she had so much power over him, she could mark him however she wished because no one would really stop her. When she snuck off with him it would piss Cain off, he might yell at her but then turn and beat him for letting it happen, because his body didn’t belong to him nor her and she could only use it with Cain’s permission. 

 Technically, per Cain’s rules, he wasn’t even permitted to do this, if he was going to be hurt then it had to be done by him or while he watched. That somehow made the scalding hot water even more satisfying, knowing it was just another small act of defiance against that bastard. Even if Cain didn’t care, he needed that heat, anything less and he would still feel her all over him, even if it did burn like hell and even if he did have to bite back a whine the moment the water touched his skin.

 He only spent a moment allowing himself to relax under the pouring water, he needed to get clean, needed to get her off of him. He scrubbed furiously at his skin when he washed himself, rubbed his skin raw where she put her hands, tried his hardest to get the lipstick off his face and neck. He could hardly stand to look at someone in red lipstick these days, he knew she’d been wearing the same shade for years because it had been smeared on his face time and time again. She would complain they didn’t spend enough time together but he knew it was too much, way too much when it had become routine to wash her away when she was done with him. He hated that he couldn’t wash away all the marks, hated that he resorted to digging his nails into his own throat, digging deep scratches into his skin to distract from the bruises. 

 He didn’t stop until he was satisfied, until the water running down the drain was tinted red. He still didn’t feel completely better, but he finally felt clean, sitting down on the shower floor beneath the pouring water. He knew he would be there until the water finally ran cold, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. He was clean, he would have time to recover before she touched him again, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it any more than he could stop the tears filling his eyes.

 In some ways, she could be worse than Cain. He didn’t hide his disdain for Zander, he knew to always expect him to violently lash out, and while he had no problem humiliating him, he rarely did anything intimate with him. Even when he did, the only pleasure he seemed to get from it was the knowledge that Zander hated every second of it. Vanessa claimed to love him though, claimed to never want to hurt him. Since the first time they met she’d called her obsession “love”, when lust was a more accurate word. It wasn’t love when she slapped him for crying the first time it happened, and it wasn’t love when she ignored his begging for her to stop, or when she had told him how good he was since he stopped fighting her. It wasn’t love when she kept doing this every chance she got, knowing that Cain would punish him and not her. He figured the only thing that saved him tonight was Wren winning, a distraction from another one of Zander’s fuck ups. 

 He sighed heavily, resting his head on his knees and squeezing his eyes shut. It was a brief moment of safety, a brief moment he could allow himself to be vulnerable. He had nothing against Wren, he even sort of liked him, but since he was forced to share a room with him his personal space had been made even smaller. It made his existence even more difficult, he felt some sort of obligation to not break down around him. When it came to Cain it was out of spite, even when he did cry around him it was always out of pain and never from a real break, he refused to give him that satisfaction. Wren however was in a tough enough situation, he didn’t need to see how completely hopeless Zander truly was too. He fought Cain every chance he got, he scowled and growled and struggled and cursed but after six years he knew, there was no escape, he was stupid to have ever thought there was. 

 He’d once been offered a way out in the form of a bullet and he refused it. Sometimes he wished he could change that decision.

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Four

Previous Chapter HERE

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sarah had something of a reprieve from her unplanned-planned date night/tennis match/whatever with Greg when Shan kindly called her to say she couldn’t stop vomiting and had to be sent home from work. As always, Sarah was her first port of call but she sounded absolutely terrible over the phone, and Sarah felt bad leaving her to fend for herself. Scott would often run a mile at the first sign of someone being ill, so scared was he of being even marginally unwell and Chris would, well, he was just absolutely useless with a crying woman.

She had managed to catch Greg on her way out and apologised for cancelling at short notice. He seemed disappointed but was quick to suggest another catch-up when things had calmed down. She had realised that he might have thought she was blowing him off with a lame excuse and made a note to speak to him the next time she saw him. Audrey mentally fired darts at Sarah’s head as she waved her a goodbye, deliberately avoiding a lecture.

“My stomach really hurts. I think I might be dying,” Shan over-exaggerated.

“You’re not dying, OK? You’ve probably got some food poisoning, though. Did you eat or drink anything weird in the last 48 hours?” Sarah asked over the phone as she got ten minutes away from their apartment.

“No just that tequila. I don’t think it’s that, though, and...oh wait...” she stopped herself. “I ate sushi.”

“What the fuck, Shanna? You’re practically allergic to sushi?” Sarah exclaimed over the phone to the surprise of a runner who’d just overtaken her as she crossed through the park. “Why did you eat that? You know what? Doesn’t matter. Just keep drinking water and stay close to the bathroom for a little while. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Chris was hanging in the hallway outside their front door when she finally arrived home. She knew it must be bad for him to risk being spotted by her overly enthusiastic neighbour, and he looked like he had been emotionally scarred for life.

“How’s she doing?” Sarah dared to ask.

“There are sounds coming from her that I have never heard made by another human being before.” He hung his head low. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Sarah chuckled and place a comforting hand on his shoulder before brushing past him and walking inside. Sure enough, she found her on the floor of their bathroom, leaning by the toilet bowl. For some reason, all the towels were on the floor and the window was wide open which was, she figured, Chris’ way of dealing with things.

“He’s been rubbing my back but that just made it worse.” Shan said before retching again. She looked pitiful curled up on the floor like this, the last of her mascara making unflattering tracks down her cheeks. Her curly hair was unruly most of the time as it was but now it looked even more like a bird’s nest.

Sarah dumped her bag and sat down beside her. Back-rubbing never worked, she knew this all too well but still thought it was cute of Chris to at least try it. Seriously, what was it with people throwing up near her lately? Instead, she moved the strands of hair sticking to her forehead and gently ran her hand over the back of her head and neck in circular massaging motions to ease some of her strain.

“Do you think you could eat some dry toast? Or a banana maybe?” Sarah suggested. “You need to keep your stomach active.”

“i just want this to end...”

“I know you do. I think it’s just a case of waiting this out now.” Sarah kept her voice as soothing as possible and continued to gently run her hand over her hair, attempting to lightly detangle knots as she found them. Shan would thank her for that later.

Chris was perched on a stool against the breakfast table eating a banana when Sarah walked back in. “Did she tell you?” he asked, mild irritation showing in his voice.

“Yep. why sushi of all things?” Sarah questioned him as if he might know something. “I bought that for her by the way, Potassium is good for the body after food poisoning.”

“No idea. But I bet that Ben has something to do with it. Did you know he was back in town?” He quizzed her somewhat accusatorially. Sarah held her hands up, silently remonstrating her lack of knowledge.

Ben was someone Shanna had gone to High School with and met again in college. They had dated on and off, usually when Ben dictated, until he’d left Boston to join his Uncle’s political campaign in Chicago. Sarah had only met him twice but once was enough to know he was trouble and the somewhat nauseating kind, not the entertaining kind. A few years back, Ben had been responsible for Shan getting points on her licence when he’d been caught speeding after admitting to her his licence had been revoked following his DUI charge. It was the first real experience Sarah had had of an Irish family arguing and they failed to notice she had snuck out to a hotel for the night to avoid the conflict. Lisa didn’t speak to Shanna for weeks afterwards and Chris flew back to LA to avoid hitting him with a baseball bat.

