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gretavanlace · 8 months

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Sugar II (part 2)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, angst, Josh is perfect, angst, also maybe some angst

I’m so happy that you are all enjoying Sugar 2.0 as much as I am! I’ve missed this little world so much and it just makes me smile to know that you missed it too ❤️

Curled up into a tight ball under hotel room sheets, your mascara smudges across and stains the bleach-white pillowcases. And you might feel a little guilty about that if you could form a halfway coherent thought.

You’d expected a coworker, also dragged into town for this god forsaken conference, when you’d heard your name skittering across the marbled lobby floors. Turning to find Daniel, dripping in Greek God beauty and memories, had stolen the air from your lungs.

Quite literally, you had found it impossible to breathe for a few panicky moments as your eyes darted around in search of those that might be tagging along with him.

The warm, nostalgic feeling of stumbling across an old, dear friend had been overshadowed and twisted by fear…and a horrible, throbbing sadness; there was a time when this was your life…the last time anything had made any sense.

The overwhelming urge to sob in his arms had left you aching when he’d pulled you in for a bear hug. Somehow, his being so near had made home feel that much further away.

Take me to him. You’d wanted to beg Danny, clinging to his sturdy frame.

Now, you just want to run. To pack up your things in a hurry and flee the building as if it were engulfed in flames. You wish you were shoving your bag into an overhead compartment on a plane bound for anywhere that isn’t here.

This is too close. They are too close.

Three years it’s been, and he is still the first thing that weighs like sand on your mind when your eyes blink open in the morning…and your very last thought before they drift closed at night.

Has it really been three years? It doesn’t seem possible.

You think of Josh, too. Of course you do. But it is with a distant fondness for what you had. He is a pretty memory. A good memory. One you can recall easily, and with wistful affection. You can speak of him readily, with gentle sentiment. It was a great thing you had, and now it is no longer. Simple.

Jake.

You try so hard not to think of Jake, but he’s there all the time anyway. Cozied up inside your head like he owns the place, no matter how many times you’ve ordered him to vacate. He always was stubborn, and his memory has proven no different. There is a hole in your soul shaped exactly like him. Hardly a blip of light in your eyes; you left most of it there with him all those moons ago.

You could so easily satiate your searing need in some minuscule manner, via YouTube interviews, balcony seats at shows where you would stand no chance of being spotted. The wails of his guitar could pour from your speakers and right into your chest whenever it feels too hollow. You could fall asleep to samplings of his velveteen voice, rasping answers to questions floated from radio hosts and devour written pieces where he speaks so eloquently and with such reverence about his craft…

You could, but you don’t.

You do none of these things. It simply cuts too deeply.

Early on, you did. Tortured yourself as you sobbed and cried out in the night like a homesick child. Yes, in those early days, you’d punished your fractured heart and yearning mind with pain; sunk your teeth into and gnashed them together, fearful of letting go.

But you’ve found your way. Tripped clumsily along, patching together a new normal slowly. The diamond that rests upon your ring finger reminds you of that…and you feel sick with self loathing. Weeping in this strange bed over what used to be, while he waits at home for you, happily watering your plants and tending to the household chores. Loving you from a distance.

He sends you texts just to say he loves you, and so you’ll know you’re on his mind. To ask if you’d like him to pick up anything from the store so you won’t have to worry about it when you return home. To remind you that he adores you in a hundred little ways.

…and here you lie, in a bed that isn’t the one you share with him, chest caving in around your heart, squeezed up tight and longing for Jake.

Jake, Jake, Jake…always Jake. Why won’t he go away?

A knock, swift and sure, startles you out of your misery with a jolt.

You don’t plan to answer, that’s a given…you’re a mess, complete with a blotchy, tear streaked face, and swollen eyes…so you’re silent as you creep over to the door to have a peek through the peephole.

He looks angelic, waiting out there in the hall nervously fidgeting. His curls look like home and your fingers itch to touch them, innocently. Almost the same, and so different all at once, now closely clipped at the sides. He looks reminiscent of his younger self. A little like the Josh you’ve only ever known through pictures; the Josh before he swept into your life like a tornado of light and smiles. He always was so beautiful. So offbeat. So eclectically mishmashed together and esoteric.

It’s like spotting a twin flame that you never expected to see again. Like the dead has risen…

…and before you’re consciously aware of your actions, you’re sliding the lock and cracking open the door.

“Hello, sweet girl.” His voice is soothing, and weighed down heavy as it slams into your head and scrambles your brain.

“Josh,” is all you’re able to manage, stupidly.

“As beautiful as ever, mama.” He smiles, flashing that tiny gap in his teeth that used to make you weak.

“Now, listen,” he holds a hand up and then shoes away whatever notion he’s about to bring up, “Don’t you hold this against our dear Daniel…I know you didn’t want to see us,” he lowers his voice into a conspiring whisper, “but you should know, he’s become a terrible tattletale in your absence.”

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact that you’ve left him standing in the hall like an unwelcome stranger. Against your better judgment, you invite him in.

He’s careful not to touch you, mindful of overstepping in a way that’s so out of character for him it makes you feel unsteady.

“You really do look lovely, sweetheart.” He smiles, “A vision. I’ve missed you, my friend. I’ve missed you very much.”

‘My friend’ stings a little at first, but within a blink, it settles and feels right - you were always friends. Friends before it became love, friends while it was love…

The Josh you knew possessed a great many talents, and quick adaptability was listed among them. He allowed the fickle winds of life to toss him about like no one you’d ever known, and had an ever present and uncannily firm grasp on relationships, and an admiration for how they can shift and morph.

He also always was a cool liar when it was for the greater good. Some things clearly never change.

Nervously, you sweep a hand through your hair and blot your eyes with the backs of your hands, “Lovely my ass…c’mere.”