“I swear to God, if he even so much as shows his face round here, I’ll tie him to the heaviest boulder and shove him off Longfellow.” He always spoke in hyperbole when he got aggravated, like his brain couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so stupid. It was the same attitude he displayed when he watched Trump get inaugurated. Shan wasn’t stupid but Sarah had to admit she harboured a blind spot where Ben was concerned.

“You don’t know it was him this time. Let’s not jump to conclusions here. There could be a harmless explanation.”

Chris looked her dead in the eye before awkwardly shifting his attention elsewhere. She watched as he clumsily tried to straighten up in front of her.

“Chris? We don’t know it’s because of him, do we?”

Chris took a breath and pursed his lips. He looked like he had forgotten how to speak. “I spoke to Matt and he looked him up for me. Turns out he got some drug charges dropped and was thrown off the campaign last month and now he’s back home with his mom.” Sarah looked stunned at the information.

“Look, who else would it be? She was probably trying to impress him or something stupid. It’s not like she doesn’t have previous here, is it? What is so great about this guy?”

“Search me. He’s not my type whatsoever.”

“Yeh, well, you’re sensible. It’s only because of you that she’s at least able to hold down a job for longer than six months without getting distracted.” He launched the banana skin into the bin like he was shooting hoops. “I really wanna punch him. Just once. Can I, please?”

“Mate, don’t look at me. I’m not your PR Manager.”

“Well, I’m like 90% sure Matt won’t let me...” He leaned against the counter in front of her, arms folded, resigned to the fact that he was helpless. “I could sneak into this house and tie all his shoelaces together? Can’t get arrested for that, can I?”

Sarah laughed at the sheer daftness of the thought. “You could take all the stuffing out of his pillows?”

Chris shot her a look of disbelief. “OK, now you’re taking this too far. Whatever you want to do on your own time is up to you.”

“Oh, good, you’ve told him.” Shan croaked as she made her way gingerly through the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. She’d managed to remove her sweat-soaked clothes and changed into her pyjamas and a dressing gown that Sarah recognised as her own that was previously hanging up in the bathroom.

“Told me what?” Chris asked, his jovial expression suddenly changing to one of concern and increasingly so as his eyes flicked between Sarah and Shanna, neither of them making much of an effort to talk. Sarah knew it was on her to break the silence.

“Just...it’s nothing really. Honestly. It’s just my...my mom wants to meet me and...stuff.” As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. She sounded like a teenager who had just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Chris was probably regretting telling her she was the sensible one now. For some reason, she decided to carry on talking to fill the silence. “So, I thought I might let her see me and...stuff. Maybe.”

Chris was quiet for what felt like a long time. He was clearly vetting his words carefully before saying anything, never taking his eyes off Sarah. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times preparing to speak before quickly changing his mind. This one really seemed to stump him.

“I told you it was a bad idea, hun.” And with that, Shan left the kitchen and Sarah to her fate. How was it that in less than ten minutes she had managed to shift Chris’ frustration squarely on to her?

“Your biological mom? I thought you didn’t want to see her?” He asked albeir in a far too monotonous tone for her liking.

“I don’t. I didn’t. But they sent me a letter, and-”

“Who’s “they”?” he interrupted.

“The Adoption agency back in Flint.” Sarah quickly responded but then couldn’t think of anything else to add to ease the tense atmosphere growing around them. He pondered her response for a second not looking away from her. She must have looked about twelve now.

“Why does she have the courts intervening on her behalf?” It was a good question and one Sarah was all too aware she didn’t have the answer for. It did look a little desperate on her mom’s behalf, too. Chris still had his arms folded and from this angle they looked even bigger than usual. He had a very unapproachable manner when he was built like this and he would often use it to his advantage, not that there was ever a possibility of missing him in a room full of people, for one reason or another. “What’s her angle here?”

“I figured it was to make sure I got her letter. I don’t exactly know why which is why I was thinking of meeting her.” She shrugged and tried to move her feet from the spot she’d been frozen to. Chris clocked his disapproving stance and moved in a bid to equal her posture.

“Come off it, Sarah. You’re not thinking about it. You’ve clearly made your mind up. Why now, though? I thought you were happy with everything and with where you are?” He unfolded his arms and looked like he was about to take a step towards her but changed his mind and leaned on the kitchen island instead. “Is it not longer enough?”

She didn’t appreciate the tone. “Obviously, I am happy enough here. It’s nothing to do with me feeling like there’s something missing. I just, I thought it might be healthy to put some closure on some things is all. I really didn’t think what I chose to do would be this big of a deal to everyone.”

“I take it Shanna supports this crazy idea?”

“It’s not crazy and if you have to now, then no she doesn’t Not entirely anyway but she at least gets that it’s my decision.”

“I just worry about you sometimes. I don’t think you look out for yourself as much as you’re allowed to.”

She didn’t know how to take that. “I can look after myself.”

“I know you can but you shouldn’t have to is what I’m saying, not all the time. Other people can help, y’know? You might not realise it but you’re a big part of my family and regardless of what I say here and now, you know full well my mom is gonna be a hell of a lot worse.”

Thankfully, they both laughed. That was certainly going to be true. She contemplated making some kind of pact with him so that Lisa didn’t find out until was absolutely necessary but figured now wasn’t the time to ask him. Instead she opted to bring him in for a hug and she felt him physically calm in her arms, no doubt at Shan’s predicament as well.

“i appreciate you concern, I really do, but I need to figure this out myself.” She fixed him with as big a grin as she could manage. It might help her believe it, too.

Chris wasn’t so convinced.

*

Thankfully, Shan made it through the night without swallowing her tongue. Sarah could only manage a couple of hours sleep in the end and would keep waking at random intervals to check on her. At one point, she thought she could hear Chris moving around in their lounge but decided against checking to see if he was OK. The rule of thumb for living with the Evanses, according to Carly, dictated you could only attainably deal with one of them at a time.

She left for work an hour earlier than usual in a bit to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere at home, both Shanna and Chris being as stubborn as each other.

“I’ve decided that I will let you buy me a coffee.” Greg said confidently as he walked up to stand beside her at the triage desk. “If you’re not busy. Lunchtime, maybe?”

“Oh, um,” She thought about letting him down a second time until she caught Audrey’s death stare on the other side of the corridor, coming towards them both like Jaws. “Yeh, er, lunchtime would work. No problem.”

“Great! That’s a date then!”

“Awesome, you guys managed to figure it out!” Audrey moved into Greg’s eyeline now, beaming at them both. “If you want to go a little earlier, feel free. It’s pretty quiet here and I don’t mind covering for a while?”

“Sure, that would be fantastic, thank you. Sarah, shall I meet you outside in 5?” Greg asked, his tone a little less than that of a giddy child being told he could eat candy for dinner. 

“OK, yeh. I’ll just go grab my jacket.”

Sarah waited for Greg to leave the desk before scolding Audrey or at least attempting to. She could never win an argument with her no matter how hard she tried. Truly, it was futile. Audrey was like some kind of wizard, which made sense given her history with her alma mater’s debate team. (side note: she was kicked out of the group after arguing with an adjudicator).

“It’s just coffee. I don’t know what you’re so bothered about. He’s nice and he likes you. Just...don’t bum him out.”

It was a quiet walk to Joe’s. Sarah wasn’t entirely sure what to talk about and figured talking shop might not be the way to go. He ordered for them both, just a couple of decaf lattes, and they took a booth towards the back so as to avoid any potentially nosy co-workers popping by. Not that she was bothered too much, she liked the people that she worked with; it was more that she didn’t enjoy the questions that came with potentially dating a colleague and it would also force her to calculate how long it had been since she had had a proper date. Was Chris right? Was Daniel her last known interest?” Oh god, how depressing.

“I really hope we get that game in some time soon. I reckon I could show you a thing or two,”

Greg managed to snap her out of her head.

“Oh, yeh, it wouldn’t be too hard. I’ve played maybe two games my whole life.” She saw Greg look confused. “Audrey bent the truth somewhat the other day.”

“He bobbed his head in understanding but couldn’t hide the hint of disappointment. “She’s been keen to set us up I bet?”

Sarah nodded. “She’s a good mate. She looks out for me a lot. I’ve known her almost as long as I’ve been in Boston now.”

“Oh yeh? Yeh, she seems nice.” He played with his cup for a second before speaking again. “I hope you don’t feel under pressure to come out with me. Honestly, if you’d rather not, I completely understand. I don’t wanna make you feel awkward or anything.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve liked working with you. You seem nice and you’re clearly very talented.” She smiled at him and for the first time she realised how nervous he seemed. He held himself in the hospital with such confidence and stature, it almost didn’t seem like she was sat across from the same person.

“Thank you. I like you, too. You’re very...unassuming.” He offered in return. She wasn’t sure how to take that and he must have seen a look of perplexity cross her face or something because he felt the need to quickly backtrack. “Not that, I mean. I mean that you don’t chase the limelight. You just do your job, very well, and you don’t expect any thanks for it. That’s refreshing. Where I come from, people are always vying for the limelight. It’s hard to mark yourself out as anything special.”

Sarah hadn’t thought of the medical profession as a competition before. She’d never thought she had to best anyone or prove she was better than anyone else. Surely everyone just had the same goal? Maybe it was different as a Physician.

Suddenly Greg made sense to her. She couldn’t quite believe it but she felt sorry for him.

He put his cup back on the table and looked at her, his eyes smiling. “So, that tennis match. Do you fancy rescheduling?”

*

[swan--writes]

I’m combining these two because they’re both technically sickness requests, and then I’m CUTTING Y’ALL OFF from caretaking Beetlejuice. (Jkjk I might do more taking care of reader stuff in the future, whatever your little hearts desire.)

Words: ~1,200

And here you were again, bent over the toilet. It seemed you were always bent over the toilet these days. Thankfully, you had made it home from work before the vomiting started. Once it started, though, you knew it would be a long night.

The bathroom light was off, but the curtain above the small window was drawn aside. Muted blue light floated into the room, and when you closed your eyes the pounding in your head almost subsided in the near-darkness. It would have been peaceful if the cramps in your stomach weren’t sending white hot pinpricks of pain all over your body. It was soothing enough, however, combined with the coldness of the bathroom floor. You felt yourself slowly relaxing until you heard a voice.

“Whoa, what’s going on in here?” You groaned. Not because the voice was so abrasive, but because you knew the person it belonged to. Beetlejuice would try to take care of you, you would try to insist you could take care of yourself, you wouldn’t be able to argue with him because of how sick you were. Long night indeed.

“Nothing, don’t get too close,” you croaked. “I don’t need any help.”

“Don’t worry, I’m dead, remember?”

“No, I mean–” You never got to finish that thought. Back to the toilet you went. Beetlejuice came up behind you, but you back up and leaned against the counter beside you before he could touch you. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you muttered, waving him off with one hand and holding yourself with your other arm.

Beetlejuice was crouched down close to you, watching you with a crease in his brow. It might have been the dimness of the room, but you thought he looked paler than usual. He always got like this when you were sick. Always so worried, though you weren’t sure why. Something in you softened and you sighed through your nose. Nothing you said was going to convince him to leave you alone. He was like a toddler. He’d never leave you alone unless you were much harsher than you could ever justify.

“Sorry,” you said.

“What’s wrong? Was it the dairy?”

“Maybe? I took a lactase pill, so I might just have a norovirus or something.”

“English or Gaulish, babes.”

You forced a laugh from your cramping stomach. “What, you don’t respond to ominous chanting?”

“Only when it rises from the depths of the Earth in a sexy man voice.”

“Give the stomach acid another hour, I’ll have a sexy man voice before you know it.” He laughed. “It might be a stomach bug, Beej.”

“What can I do to help?”

Five minutes later, you were lying on the couch with a bottle of room temperature water, a steaming cup of ginger tea, and a squishy, chilly body pillow with his arm over your stomach. Every now and then, the nausea and the cramps would rise up and Beetlejuice would poof you into the bathroom. Per your request, he waited outside. Then you would both return to the couch.

Your head ached from your body’s valiant efforts to dehydrate you, but your demon’s voice sat in just the right register. When he spoke, you could feel the vibrations in his chest, almost like they were cradling your aching body. Beetlejuice told you stories about sneaking around the Netherworld. He told jokes about his bio-exorcisms. He railed against ghost capitalism and bragged about singlehandedly toppling the system a century ago. When he started getting too excited, all you had to do was make a little noise in the back of your throat for him to calm down and speak more softly.

Eventually, the worst of it passed. It had been a few hours and Beetlejuice was starting to go quiet, one hand stroking your forehead and the other stroking your arm. You tried to stop yourself from asking, but you really couldn’t help it. “Hey, Beej?”

“Hmm?” It was more of a grunt than anything, but he was always charming to you.

“How did you get banished from the Netherworld? I mean, why were you stuck in the world of the living for so long, before…”

Before Lydia killed you. In more ways than one, she had done him a favor. He had been trapped in the living world for so long, and being recently deceased had given him access to the Netherworld again.

Beetlejuice swallowed. “I got banished, babes, you know that.”

“Yeah, but how?” Silence for a long moment. “You don’t have to tell me, I was just curious.”

You felt him nod. “Thanks, babes. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Honey, you don’t have to tell me everything, it’s okay.” He didn’t say anything, just kissed your temple. There was another long pause before you moved to sit up. Beetlejuice squeezed your arm in what felt like confusion. “I need to shower,” you explained.

“Oh. You don’t want me to–”

“No, I’m good. I’ll be quick.” When you looked back, you could see the relief on his brow. You were still working on the hygiene thing. It hadn’t yet been two weeks since he had last showered though, so you supposed it could wait. You lifted his hand, kissing the back of it before you stood and plodded off to the bathroom. After all the cold, you were ready for hot water. You lit a few candles, unwilling to turn the harsh lights on but still wanting to see, and stepped under the faucet spray.

Not one full minute later, the bathroom door was opening. “Beej?” you called, more out of acknowledgment than anything else. You knew it was him.

“Did you wanna be alone?” he asked.

“You can get in, if you want.” In seconds, he stepped into the shower.