With little reservation, you tug him in close and fold your arms around him. An unexpected huff of a laugh escapes you when you feel his familiar warmth.

He hugs you back, long and hard, with a soft, “Hi, baby, hi.”

“How’d you find me, you stalker?” You joke tenderly as he sways your bodies back and forth. “I didn’t give Danny my room number.”

That chuckle of his that you’d buried in the past trots out to say hello, “A trip to the front desk was all it took. Have you forgotten the Kiszka charm so easily?”

“Uh-huh,” you roll your eyes, though you’re still wrapped up tightly together and he cannot see.

“Okay,” he concedes “the Kiszka charm and maybe a hundred tucked into a hand or two.”

How strange that you had begged Danny not to tell him; his embrace is blissful and you’ve missed him terribly.

Still, there is a phantom in the room with the two of you, and you know without a doubt that he feels it too.

When he pulls back, his hands slip down your arms to clasp around yours…and he sees it.

“Oh my, mama,” he tugs it up closer for inspection, “would you look at that. Going to the chapel, huh?”

“I—“ for some unknown reason, you pull your hand away and tuck it behind your back as though you’ve been caught in a shameful act.

He tilts his head, regarding you carefully “Can we sit?”

With a welcoming gesture, you usher him in further, and like the gentleman he’s always been, he opts for the chair and doesn’t mention the disheveled bed, or its wept upon pillows.

After you settle in respectively, there’s a long stretch of silence in which you both seem to just sort of sink into being in the same room together again. Finally, he breaks the ice.

“He can’t know you’re here. It won’t be like this,” he waves a finger back and forth between the two of you, indicating the ease in which you’ve reunited.

A choked sob threatens to breach your lips at the mere mention of him, and your hand darts up to press it back.

“And he certainly can’t know about that.” Josh points to your ring winking obnoxiously in the light.

“Of course,” you nod rapidly, blinking tears back. “Yes, of course not…but, is he…” falling silent, your gaze lands on your bare toes and stays there.

“Is he, what?” Josh’s voice is kind, and you are so grateful for it. “Okay? No, sweetheart. He’s very far from okay. I should lie for him, I know I should. He’s my brother…I should tell you he’s happy. Happier than he’s ever been.”

“Will you?” There is a desperate hope in your plea that makes you cringe inwardly. “Will you tell me he’s happy?”

His eyes, so like his twins, and so full of sorrow, watch you for such a long time you begin to squirm this way and that in your seat. “Sit still, mama…” he finally scolds with the tiniest wink to soothe your anxiety, “he’s happy. He’s fine. But best if you just steer clear, alright?”

“So he’s happy? Or you should lie, Josh? Which is it?” Why are you asking? You don’t want to know. It’s infinitely easier to swallow the lie. You can’t stand the thought of Jake broken still and riddled with the pain you know so well.

With a sigh, he avoids your gaze. “You know the answer to that already, it seems. Are you?” His eyes flick towards your engagement ring, “Happy, I mean? Are you?”

Now it’s your turn to lie, “Yes. Very.”

He nods, and then glances at the mascara glaring from your pillows like evidence at trial. “Yes, it would seem so.”

“Josh, I—“

“Look,” he cuts you off, stressing with urgency. “We’re only here for the night. Lay low if you can. He’s bad off, and to see you would level him. To see you with that,” he once again points out your ring, “Would kill him. You leaving…”

A shaking breath rattles his shoulders, “It wasn’t easy for either of us, but Jake? Jake is still in that hotel room you walked out of a thousand nights ago. He never left, sweet girl. He never fucking left…and as much as I know that it’s not your fault…”

He trails off in thought and then drags in a hitching hiss of air, “As much as I know it isn’t either of our faults, I still place all that blame right here, with you and me. I can’t watch him descend any further, alright? So just lay low until we’re gone. For me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a thousand questions beating like bird’s wings against the cage of your mind, “Yes, of course.”

Another lull slips in to visit until he shakes his head slowly, “How did I ever manage to get over you? You truly are beautiful. I’d almost forgotten…that’s heartbreaking.”

There is an innocuous lilt to his tone that warms your soul like cocoa with the fattest marshmallow bobbing along in the mug, and you feel your cheeks turn pink under his open, golden gaze.

“Me?” You laugh, “What about you, gorgeous? I love the hair.”

“Oh, you know,” he brushes his palms over the sides with a bashful shrug, “I let Sam trim it, scissors slipped…had to do something.”

“Still blaming Sam for all of life’s tragedies?” You laugh again. You always did laugh so freely with him, and you’ve missed it more than you ever allowed yourself to realize.

He scoffs with the faintest roll of his sparkling eyes “Obviously. That’s what the youngest is for, mama. You know this. And speaking of Samuel, you understand that Daniel will tell him, right? Those two might as well just get married and call it a day.”

Another giggle sounds out of you, “Don’t be jealous, Joshua. It’s unbecoming. Danny loves you, too…and Sammy I would say definitely considers you a solid acquaintance.”

“Yes, well, my acquaintance would be thoroughly crushed if he didn’t get the chance to at least say hello to you. Maybe later tonight? After the show?” He leans forward and toys with the beads swinging between his knees. “How would that be?”

“Only Sammy?”

He holds up two fingers, scout’s honor, “Only Sammy.”

You agree, and catch up a while longer until it’s time for him to take his leave, and you can’t help the confession that blurts out of your mouth without eloquence.

“You said he never left that hotel room,” you waver with bitten back tears. “It wasn’t…I don’t want you to think…it took me a very long time to leave that room, too.”

One last time, before the door closes behind him, his eyes linger on your pillow and the evidence of your tears, and then find yours, “Sweetheart, are you sure you’ve left it at all?”