“God, even after throwing up ninety-seven times you’re hot.” You rolled your eyes but smiled, knowing he could see you even in the semi-dark. He stepped up to you so he could be under the water as well, wrapping an arm around your waist in a practiced, almost automatic movement. You settled into Beetlejuice, swaying just a little bit with him and letting him nuzzle your wet hair.

“Just couldn’t go without me, could you?”

“Never,” he growled. Then he planted his face more firmly into your hair. You relaxed against his soft stomach, knowing what it meant when he hid his face like this. This was the part when he told you something that would make him feel vulnerable. You waited in comfortable silence, letting the shower spray soak into your skin. After a long moment, he spoke. “My mom kicked me out of the Netherworld. Said I was bothering her.”

Immediately, you took gentle hold of the arm he had cradling you. “You’re not a bother,” you said, stroking his wet skin with your thumb. “You’re stunning.” You felt him smile, and he kissed the side of your head. “Thank you for taking care of me, even though I asked you not to.”

“Yeah, babes, you really gotta stop doing that.”

You laughed. “I’ll work on it.”

“‘Cause I’m never gonna stop wanting to take care of you.” Once again, you lifted his hand so you could kiss it.

“Good.”

Buy Me a Coffee?

[alonely-dreamer]

The Valuable Sun | Chapter 3

Summary: Brooklynne Stackhouse is Sookie and Jason Stackhouse’s little sister. Like her older sibling, she is a telepath, but her powers are far more stronger and far more uncontrollable than her sister’s. After a series of murders in Bon Temps, Sookie takes it upon herself to investigate, taking her younger sister with her in a club called Fangtasia, where they meet vampire and sheriff Eric Northman.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+ (language, violence, blood)

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Words: 3117

Schedule: A new chapter will be posted every Monday. Chapter 4 to 9 are available on my Patreon for early and instant access.

PS: This chapter is a little short so I’ll be posting chapter 4 today too!

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Brooke stared at the blood on the floor right in front of her. She slowly moved her eyes up to her sister who was covered in blood. Sookie looked as bad as she felt. Both sisters were trembling, deeply disturbed by what they had just witnessed. The blood at her feet reminded Brooke of the night she had come home to find her grandmother lying dead on the floor of the kitchen in a pool of her own blood. Ginger only stopped screaming when she started vomiting all over the floor. Great. Just more for her to clean up.

“Come,” Pam said without any trace of sympathy in her voice, as she gestured for Sookie and Brooke to follow her.

Sookie moved first. She slid off the table where Longshadow had tried to kill her and turned towards her little sister who was still sitting on the floor.

“Come on,” she told her. She wanted to hold a hand out to her but she was covered in dead vampire blood.

Brooklynne slowly rose to her feet and followed Pam and her sister to the bathroom, leaving Eric and Bill with a sick Ginger. The youngest Stackhouse sat on the couch at the entrance of the restroom and let her sister take the direction of the sink. She took one quick look at herself in the mirror, then opened the tap and started cleaning her face. It was hard to wash blood away. It took her half an hour to completely clean her face and remove the blood out of her hair. Though, only a proper shower and shampoo would completely remove the red out of her blond head.

Brooklynne left the room, though not physically. She travelled back and forth between her sister’s mind and Ginger’s. Ginger’s head was a terrible place to be in. She was scared and panicked and could barely remember her own name because of all the time she had been glamoured. Poor Ginger had to clean up what was left of Longshadow, and of her dinner.

Pam eventually joined them in the bathroom, after Sookie had cleaned her face and cleavage entirely. She had a black leather dress in her hand which she handed out to Sookie.

“Put this on.”

Sookie took one look at the material of the dress and knew she’d rather stay in her bloody dress than to change into it. “Oh… thanks but… I’m just gonna dry out my hair and be on my way.”

Pam shook her head slightly. “You’re not going anywhere. Eric and your boyfriend aren’t nearly done talking just yet.”

“Is… Bill in some kind of trouble?”

“That’s for the boys to figure out. Right now, what you need to do is change out of your clothes. There’s vampire in your cleavage.”

Sookie looked down and gasped as she saw a piece of skin between her breasts. “Okay, ew.”

“Allow me,” Pam smirked as she took a step forward before she brought a hand to Sookie’s cleavage and took out what was left of Longshadow.

“Thank you,” Sookie said quietly, unable to look away from the vampire.

“I’m beginning to understand why Bill likes you so much,” she smiled playfully as a way to flirt, perhaps enjoying making the human uncomfortable.

Ginger interrupted them as she entered the room. “Oh, hey there, Pam,” she said. “Oh, who’s your new friend?”

“Ginger, Sookie, Sookie, Ginger. And Brooklynne,” she said, pointing at the youngest telepath that was still sitting on the couch behind her.

“Nice to meet you,” Ginger grinned.

“Right,” Sookie nodded as she understood that Ginger had been glamoured. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be so scared,” Ginger said. “They’re really very nice here,” she told her before she exited the room.

“I’ll get you something else to wear,” the vampire said before she left too.

Once they were alone, Sookie made her way to her sister, and sat behind her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Why did Eric come to you for help?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

“I think he didn’t want to ask me because I’m Bill’s. So he asked you knowing no one could stop him if he really wanted to use you.”

“I didn’t mind helping him.”

“And looked what happened. It’s not safe to be around vampires.”

Brooklynne raised an eyebrow. “You’re not really in a position to say such a thing, Sook.”

“Bill is different.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means, Sook.”

“Did Eric contact you after we came here the other day?”

“No,” she said, which wasn’t a lie considering she had been the one to come here.

“Well I’d appreciate if you stayed away from him.”

“And I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell me what to do.”

***

The sun was an hour away when Eric released them. He hadn’t said a word to Brooklynne and hadn’t even been around when they left. Sookie was worried for Bill. He had killed another vampire after all, in front of his sheriff. There would be consequences and she wanted to know them. She knew that Bill was lying when he told her everything was going to be okay. They dropped Brooklynne at the house before they drove to Bill’s for some alone time together. She was happy to be home, but, for once, she wasn’t happy to be alone.

Her sleep was interrupted by nightmares and she felt tired the entire following day. Sookie had only come home to get ready for work and had come back after her shift pretty upset. Brooke was in the living room, reading another of her grandmother’s novels, when her sister came back from work.

“What happened?”

“Bill stopped by. He left with Eric and Pam to a tribunal,” she explained as she sat down next to her. A dog was following her, and he sat down at her feet.

“A tribunal?”

“Yes. He’s going to be judged for killing Longshadow.”

“But… he was defending you. Is he in big trouble?”

“He said he was. He said he didn’t know if he was coming back…” she sniffed, then tried to blink the tears away.

“Oh, Sook.” Brooke wished she knew what to say, but she was terrible at reassuring people. She could say ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine’ but she didn’t know it to be true and she didn’t want to give her false hope. But what else could she say?

“I’m going to bed,” Sookie said as she got up. “All this vampire business is exhausting.”

“Me too, I’m tired.”

She followed Sookie who was followed by the dog. She frowned. There was something abnormal with that dog. But something oddly familiar. She let it go as she entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

She was woken up in the middle of the night by loud screams coming from her sister’s bedroom. There was someone else there, someone who sounded familiar. She rushed to Sookie’s room and found her standing near the window, branding her hairbrush as a weapon. Sam Merlotte was standing a few feet from her, and completely naked.

“Sam?”

“Brooke, hey. It’s not what you think.”

“You were the dog!” she said as she now realized why the animal had looked familiar.

“It… is exactly what you think…” he said, wondering how she knew.

“Wait you knew?” Sookie asked. “You knew he’s a shape-shifter?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, as she rubbed her eyes.

“How?” Sam questioned. “I never told you.”

“I heard you once. You saw a dog at the restaurant and thought you’d like to change into it later that night.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know. I figured you wanted to keep it private.”

“Well… that was very respectful of you,” he said, still completely baffled. Though, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Brooklynne had always been very different.

“Can you uh… keep it down? I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry I woke you,” Sookie said.

Brooklynne said goodbye before she went back to bed, completely uncurious about Sam, maybe because she already knew what she needed to know. He was a shapeshifter, what else was there to say?

***

Sookie had kicked Sam out during the night, apparently angry that he hadn’t told her his biggest secret. Brooklynne couldn’t understand why, though she guessed it had something to do with pride.

“Did you know werewolves are real?” Sookie asked as she was venting at her sister during breakfast.

No, Brooklynne didn’t know that, but Sookie didn’t give her time to answer as she kept blabbering.

“I mean… you think you know someone,” she finally said with a sigh as she let herself fall on a chair. “And now I’m gonna be late,” she said as she looked at her watch.

“Could you tell Arlene…”

“Thanks for the invite, sorry you couldn’t come, yes I will,” she said before she left the house.

Arlene’s engagement party was today, and Sam had agreed to host it at the bar. Sookie and other friends of Arlene’s were expected to get the restaurant ready for tonight. Brooklynne was always invited to parties like this one, but she never went. She figured it was out of politeness that they kept inviting her and she hoped they didn’t think that it was out of rudeness that she never went.

Brooklynne was already sleeping when Sookie came back home later that night. But she wasn’t alone. At first, she thought she had invited Sam to apologize for kicking him out the previous night, but then she realized as she listened that Sookie had been attacked at the party. She walked down the stairs in her pajamas and joined them in the living room where Sookie was getting the couch ready for him.

“What happened?”

Sookie’s first instincts were to lie but she thought better of it when she remembered her sister couldn’t be lied to.

“Someone tried to kill me at the party,” she said as she sat down on the couch next to the shapeshifter. “But I’m fine. Thanks to Sam.”

“The same person who killed Gran?”

“I think so.”

“Did you call Jason?”

“He’s not answering.”

Brooklynne sighed. She was worried for her big brother, but right now, she was more worried for her sister who had just almost died.

“Go back to bed, Brooke. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“And don’t be worried,” Sam told them. “No one’s entering this house as long as I’m here.”

***

The following morning, Brooklynne joined Sookie and Sam in the kitchen. Her sister had barely slept. Sam was eating the eggs she had made for him while she had her nose inside the yellow pages.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said as her sister sat down with them, “I am sick and tired of waiting around to get strangled.”

“Well, it’s not gonna happen while I’m here,” Sam told her.

“You can’t spend twenty-four hours a day with me for the rest of my life,” she chuckled.

“Sure I can,” he said, and he was only half joking.

“I wanna find that guy before he finds me again.”

“So, you’re looking up killers in the yellow pages?” he asked, making Brooklynne laugh.

“Ha-ha, no,” Sookie rolled her eyes. “I remembered. In my sleep, I remembered. The girl I saw in the killer’s mind, her clothes, the apron, it was a uniform. She was a waitress and there was a tag. Her name was Cindy. And the restaurant’s name was something about pies. Party pies or Patty Pies.”

“Wait, you mean Big Patty’s Pie House?” Sam asked.

“Yes!”

“Well, yeah, I know Big Patty’s. It’s off I-49, a ways south, near Bunkie.”

Sookie nodded enthusiastically. “Great! You… you don’t have to come with me,” she chuckled. “Brooke and I can go ourselves.”

Brooklynne raised an eyebrow, unaware she’d have to go anywhere, but ultimately wouldn’t complain about it. She rarely got to leave the house.

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Come on, eat up, you need your fuel.”

***

“No, ma’am, no, sir. I don’t know any Cindy,” the waitress from the pie restaurant told them. “But I can recommend the fried apple pie, the frozen Hawaiian pie…” she proceeded to tell them all the pies on the menu. Brooklynne was already having a headache just by listening to her talk.

“They’ll have the peanut butter pie and the Spunky Hollow honey pineapple pie. Please, Harley,” an old black man said from where he was sitting at the counter.

“Gotcha, Buster,” she said before she went to the kitchen.

“We will?” Sam asked the old man.

“You won’t get nothing from her,” he explained. “She’s only been here two weeks. Comes from three generations of dumb as rocks,” he chuckled. “Hell, they named her after a motorcycle. If you wanna know anything about Cindy Marshall, I’ll talk to you. And I’ll eat that pie too,” he winked at them. “Buster Boisseau,” he introduced himself as they sat beside him.

“Sookie and Brooklynne Stackhouse, Sam Merlotte,” she introduced them. “You knew Cindy?”

“Mmh,” he nodded. “A little bit. Let’s see. I met her two years ago. She moved into town with her brother, a couple of months before…” he paused.

“Before what?” Sam asked.

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but somebody murdered that little gal. Just choked the life right out of her.”

“Poor thing,” Sookie said. “Did they find out who did it?”

“Nope. It’s a mystery.”

“Where’s her brother? Could we talk to him?”

“Don’t know how. He was gone by the time they found her body. The police thought maybe he’s dead too, or maybe he killed her. But there wasn’t no evidence one way or the other.”

“What was his name?” Sam asked.

“Let me think on that… Nobody hardly knew him. Let’s see. D something. Dave? Drew? No, Drew. Drew Marshall.”

“What was Cindy like?” Sookie asked.

“Oh, cute as a button, a little wild, fun-loving, always nice to me,” he said with a smile as he remembered her fondly, “but people talked, you know.”

“Talked about what?”

“Vampers. They say she was carrying on with the vampers. I didn’t believe her. I mean, what kind of a woman would do such a thing?”

Sam immediately put a hand on Sookie’s shoulder as if she’d hurt the old man, and from what Brooke could hear, her sister was trying very hard to stay polite. “Well, thank you for your time,” he said.

“Hey, Harley, this isn’t what I ordered,” the man called the waitress as he got up to bring his pie back.

“Well, at least we have a name,” Sookie said. “What now?”

“We go to the police station. Ask them a picture of Drew Marshall.”

“They won’t give it to use.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Brooke said. “They’ll give it to us.”

***

There was no one at the reception inside the small station. And from what Brooke could tell, there was no one, period. Beside one officer who was too busy planning on cheating on his wife than to do his actual job.

“Can’t call it adultery if a wife won’t have sex. At least Debbie’s a Christian.”

“Hello?” Sam called for the second time.

“Yeah?” the officer finally replied, making his way to them.

“Hello, officer,” Sookie smiled at him. “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you,” she said as she put her hair up in a ponytail.

“Are those vampire bites?” he asked as he saw the marks on her arm.

“Uh,” Sam said. “With all due respect, sir, that’s none of your business.”