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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Falling Down to Earth (Part Two)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 7.3k Tags: Slow Burn, Heavy Angst, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity Warnings: Discussions of childhood verbal abuse A/N: Fix was originally written as a reader insert, and has since graduated into something more of an OC. Her series with Ghost is written in second person POV, but many aspects of her character remain complex and dependent on the lore I've created for her. This chapter details her past, and in doing so details childhood trauma and verbal abuse. Please mind the tags and read at your own discretion.

In the weeks that follow, the wind carries you in your descent down to Earth.

There's a peace, a tranquility to Laswell's home that feels wholly unfamiliar to you. Nestled in a quiet, unassuming suburb, you wake just after dawn to the sounds of birdsong and leaf blowers, of dog walkers and parents hustling children into cars on their way to school. The scent of arabica coffee wafts from downstairs in the kitchen, and with it comes the memory of Ethiopia, of the moss green and sandy highlands that peeked beyond the flap of your medical tent. You journey back there behind fluttering eyelashes, remember the aching loneliness that even now sits hollow inside your heart, and once more recall the dusty wind as your only friend.

You keep Paula and Kate's company, but even there it feels like a piece of you is missing. You've long since stopped trying to recall the voices of the 141, feeling the healing wound in your side ache fiercely every time the memory of their faces flashes in your thoughts. You press it down just like you do with all things, compress it down into your marrow no matter how much it hurts, and think perhaps the fractures it gives you will heal into something stronger. You hide the ache behind your vain attempts at a smile, and you feel a flutter of alarm in the cast of concern behind the gazes of Kate and Paula as if they know.

Nobody can know. If they see, if they know...

You shove away the thought before you can finish. Each time it is summoned you try desperately to revoke it, to keep your hands busy so as to distract you from the tumult of your thoughts.

The first week at Kate's is spent memorizing the routines of the two women, of trying to find ways to make yourself useful. Paula chases you from the kitchen more than once when you offer to cook, relegating you instead to chop vegetables or wash dishes. So you try other ways to earn your keep. You take Whiskey on long winding walks until he tugs in the direction of home. You repair the ice maker, you find the issue with the vacuum chord, you fix the flickering light in the basement.

"I see why they call you 'Fix'." Paula remarks to you, and you offer a faint smile, unsure how to say the thing that weighs heavy on your heart. That you need to do this, you need to do this so you can stay.

By the end of the second week you have exhausted all available opportunities within the house and take it upon yourself to busy your mind with the studies you neglected during your off-days with your team. Old lessons of Arabic and Russian are refreshed in your brain, and Kate finds herself a welcome conversation partner at dinner, much to the mild annoyance of Paula, who fails to discern the language between you two. Kate smiles in offering small corrections to your syntax and pronunciation, supplying the words that make your brow furrow in concentration.

"No Russian." Paula chastises her wife, pointedly gesturing at her with a salad fork, and Kate relents with a chuckle.

Yet when you ask Kate for materials, for reports in Russian that you can read and decode in helping with intelligence for the Taskforce, Kate only levies a grimace with a distant, sad concern underneath.

"Not yet Fix." She tells you softly, and you don't stop falling, trying to navigate this dimension in which you aren't useful to them, in which you can’t prove yourself so they’ll keep you a little longer.

Yet it seems the more you pre-occupy yourself, the more worry festers behind the eyes of the two women who have taken you in. You can't understand it, fail to comprehend the anxiety you see when they look at you.

"Have you ever considered allowing yourself to take a break?" Your therapist asks you, in his cluttered office filled with plants and sunshine.

You stiffen in your chair, shoulders taut with energy you can't conceal, a gale brewing in your thoughts as your mind reels under the scrutiny.

You don't answer, but your silence speaks volumes.

"I have to prove myself." You write in your journal that night, lit by the dim glow of the desk light in the guest room. "I need to be better, to do better. I need to prove I can do it. If I fail here too, where else is there to go?"

Yet even as you write the words in rushed, slanted handwriting, you already know.

"I can't go back to them. To him. Not after what he did to me."

Memories of a different kind. Shiny black shoes and perfectly styled hair ribbons, mahogany desks and lace white napkins. Your crumpled school uniform and bandaged knuckles that sting almost as much as the sound of your father's infuriated, booming voice. It's wordless, the things he said to you long since carried away by the wind, but the imprint of them lays imprinted on your skin, upon the tremble of your hands as you grip the pen in your hand like a scalpel with which to dissect yourself.

It hurts.

You think, somewhere deep inside, it's always hurt.

Yet you've long since de-sensitized yourself to the pain, feeling it shred inside you like a cyclone ripping branches from the elm of your heartbeat and ignoring it so you hike up the mountain of expectations where you'll never see the zenith. You don't know how else to live, don't know a way to find the childhood of yourself before you changed into what you are now. You think you glimpse the figure of your younger self as you fall, see her pass through the clouds just as you do, hurtling down into an unknown future neither of you can predict. Just like the ever-changing tides of the ocean below, you can't find the wavering headwind to catch under your melting wings.

She reaches for you in your dreams, your younger self, a tiny outstretched hand as if she can save you from your rapid descent. You don't know what it means, but you can't resist the urge to reach back, try and embrace her as you so desperately wanted when you were both the same. There's a distant part of you that thinks perhaps if you hold her long enough, you can undo the scars that have never healed inside you. You think maybe you can save her.

The reminder of your own failure lays heavy against your side, stitches that crisscross over purpled flesh where the last of your infection fades away. You know the scar of it will keep just like all the others- a blemished history of failures that effaces your flesh.

It's the threat of being one more failure away from cataclysmic impact that drives you to wake early, to read Russian news over breakfast, to skim the news from the Middle East in the afternoon, to spend long hours at the Red Cross doing every manner of task they request of your honed medic skills. It's the same force that has you trying to run to the edges of the Earth and back just to say you can.

You wonder sometimes if it's enough, if it will ever be enough.

No matter how hard you try, to prove to Kate that there isn't a looming maw of despair and regret inside you, that she seems to see past your efforts anyways. She tries to tell you to rest, that you don't need to try as hard as you do. Yet all it does is make you panic, knowing her gray eyes can peer past your forced smiles and laughter, your achievements and your vain efforts to prove that you're fine. That everything is fine. It always has been. Why would it not be?

You tell your therapist just as much, from where he sits across from you. You web your fingers together on your lap, hide the tremble there with an easy, practiced smile, force your shoulders to relax as you maintain a poised air of perfect composure. You convey to him your achievements as of late, boast about your ability to understand the Russian newscasters and the Arabic of the woman at the Red Cross who delights in your knowledge of a familiar language. You tell him how you're valued by the other volunteers, that you are getting back down to your regular time on a 5k run, that you're doing fine. Better than fine. You're making the most of your time on your forced leave, you're ready to go back.

Your therapist looks unconvinced. He listens serenely, nods to what you are saying. Yet he doesn't speak. He lets the silence between you two weigh down, and it feels so much like the calm before the storm, the one where a thick veil of ocean thunderclouds rolls in your thoughts.

"How is this different from what brought you here?"

You blink, and all at once the air in the room seems to suck into nothingness, an abstract absence of noise and movement in which the only thing you feel is the pressing weight of his eyes upon you. Even so you smile carefully, ignore the way your breath catches in your chest and try to ask him what he means.

When he sighs, pulls his glasses to rub at his brow, you feel the familiar sensation of sinking pull you downwards. Down, and the chasm of the dark churning ocean yawns below, beneath the grey blanket of storm clouds you hurtle towards in an imminent doom.

"You were injured, and you started trying to rush your healing process, and in doing so injured yourself further." He elaborates, nodding to your almost healed injury at your side. "How is this different?"

You swallow, try not to taste the distant scent of sea salt on your tongue. The wind rushes in your ears along with the thrum of your heartbeat. It feels unstoppable, and once more you find yourself helpless to the sensation of freefall, trying to claw back up towards the sun.

"I'm not injured." You supply, careful to keep your voice composed, even, to not give a single indication of the doubt you harbor inside yourself. You know this routine. You’ve had to pass psych evaluations before. To stay composed, to not let the cracks inside you show, to not allow them a single modicum of doubt is how you’ll survive, how you’ve always survived, how you’ll continue to survive even as something inside you howls into the gale in a desperate bid for mercy.

He only shrugs. "I'm not talking about your injury." He tells you plainly. "I'm talking about the reason why you're here."

Your hands are shaking. He can see it. "I'm here because I was caught trying to hide an injury from my CO." You force yourself to say carefully, measuring your words.

"Why were you hiding it?" He presses, and you feel like you’ve been caught in wolf jaws, a sudden snap of teeth against your flesh. It makes panic flare inside you like a sunburst, and you try vainly to push it down as you always have, deep into those dark tidewaters that beckon to you. You’ll never rise out of it if you fall, you know that. You’ll sink, sink further still, weighed down by the burden of your failures, unable to see the sky you’ve fought so hard to reach.

“I was hiding it because I didn’t want them to see something that was my fault, something I could have taken care of myself.” You reply evenly, but it’s too late. He sees you, he sees you like they all do, is slowly peeling away the hardened shell of you to see the rotten interior you’re trying so desperately to hide.

“If you could have taken care of it yourself you wouldn’t be here.” He states, and you flinch. His voice has taken on a flinty sharpness, seizing upon your weaknesses and sending you into a doomed tailspin ever downwards.

“You needed help from your teammates, but you didn’t want to accept it because you wanted to prove you could do it on your own, even though it nearly cost you your life.”

“No-“ You try vainly, feeling your muscles tighten, begin to tremble. Caught in a sniper’s scope of your own design. It’s too late, you didn’t realize it was your own finger on the trigger.

“You did it because you don’t think you are enough despite them telling you so. They’ve already accepted you, and yet it isn’t enough, so you’re still trying to prove yourself even now, and in doing so only hurting yourself further.”

“T-that’s not-“ You can’t breathe. The wind has stolen the oxygen from your lungs. You can’t see the sky.

He pauses, looks at you. You’re shaking, ramrod straight in your chair, eyes wide and unseeing of anything except your inevitable descent. You can’t stop it, and the mere thought of the cataclysmic collision to come drops the floor out from under you, makes the walls close in, shifts the axis of the world so you no longer know where you are.

In the midst of it, you see them. It’s in the vision of the four men who have accepted you as one of their own that the man before you murmurs a final, devastating mystery you refuse to speak the heart of.

"Fix, who hurt you to make you this way?"

You’re on your feet before you can think twice about it, heart hammering and eyes unseeing. Adrenaline slinks sharply through your veins, alighting your nerve endings with a panic you forgot you knew how to feel. Your jacket is in your hand and you turn, breathing heavily and all but stumbling from the office before he can stop you.

He calls for you, but it’s lost to the gale.

“I see you. Just you.”

You can’t be seen. You can’t stand the feeling of being flayed open, of having your ribcage cracked just so someone can dig their hands into the blooming bouquet of chlorosis in which lays your still tender heart. To see you is to peer inside while you’re helpless, prone, unable to stop the discovery of the putrid thing that’s been festering inside of you for years. A hate so dark and deep it spans the globe in a watery grave. Your ocean is filled with misery, a tempest of failure you’ve tried desperately to avoid and yet seem to plummet through the clouds towards as the debris of your wax wings hangs suspended in the air around you.