“Sir, we’re looking for information…”

“Well, that’s what the library’s for,” he cut her off.

“Wait a minute. She hasn’t even asked you nothing yet! It’s about Cindy Marshall’s murder.”

“What about it?”

“Well, there have been murders like hers in Renard Parish. Bon Temps, to be exact. Hadn’t you heard?”

“Can’t say.”

“She had a brother. Drew, I was told.”

“Could be,” the officer shrugged.

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“What for? We don’t know he did it. More likely a vampire.”

“I don’t mean to tell you your business, but a vampire wouldn’t kill by strangulation.”

“Well, I guess you’d know. Good riddance to white trash is all I got to say.”

“Buddy, you’re out of line,” Sam started to lose his patience.

“He can say whatever he wants. It doesn’t bother me a bit.”

“Alright, okay,” Brooklynne sighed, tired of listening to his nasty thoughts about her sister. She stepped between Sookie and Sam and leaned over the counter. “Hi,” she smiled at the officer. “You really like vampires, and you’re a huge supporter of theirs. In fact, you want them to have the exact same rights as you do. And now, you really want to help us.”

“Brooke, what are you doing?” Sam asked.

Sookie shushed him.

“Of course,” the officer smiled back at them. “Of course, how can I help you?”

“We need a picture of Drew Marshall. It would really help us,” Sookie answered.

“Oh, I’m afraid that file is in storage. It’s gonna take a while to get it. And, there are protocols. I can’t just give it to you. What I might do is fax it on down to the sheriff in Bon Temps.”

“Great,” Sookie smiled. “That’s all we ask. Thank you so much for your cooperation.”

Brooklynne turned toward the shapeshifter, knowing he was wondering how she did that, wondering if she had ever done that to him.

“See? I told you he’d give it to us.”

***

The night had fallen while they were on their way back to Bon Temps. Brooklynne was exhausted, she wasn’t used to being outside. She was half asleep in the back seats of Sam’s truck when he parked in the driveway. Sookie wanted to wake her up but Sam stopped her. He scooped her up into his arms and brought her to her bedroom where he laid her down on her bed.

She woke up an hour later, however, when Bill burst into the house. She heard in her sister and Sam’s minds that the two men got into a fight over Sookie after the vampire caught the shapeshifter kissing his girlfriend.

“Get out!” she heard her sister shout. “I rescind your invitation.”

Bill begged her to reconsider but she slammed the door in his face. She then argued with Sam, whom, for some reason Brooke knew but would never understand, chose to stay, and sleep on their couch, to protect the girl he knew deep down would never love him back.

**********

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @colie87

[charity-angel]

At the risk of tempting the universe/PTB to throw anything more at me, a brief summary of my weekend (with added background info that I bought my first house 2 months ago):

Saturday morning, arse o’clock: text from my mother saying she is sending my dad over and are there any jobs that need doing?

Yes, quite a few. Chief of which is I want to trace whatever fault means that half1 the spotlights in my kitchen aren’t working.2

Slightly later Saturday, more reasonable time: Dad arrives. Decides that since weather is nice, he's going to repair my back gate. Fair enough - it wasn't on my list, but it will mean I can actually open it whenever I need to rather than wrestling with it.

While helping him: Spot something that annoys me, and I have purchased the means to fix but not got around to actually doing it. The security light comes on no matter what time of day it is. It is currently broad daylight. Decide to amend this. Venture into basement, turn electricity off. Arm self with screwdrivers. Prepare to install switch rather than popping fuse out of wall all the time3.

Bit of swearing later: Fuse panel is off wall, but there is something going on outside. Venture out to find a guy out cold in the street running behind the terrace, with two teenage girls speaking to the 999 operator. As I kneel beside him to try and assess, he starts to come round - enough to say he doesn't want an ambulance. I try to get girls to not relay this to the operator, but they do and it's cancelled. He is CLEARLY still out of it. They hang up, go on their way, and he promptly passes out again.

Remind self of how to put someone into the recovery position. Lament that last time I did this it was a conscious, skinny PGCE student in her early twenties, and this is a grown-ass man who is not surreptitiously helping with the rolling over. I also can't get his hand under his head, so I hold his head up myself instead, while my dad finally decides I've been a while and rings 999 back4.

Takes them a while to get there. I think the call timer is over 20 mins. My back is in spasms, my left leg is going numb and pins & needles-y. The guy has vomited three times (thank fuck I rolled him). Paramedics manage to bring him round a bit - enough to get him to confess he's on methodone.

Ow, fucking ow: Have to go back to doing the electrical work, since the power is off and my dad now needs to charge the drill. Set about attaching the cables to the right bits. Discover that the cabling is too short to reach one of the terminals on the new switch. Fuck. Re-install fuse plate. Turn power back on. Thank whoever is listening that I don't seem to have screwed anything up.

Saturday, 2:45: Lunch. I have frozen bread, and a shit-load of eggs. Scrambled eggs on toast it is.

Maybe 3:15?: Dad sets about re-seating curtain pole in the spare room, with decent rawlplugs so that it will take the weight of the curtain my mum is making for it.

Not long later: That's done with minimal fuss5. Dad muses that could do with putting the rail back on the stairs6.

Couple of minutes later: Persuade him that could actually do with lifting the floor since I'd quite like to be able to see in the kitchen after nightfall, whereas the handrail is a minor inconvenience. We begin.

At this point, it is worth noting that I had tried this myself on Thursday evening only to discover the floor appears to be chipboard rather than floorboards. Also it is worth noting that the carpet was laid and then the skirting boards put down over it.

Half an hour later?: Free enough of the carpet to realise that the bed needs to be moved. And by moved, I mean effectively dismantled.

Another hour?: Bed semi-dismantled and on its side7, room totally rearranged. More skirting boards unscrewed, silicon sealant peeled from the walls, skirtings removed8, carpet screws removed, carpet rolled up as much as possible. We manage to prise one of the bits of chipboard up, only to realise that: a) the original floorboards are still mostly there underneath (although mostly not under this particular bit), and b) the majority of the fucking things have not only been screwed down over the floorboards, but also GLUED. I shit you not. Also that some of the boards extend underneath the plasterboard9 wall

We decide this is a bigger job than us and have to at least put the flooring back down and move things we had moved from there into my room back so I can at least get into bed. We decide not to do anything else as it will only need moving again.

Around 6pm: My poor dad heads home. I discover I have a stray text from my mum about half an hour earlier asking if he's still with me.

Not long later: Run bath. Pour self bowl of tesco's coco pops in lieu of meal I haven't got the spoons to cook.10

Ominous message from mother: She is coming over tomorrow to hang the curtain, and set the spare room right again.

Sunday, about 9am: Ow. Owowowowow. Break out the painkillers. Fuck. Browse AO3 for Rose/Ten fics since I have just binged their season and I have feels, okay?

11:30: Text from mother: she is heading over around 1: do I want anything picking up at the temperance bar since she is going?11

Around 12: Decide should get dressed. Painkillers doing their job. Get clean jeans since she is dragging me out for curtain hoops. I might not drive, but I at least know where I'm going.12

12:15: spot a big, ominous wet patch above my bedroom door that is just about to start dripping. FUCK!