They’re going to see. They’re all going to see, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

They’re going to see how much you hate yourself.

You stagger from the office and out of the building and into the eye of the hurricane. It’s mindless, the way your feet carry you, searching aimlessly for a destination you don’t know. You think somehow if you walk far enough you’ll arrive back to them, and manage to convince them through trembling shoulders and half-hearted smiles that you aren’t broken, that you can stay, that they don’t need to leave you behind yet.

Through the streets, even as the lampposts flicker on and the afternoon rush hour fades into a low hum of passing cars. People seem to dodge you, and even they seem to see the haunted look in your eyes, the way you’re walking to the end of the earth as if it will save you.

Eventually you find yourself amongst a small throng of people, and as you try to weave through them you instead find yourself pulled by the current. They tug you in the direction of somewhere inside, of music and the smell of cigarettes and clinking glasses. It feels familiar, like the pubs off-base you used to frequent with them, and yet it’s not there, too different. If you close your eyes, however, you think maybe you’re back there, that you’ll be beckoned over to the corner booth that seems to be exclusively for you and them.

Instead you find yourself perched on a bar, rasping your order for a heavy scotch that you finish under the eyes of the bartender before you order another just as quickly. It’s on your third that you force yourself to slow, see the perfectly cut ice cubes swirl amidst a cloud of amber as your senses fuzz to a distant din.

When was the last time you went drinking with them? It was before the campaign to Latin America, perhaps during that period of blissful late September in the Staffordshire countryside. You can still remember the taste of your outraged laughter when Soap hauled you into the air while sparring, with brawny arms fringed with coarse hair that tickled against your skin. You’d scuffled with him in the dirt, had felt the golden glow of camaraderie as Gaz and Price watched on with broad grins.

Then Ghost, who had lingered in the shade of the building you four were beside, had stared into your soul in that cursed way where you almost wanted him to see. Like a dark sorcerer, it’s always been Ghost who has been able to peer past your gaze and discern the things inside you desperately try to conceal. Yet he’s never once said anything on it, has simply observed in silence, as if waiting for you to stop yourself as you descend into the unfathomable depths.

You’re still thinking of him when there’s a figure out of the corner of your eyes that draws your attention. He saunters over towards the bar, catches your eyes and smiles but sits with a barstool between you both. Watching, waiting, curious.

He’s tall. Brown haired, a smattering of freckles across his nose that pinches just a bit when he smiles at your blatant staring. His hair is short at the sides, longer and curly on top in a way that drapes across his forehead. He looks like he’s come from work, a blue collared shirt tucked neatly into jeans, nice shoes perching on the rail of the barstool.

He has brown eyes. Almost rust colored. Almost like him.

He looks at you, and you realize he doesn’t see. He doesn’t see who you are, sees instead the pretty, lonely girl at the bar on her third scotch that’s quickly becoming watered down. He doesn’t see you the way Ghost does.

You smile then, tilt your head at him a little coyly, blinking slowly like a cat. Come closer.

He does. He’s drawn in, scoots over one seat and introduces himself as James. You almost tell him your call sign, and then you almost tell him your real name, before settling at last on an alias that makes him raise his eyebrows in consideration.

“It suits you.” He says, and you smile at that, at the idea that somehow you’re so invisible to him, that he has no idea of who you really are. He doesn’t know the things you’ve done, the people you’ve killed, the person you’re hiding inside. It’s a heady rush of power that leaves you grinning, drunk on scotch and this strange covertness you drape yourself in.

“So, what do you do?” He asks in classic D.C. fashion, in a city full of social climbers with keen eyes looking for allies.

“I work for the government.” You tell him, and fail to supply which secretive three letter agency that entails.

“…Doing what?” He inquires as you sip at watered down scotch. You shoot him a sly grin, a flutter of eyelashes that makes his eyes widen imperceptibly.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

He laughs at that, thinking it’s some sort of joke when it’s not, and presses no further.

He tells you he’s a political consultant, one of those sharply dressed men who wander Washington in search of esteemed politicians they can sell their services to. You wonder if he knows your brother, of the same breed of self-proclaimed big thinkers self-righteously destined for greatness. Maybe there’s a cabinet position in his distant future. You’re not sure if you’ll live to see it should you continue to be a soldier.

You offer fleeting conversation, but mostly you just listen to James regale you of his accolades, more than happy to ramble your ear off. He orders you a fourth scotch which you barely touch, not fond of the idea of being more inebriated than you already are. You watch him with a smile summoned only by the pleasant haze of liquor. It seems to encourage him. When he tells you a joke you laugh only because you know you should, watch the brightness of his eyes dance under the dim lights of the bar.

“You’re very mysterious.” He tells you, leaning closer.

“I’ve been told I’m very good at that.” You reply enigmatically.

He seems entranced by that, somehow, finds the vague apparition of you riveting. You relish it, the way he doesn’t really see you, in the way you want to be seen. Mystic, confident, beautiful, a thing to be lusted after and desired even though he knows he’ll never unravel the secrets inside you.

“I actually don’t live far from here.” James tells you a low, conspiratorial whisper, and you tilt your head in consideration. You shouldn’t. You’re tipsy and off balance, internally reeling from the things you can’t control. Yet the thought of not being alone, of forgetting everything just for an evening, is too tempting to refuse.

“Alone?” You ask silkily, and James’ eyes flick down to your lips before they dart back up to your piercing gaze.

“Yes.” He whispers breathlessly, caught in your spell. His hand bridges the gap between you, spreads across your thigh in a way that sends a sudden current of doubt through you. It burns brightly in the back of your thoughts, the way this suddenly seems to feel wrong. You push it down and instead force a little shiver at the touch, grinning coyly at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Want me to buy you dinner first?” He asks, and it’s strangely boyish, that. Almost endearing.

“I think scotch counts.” You supply, quick to imply your readiness to leave, to get on with this before you have second thoughts.

James seems to catch your meaning, and escorts you from the bar after you settle your tabs, a hand on the small of your back in a gesture that makes your shoulders tighten uncomfortably. It doesn’t take long to hail a taxi, and soon you’re in the back of a dark car with him leaning over towards you. You only half return his kiss when he offers it, feigning a pleased little noise that seems to encourage him as his tongue slips clumsily against yours.

“You like that?” He husks, and you don’t bother to answer, hand sliding up to his shoulder in a loose grip. He tastes like the bitter bite of tequila, tinted with lime, and again your mind floats back to Venezuela and the half open bottles of home brew that shattered under bullet fire. You remember the smell of the spider infested hideout in the jungle, of the thick humidity that blanketed over your senses like a sheen of warm sweat under the weight of your tactical gear.

You remember the trap door, the bullet lodged against your ribs, not being able to breathe, the fear on Gaz and Price’s face, the skeletal gloves that offered you onto the med-evac like handing a lamb to the altar.

You remember him. You remember his voice.

"You're only seeing me."

You pull back like you've been burned, nearly bite his lips in the process, feeling your eyes widen in horror as the truth of what you're doing pierces through you. This is wrong. It’s all terribly wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be drowning yourself like you’ve already fallen from the heavens.

“Stop the car.” You rasp hoarsely, your hand still on his collar in a vice-like grip, trying to anchor yourself futilely.

James looks at you, the shock on his face apparent for just a moment as the car passes under a streetlamp.

“Wait- what’s wrong?” He asks, caught off guard, and you don’t answer, mind running too fast, circling down into a tailspin. It’s too much, you’re drowning, you’re gasping-

“I can’t.” You try, voice cracking, unable to clarify any more. “I-I have to get home.”

James’ face flickers between confusion and disappointment. Yet his voice is gentle as he asks: “Are you okay? Was it something I did?”

You shake your head. No, no it wasn’t him. It’s you, it’s always been you. The taxi driver pulls over to the curb, and again James tries to press for answers you don’t have.

"I’m sorry, I can't do this." You tell him hurriedly as the taxi comes to a halt, gathering your jacket and things and swiftly reaching for the door.

“Wait-“ He tries, grabbing your wrist, and you’re ready to snarl at him like a defensive animal when you see the concern in his eyes. There’s a pause as he regards you, seems at last to see you for what you are.

“Take the taxi.” He tells you softly. “I’ll catch another one. Just…get home safe.”

You swallow, still tasting scotch in your mouth.

“Thank you.” You whisper, unsure of what else to say.

James nods, releases you, reaches for his door. He’s halfway out of the taxi when he turns back to you.

“Can I have your number?” He asks in a last-ditch attempt, and when you shake your head he looks down at his fancy business shoes and closes the door.

There’s silence for a few minutes before you murmur Laswell’s address to the taxi driver, who gives you a look of pity before he pulls away into the night.

The glow of streetlamps pass above. You somehow find it in yourself not to cry.

It’s shortly before 2am that the taxi pulls up on the quiet street where Laswell lives. The lights in the house are dark. You wonder if either of them called you when you weren’t home for dinner. Your phone is still turned off in your pocket, the messages unread.

You quietly thank the taxi driver, sidle up the steps and unlock the door as quietly as you can. The house is silent, and you’re sure both women are in bed as you turn towards the stairs-

“Fix.”

You flinch hard, not expecting to be caught, feeling so much like a teenager sneaking back in after breaking curfew. It would be comical if it weren’t for the even, passive inflection of Kate’s voice that sounds like disapproval.

You turn towards the sound, notice for the first time that the kitchen light is on over the barstools. Gently, you pad over to the doorway, and find Kate sitting upon one of them. Her hair is tied back, she’s wearing comfortable night clothes, and the sight itself is so strangely at war with the common image you recognize from her. Buttoned shirts and fitted slacks, utilitarian jackets and boots to match those of the team she oversees. There’s a glass of water beside her hand, and as you glance at the stool across from her you see an empty one just for you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs at your questioning gaze, and you both know it’s a lie you won’t call her on. “Come sit.”

You shouldn’t. You should go to bed, wake up in the morning and pretend this evening never happened, try to salvage the image of the person you try to be.

Yet Laswell’s gaze is not to be questioned, and you slide into the seat with averted eyes even as she pours you a glass. You fidget uncomfortably, trying to summon a myriad of explanations to excuse your midnight arrival. You wait for Kate to begin questioning you, to interrogate you as to your movements, but instead she stares passively down into her own glass, twirling the water for a few moments before speaking.

“They ask about you.”

You blink, excuses abruptly forgotten as your eyes dart up towards her. “What?”

“The boys, they ask about you.” She repeats quietly. “Every time I talk to them, they ask how you’re doing. They want to know how you’re doing.”

You’re stunned into silence, and when you don’t speak, Kate continues. “I tell them what I can, but I tell them they should really be asking you themselves.”

You frown, eyes softening with dismay. It’s been weeks since you left, and you’ve not heard a single message from them. You check every day, have nearly deleted your conversations with them in a mixture of despair and heartache. It weighs heavy inside you, their absence, and you yourself can’t find the courage to talk to them first, thinking perhaps they’d only reject you if you did.

“They…haven’t talked to me.” You whisper faintly, chest achingly hollow.

Kate meets your eyes then. The normal flinty sharpness of her gaze has softened into a soft, dove-grey stare. There’s sadness there, a touch of regret, and it festers in your still healing wound.

“I know.” She replies, and her shoulders drop. The gesture has a murmur of apprehension bubble inside you, muscles stiffening as you mentally bastion yourself against whatever terrible news she’s about to deliver. “I talked to Price today. I asked him why they haven’t reached out.”