Shove water cup under the impending drip, grab towel and slightly larger container, replace cup. Grab bigger container and head for loft access hatch.

Realise loft access is behind all this shit we moved around in the spare room yesterday. Double fuck. Set about moving it elsewhere so I can get in.

12:30:Ring Dad and ask if he can bring over his big set of stepladders as I suspect I probably could get myself into the attic space13, but would break my neck coming back down. Also I need a torch that is not my phone. He laments that Mum has taken the big car. I call her instead, get her to head home and stock up on essentials (ladders, torch, Dad). I decide to change into yesterday's scruffy jeans since this isn't likely to be a clean job.

About 1-1:15: They arrive, and my dad manoeuvres himself into the attic. This is impressive and just a lot of a dangerous move or two involved. It takes a second person (read: me), which means I have no chance of getting up there myself.

Issue is with the chimney stack and can't actually get a bucket under it. But by the light of my phone14 he can see multiple other issues. Although he does move a slate back into place so I can't see daylight between it and its next-door neighbour. Bless him.

2:15: decide to get some lunch and the curtain hoops. Head into town. Can't park15 Mum decides she isn't hungry, drops us at Costa (it's open, at least) and goes to get the hoops herself.

3-ish: Get back. Sort spare room so it is habitable. Because there is still a drip from my bedroom doorframe, so guess where I'm suddenly sleeping tonight. Hang curtain16.

4-ish: Decide to actually put the handrail back, so we can feel we've at least achieved something useful. This turns out to be a bigger job than anticipated because the fucking plaster keeps falling apart and the rawlplugs won't hold properly. And the ones that will, we don't have screws the right size for. I mean...

5:30-ish: Rail is up. They leave. I run bath as everything is ouch.

7-ish: Can no longer ignore fact that I can hear dripping in the bathroom. Get out while bath is still full to try and work out where the fuck it is coming from. Take side panel off bath17. Not obvious. The outlet pipe has drippy bits all along it. Can't get a container under it. Yay.

Shove microfibre cloth under just to try and contain dripping. Suspect the joint in the pipe where new plumbing has been connected to older is the issue, but seems to be from both bloody ends of the joint piece.

7:45-ish: Drain bath, turn shower on so can wash hair. Little later than anticipated - won't dry properly now18.

tl;dr: I hate my house and everything about it.

1. The half that are on the useful side of the kitchen. You know, where the sink and hob are. The ones that help me do things like cook and wash up after dark.

2. Spotlights embedded into ceilings are clearly one of Crowley's inventions.

3. I am not a qualified electrician, but I have studied electronics at school, been taught on the side by my engineer dad, and I know my limits. Do not do this yourself if you aren't absolutely sure of what you're looking at.

4. Can't do it myself as my battery is dead and, guess what - I've turned the electricity off so I can't charge it. And my landline is cordless, so that needs power too.

5. other than Dad not realising that my ceilings are a little lower than his and going 1 step too high on the ladder. Muppet.

6. I removed this about 2 days after I moved in because of the 4 brackets supposedly securing it to the wall, only 2 actually were. I was more liable to break my neck using it than not. It didn't take me long to realise that while removing it was a 1 woman job, putting it back required more hands. 4 more, as it transpires.

7. Dad manages to hit his head on one of the protruding legs of the bed. I swear...

8. Honestly. They were screwed to the wall and then silicon sealed along the top (and joining edges). The carpet was screwed to the floor under the boards.

9. Drywall, for anyone of an American disposition.

10. Ignore suspicious dripping sound. This turns out to be something of a mistake.

11. Fucking yes, I am almost out of all my cordials. Curse not living near it any more

12. Mostly. One-way systems are a touch tricky when you don't have to obey them. As are bus-only routes.

13. On later reflection, this is incredibly doubtful since I lack the upper body strength to haul myself several feet straight up.

14. Because they brought a curtain and cushions as well as the big stepladder, but not a torch.

15. Also not something I have to think about often.

16. Discover Mum and I have been talking cross-purposes as to which side of the window it is going on. Fortunately this is not a massive issue.

17. Inventory of the under-bath: 2 bags grout, 1 tub of paint, 1 jigsaw piece, 1 part of an old loo roll holder, about 50cm of 1cm diameter dowel, 1 electrical cable that is quite possibly live given that an attempt has been made to insulate it inside a plastic bag. What is not there is the wooden frame that should support the sides of the plastic bath.

18. There are many advantages to the care and maintenance of curly hair. Not being able to blow-dry it is NOT one of them. Not having to, otoh, is.

[fakeyellow]

They knew having a baby was going to be hard. They just didn’t realise it’d be this hard. 

Angsty Part 2 of Kamilah and pregnant!MC. Based on anon prompts. TW: miscarriage. Part 1 here. 

It starts off so well. They go to Adrian, and although he gives her the same talk on expectations that Kamilah had, he agrees to start the project in his labs. 

Due to the impossible nature of their desire, Ava is started on a treatment of various hormones in order to do a lot of her things to her body- There are a lot of words and scientific jargon thrown around but Ava doesn’t really care for the details other than the fact that they are going to have a baby. A beautiful, squishy baby with Kamilah’s eyes and her lips.

And then it happens.

The scientists successfully plant an embryo that is a perfect mix of Kamilah and Ava into Ava and all of a sudden, that beautiful squishy baby with Kamilah’s eyes and her lips is so near.

The first time they hear the baby’s heartbeat, Ava can’t stop beaming and even Kamilah seems awed at this proof that there is a living baby inside Ava. 

Ava finds it more cute than suffocating how overprotective of Ava Kamilah becomes, her hand always wrapped around her waist. 

Kamilah has lived for over two thousand years on this Earth but this, this is something she’s never experienced and it’s terrifying and thrilling all at the same time but she can’t imagine ever having loved someone more. She’s never not worried for Ava’s health but Ava always says she’s fine and places Kamilah’s hands on her belly and somehow that is always able to quiet her worries.

Kamilah often lies awake at night, spooning Ava and wondering if she’s allowed to be this happy after the life she’s led, the lives she’s killed. But if anyone tries to take this away from her, from Ava, she will end their lives with her own hands.

At 12 weeks, Ava has the smallest little bump, but it’s solid and it’s real and Ava can’t stop touching it reverentially. Neither can Kamilah.

They tell the others and Lily screams out in joy, jumping up and down as she hugs Ava. Kamilah monitors this and Jax is more controlled but he also expresses how happy he is for them. Even if he doesn’t quite understand how it’s possible.

Ava’s always going into the lab, being monitored and undergoing tests to make sure their miracle baby is doing well. She’s nauseous one day and even as Kamilah rubs her back soothingly at the toilet, Ava is ecstatic that this is yet another sign of their baby. She’s getting morning sickness, this means that their baby is getting bigger and stronger.

And then Ava wakes up one day and she’s still feeling a little sick so she goes to the bathroom. But she sees little spots of red on her underwear. 

She straightens and splashes some water on her face before stiffly going over to Kamilah who’s awake and waiting for her to get back in their bed.

“I don’t want to worry you,” Ava says and Kamilah’s face already shutters over, “But we should go to the lab.”