They’re going to leave me. You think in growing panic, air growing short in your chest as Kate frowns into her glass. This is it. She’s telling me I’m off the taskforce.

“He said…he didn’t know if he had the right, after what happened.”

The wind changes direction once again. You look at Kate, stare at her in clear confusion. For once it’s her who avoids your gaze- Kate, the prophet, the soothsayer of your team, the one who divines the wind now refuses to look at you, and her face speaks of guilt.

“We failed you, Fix.” She whispers, voice faint. It’s the loudest sound you’ve ever heard.

“We all saw how you were struggling, we saw that you were fighting something we couldn’t see. We wanted to help, but you were so determined to do things on your own that we didn’t see how much it was hurting you.”

Kate sounds lost. She’s staring at a map she can’t conjure, trying to trace the paths between her grief and your own distant pain, feeling it flare inside her in turn. You’re unsteadied by it, by this sudden exposed vulnerability of a woman so unshakeable in her foundations you’ve stared at her with stars in your eyes since the moment you’d met.

“We should have been here for you, Fix. You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself.” She confesses at last, voice fragile in a way that you can’t understand. “I’m sorry.”

“No one fights alone.”

His words, from that time. When he has clasped you to him and prevented you from falling into frost. You’d clung to him in your rawness, burrowing into his warmth under the guise of hypothermia. He was doing it to keep you alive, or so you thought. An obligation as your comrade, as your superior to ensure you didn’t die. Now you see it was so much more than that.

He did it because he cared.

He cares. They all do. In your grief it wasn’t clear before, but now you feel the dark clouds you descend through part way to allow the glimmer of sunlight to show through. You grasp at it blindly, remember the sounds of their laughter, their smiles, the firm touches and playful jabs that fill the emptiness of your chest in which the dark wind howls. You’d felt it filled, in that moment where you’d burrowed yourself into Ghost’s chest, wondering if perhaps it was empty too. You’d fallen asleep in his embrace and had remembered at the edge of deliquium that all you’d ever wanted in your whole life was to just be held.

"Kate,” You breathe at last in a rapid whoosh of air that changes the headwind that howls in the emptiness inside you. “…there's something I need to tell you."

Kate sits before you silently, expectantly, and you don’t lift your head to look at her. Your hands rest on the glass tumbler, the warming ice water inside.

“My name…isn’t my real name.” You confess quietly, and despite how small your voice is it feels loud- louder than gunfire, than grenades, explosions, RPGs. “I changed it.”

Your hands grip tighter to the glass, brow scrunching in a distant ache as you go on. “I changed it because I didn’t want people to know who I was, who my family was. I didn’t want to bring them with me.”

A pause.

“…but it seems like they came with me anyways.”

You look up then, slowly, into the knotted brow and thinly pressed lips of Laswell. Her eyes are soft, sad in a way that feels foreign and yet so welcome.

“My father. He’s a senator. He has been ever since I was in high school. He’s on the Armed Services committee. You might have even met him.” You don’t say his name, still afraid to even admit that small truth- the fact that you once called that man father.

Laswell is quiet for a long time, as if processing the information you’ve given her. She seems to be weighing it heavily inside her, finding the thing that needs to be said. Her fingers tap every few beats against her glass before she finally speaks.

“I knew.” She sighs at last.

You blink, look up at her once more, confusion coloring your eyes. She returns your stare, a little guilty, before she elaborates.

"I knew, Fix.” She admits and reaches for the pitcher to refill her glass and yours. “I had a feeling. I've met the senator before, I remember faces. The first time I met you, it rang a bell. He said something about having a daughter in the armed forces. You...look similar."

You wince at that, a small gesture of vague displeasure that you can’t rid yourself of his resemblance. Yet then you look back to Kate, to her steely grey eyes watching you, waiting for you to speak. You’re not entirely surprised she knew. Laswell’s intelligence background means she likely knows more about you than you know about yourself at times. It’s her job to know. Yet it doesn’t explain…

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask in scarcely a whisper, trying to contain the small feeling of hurt inside you.

At this, the guilt in Kate’s expression deepens. "Maybe I should have.” She offers regretfully. “-but you never once mentioned your family and when I looked up your file, saw you had changed your name...it didn't take much to connect the dots. I had my suspicions about you...becoming estranged from them. It's no use to bleed a healing wound."

"A wound." You laugh mirthlessly. "Yeah, seems like I've been getting plenty of those recently."

Your side aches.

"Fix." Kate’s hand stretches between you two, comes to rest over your tightly webbed fingers with a featherlight touch that settles into something firm. "Tell me what happened."

It’s not a demand. It’s a request, almost a plea on her part, wanting desperately for you to reach out in turn, grasp her hand as you fall. You instinctively want to pull back, to shield yourself from her keen eyed stare, but after today, after tonight, after a lifetime of wearing yourself down to brittle bone to hide who you are…you’re tired.

So you unclasp your palms, turn them up so her hand settles in them, keeps you there so you don’t descend further.

"I don't even know where to start.” You confess, and your voice suddenly sounds so much younger than who you are now, like the child inside your soul has finally reached you in your freefall. “I was the youngest daughter, an accident my dad told me once. The extra."

You breathe out a shuddering exhale, as if releasing the ache that howls in the hollow of your chest.

"He always hated me. I'll never know why. Maybe it's because I'm a girl. Maybe it's because I was a tomboy, or hated dresses, or that didn't fit the mold of being the perfect obedient little doll he wanted me to be for the cameras…” You pause, feel a splinter of pain flare at the center of your healed bullet wound. “Maybe it's because I...was too much like him."

"I was always second best. The wrong child."