There’s a flurry of action in the small lab and Ava sits on the examination table, her arms hugging her baby protectively. Kamilah stands at her side, a warm and steady presence that helps Ava calm down just a little bit.

But they eventually come in to tell her that they’re so sorry but the ultrasound showed that there was no heartbeat anymore and they’re sorry but the fetus is gone and they’re sorry but they have to wait for her body to expel it on its own.

And Ava can only shake her head in denial because no, she can still feel the solid presence of their baby in her stomach. There’s no way their baby is dead. They heard its heartbeat just yesterday and it was so strong and there is no way that she was pregnant 24 hours ago but not anymore.

Kamilah’s face is unreadable but she embraces Ava fiercely and Ava still refuses to believe that this is real. 

“They have to be lying Kamilah, there’s no way our baby…” Ava shakes her head furiously into Kamilah’s chest before she finally bursts into tears. She hiccups and sobs and she can’t breathe amidst her cries for Kamilah and their baby but Kamilah doesn’t let go of her and they continue to clutch each other in that white, sterile room.

The first day after, Ava can’t stop crying and Kamilah checks them into a hotel room because their apartment is filled with too many reminders. For one of the first times in her long life, Kamilah is at a loss for what to do.

The second day and onwards, Ava stops crying and Kamilah almost wishes she’d cry again. Ava lies in bed, clutching her abdomen as cramps tear her apart from the inside out, expelling all of the evidence of their once-living baby, and she only gets up to put the bloody remains of her cramps into plastic baggies so the scientists can analyse it.

The bleeding lasts for two weeks but the small little bump remains for longer and Ava can’t stand looking down at herself, at her traitorous body that doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that there no longer is a baby inside it. 

Ava withdraws from Kamilah and Kamilah can only watch as the woman she loves wastes away. They sleep on opposite sides of the bed, Kamilah staring at Ava’s curved back. But Ava can’t stand anyone’s hands on her body right now. 

She doesn’t know what’s worse, that she doesn’t have a baby anymore or that she can’t stand being touched by Kamilah right now even as she misses her. 

They’ve faced so much together, from Vega to Gaius to Rheya, but Kamilah fears that this is what’ll make her lose Ava and the prospect of that is somehow more terrifying than anything she’s ever faced before.

Once a month has passed with this strange distance between them, Ava declares that she wants to try again. Kamilah keeps her reservations to herself and accompanies Ava to the lab.

They put Ava on a strict regimen of four shots every day, one on her thigh, one on her stomach, and two on her butt. Although Ava is the one scared of needles, Kamilah is the one to balk at the number of shots, but Ava resolutely agrees to it.

At first, Kamilah is the one who administers the shots because this is the only way Ava lets Kamilah near her.

But weeks pass and it’s like nothing has changed since before Ava first brought up the idea of having a baby. Her body is stubbornly normal, her stomach flat, and Ava is filled with a greater sense of desperation.

This desperation is what causes her to go to the lab one day, when Kamilah’s at work. She asks the scientists if there are any experimental drugs they’re testing because she’ll take anything if it’ll give her even a slightly better chance at having a baby.

They’re hesitant but eventually, she breaks them down, and they give her a set of highly temperamental drugs that they warn is likely to cause a lot of side effects. If she ever passes out, they tell her to stop immediately. She dutifully nods but she has no intention of stopping.

She stops the daily 4 shot regimen in lieu of the riskier treatment but Kamilah is just happy that Ava seems to have stopped killing herself in order to have a baby. 

Ava feels selfishly grateful that she and Kamilah have stopped sleeping together because her body is perpetually bruised and tender from the experimental treatment. She feels guilty about actively deceiving Kamilah but the thought of their baby, their beautiful, squishy baby keeps her going forward. 

She learns to hide her symptoms from Kamilah, sending her lover off on menial tasks that she insists only Kamilah can do, and using that time to hurriedly vomit and clean herself up. She learns to hold in her gasps of pain whenever she brushes against tables and doors.

Ava looks at herself in the mirror one day and is surprised at how fast she seems to have aged. Even though her dream is to have a round belly, Ava doesn’t think she’s ever been skinnier and unhealthier looking than she is right now. 

She looks gaunt and haggard, her collarbones jutting out from her skin and the skin under her eyes dark. Veins protrude from the hands that grasp onto the bathroom counter and Ava keeps reminding herself of that beautiful, beautiful baby that will come at the end of all of this. She pats on a thick layer of makeup and puts on a loose sweater, pasting a smile on her face.

Then she starts blacking out. They start slowly at first and thankfully, during times Kamilah is at work. Ava begins to wake up on the floor, her head and back aching from their impact with the ground, and she learns to tell the signs that she’s going to be passing out. 

But of course she can’t hide forever, and Ava’s unable to get Kamilah away when the grey spots suddenly appear and consume her entire field of vision faster than they ever have before. 

When she comes to, she’s in her bed and Kamilah is looking grimly over her, the corners of her mouth firmly downturned. Ava slowly raises herself into a sitting position but even that is too fast, and Kamilah reaches out to stabilise her when she sways. 

“You need to stop.”

And then erupts one of the most vicious fights they’ve ever had in their years together.

“No,” Ava says stubbornly, her gaze focused on her lap.

“Ava,” Kamilah cries out in frustration before composing herself and sitting back at Ava’s side, “Were you ever going to tell me you were still trying?”

The hurt is palpable in Kamilah’s voice and this is what finally gets to Ava, making her wince. 

“I was going to tell you once it worked.”

“How long have you been passing out?” Kamilah asks but Ava remains silent, nervously fiddling with her fingers. Kamilah repeats herself and Ava quietly answers.

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks,” Kamilah echoes, running a hand through her hair in shock before her face turns resolute.

“That’s it. You’re stopping now. I won’t see you killing yourself over something that was impossible to begin with.”

Ava’s head jerks up at this and she glares at her lover, “So you’re just going to give up on our baby? Just like that?”

“I love you Ava. I won’t lose you for a groundless dream. You are all I need,” Kamilah says firmly, placing a hand on Ava’s cheek so they are looking right into each other. 

Ava’s eyes begin to water for the first time in months and she shakes her head furiously, “Stop that. Stop lying. I know you haven’t forgiven me for losing our baby.”

“What?” Kamilah is momentarily speechless but she quickly recovers because that is not what Ava needs right now. She tenderly wipes away a tear from the corner of Ava’s eye before speaking slowly and carefully, “What happened was a tragedy. But it was not your fault.”

Ava’s face crumples at this and now the tears run freely as she whimpers out, “How can it not be?”

“It was our baby in my body but I wasn’t able to protect it. I lost our baby, I-I couldn’t protect it, I wasn’t strong enough… our baby, Kamilah, our baby.”

Kamilah tightly embraces her and Ava breaks down in a way she hasn’t let herself, her weak frame shuddering with inconsolable sobs. She feels wet drops fall on her shoulder and she realises that there are also tears running down Kamilah’s face.

“You are strong. You are brave. You are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met and we will get through this together.”

“I promise.”

A/N: That’s the second fic I’ve ended with the words “I promise,” but I couldn’t think of anything else.

Anyway, this was a really heavy topic to write about and I can only hope I haven’t trivialised it or offended anyone. This isn’t an area I have any experience in so I drew from a variety of sources.