"He loved my brother, still does. Sees him as his successor. Wants him to run for office.” You pause with another humorless little laugh. “Hell, he might even be in office right now. I haven’t exactly been in contact with them.”

Yet then you swallow, your face pinching in dismay once more. “All my father ever needed of me, all he wanted was for me to be like my mom. Docile, subservient, cowed, perfectly poised even when he cursed her for having me."

White, pristine white, the color of lace and freshly pressed dinner napkins. The color of the pearls resting against your mother's throat. When she swallows your eyes dart up to her face. She's looking past the gauzy pale curtains of the banquet hall, outside to the hazy, dimming streetlights beyond. Her eyes are distant, sad.

"I don't think...abuse is the right term.” You go on, and your voice wobbles now, your resilience fading as the memories pile in. Polished wood floors, carefully maintained picturesque bedrooms, furniture you weren’t allowed to sit on, the mahogany desk in your father’s office. “I was provided for, some would say I was spoiled. Part of why I changed my name was I didn't want anyone to figure out they were shipping out with the spoiled rich girl from Chevy Chase."

You pause then, feeling the silence of the kitchen press down on you. You remember the loneliness of your first assignment of distancing yourself from your squad, of trying to conceal yourself and aching for it. You’d whittled yourself down to your marrow, forcing down every ounce of hurt and pain because you had to, because you only ever had yourself. If you reached out, if you asked them for aid, if they saw…

“I didn’t want them to see.” You whisper, barely audible, wide eyes staring in horror at the dark churning ocean below. “I didn’t want them to see what he made me.”

It’s silent then, in the aftermath of what you’ve spoken. The truth of it hangs in the silence between you both. Like the lingering air after a typhoon, the atmosphere presses heavily on your shoulders, threatens to weigh you down so much that it loosens your grip from Laswell’s hand.

She only clings closer.

"Fix.” She says, and her voice is suddenly so soft, aching with emotion. “What you went through was abuse. It wasn't physical unless you haven't shared something with me-“

"No.” You interject. “No he never- he never did anything like that, I swear. Not even to my mom. I think...I think he knew how much it could hurt his career- his...reputation."

"All he did was just..."

"He told me I was worthless, Kate.” You whisper, and your throat seizes with a sob so sudden and fierce it threatens to shatter you at the seams. “He said that I was a waste of space, and no matter how I tried to get good grades or honors or be good at athletics or make friends or anything. It didn't matter. That even if I tried to tell anyone what he said to me that they wouldn’t care because I was useless."

Salty, briny tears flood your eyes. The words that have haunted you this entire time, the words you’ve tried so desperately to fight against, to prove aren’t true are the ones that he told you. That your purpose of being alive was futile, that your mere presence was a burden.

"I...I was never good enough Laswell.” You choke out, shoulders heaving with the effort to contain your sobs. “I-I'm not sure I'll ever be good enough."

Kate moves then, and it’s so quick that you think for a moment she’s letting you go. Instead, Kate stands from her chair and comes over to your side, uses her hands to press you against her in an embrace so fierce it forces the scarcely contain sob from your throat.

"You are enough, Fix.” She tells you, her voice suddenly sharp, severe in a way that isn’t meant for you. “You've always been enough. I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise. I wouldn't have given you to them if I didn't think you were enough. Understand?"

You shudder, another hiccupping sob you can’t contain bubbles up your throat. Your hands raise gently to her, afraid that if you touch her further maybe she’ll pull away.

"Laswell...I..." You try, absent of words. She seems to understand.

"If I could go back and change it, I would.” She tells you, and holds you tighter, arms wrapped around you protectively as if they can provide you shelter, as if she can cure you from the sins of the past. “You didn't deserve what happened to you, Fix, and you don't deserve to feel this way about yourself with all you've accomplished."

Yes, the things you’ve done. Your medic skills, your military training, the languages you’ve learned, the missions you’ve fought in, all of them in a desperate bid to prove a better version of yourself than you truly are.

"B-but I failed, Kate.” You sob, chest finally loosing itself of all the ache there as you cry freely. “I got myself injured and then nearly killed myself trying to push too hard, and I-" Your voice chokes off as another sob wracks your shoulders.

Laswell pulls back from you then, holds you at arm’s length so she can peer past your watery eyes. Her hands clench on your shoulders, and you see she might be crying too, eyes shining with unshed emotion.

"What matters now is that you're here.” She declares, voice hoarse with choked tears. “You have a family, Fix. With us. You never have to speak to your father or mother or brother ever again if you don't want to. We will always be here. No amount of failure on your part will ever change that."

You still yourself, look at Laswell like you want to believe her, and you do. Laswell would never lie to you unless it was to keep you safe, and this…this…

Your quivering inhale releases as a chest-cracking sob, and then another, and as you raise your hands to try and scrub away the tears from your eyes you finally let go. You allow yourself to cry, like you’ve wanted to for so many years, like the way you thought you’ve forgotten. You cry like the child you still are inside, the little girl looking up at a world too large for her and wondering how she’ll ever grow to fit it. It spins dizzyingly underneath you, an abstract of blue and green where you descend through white clouds. Sunshine warms your skin, and the air whooshing past your ears stills into a gentle, cradling breeze.

You stop falling.

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix

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captainkirkk · 9 months

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

fill in the blanks by mindshelter

"You?” Tim blurts. Holy shit. “You’re Kon?”

A nod. “Are you in any pain?” he asks again.

Kon’s skin is sun-kissed, cheekbones dusted with a fine smattering of freckles; he is, without exaggeration, the prettiest person Tim has ever seen. “No, I’m—great,” he says, fidgeting. “Do you, uh, come here often?”

Kon raises a brow. “To the medbay?” he intones. “Definitely more often than I’d prefer."

Fault Line by sElkieNight60 (+ podfic)

Part 1 of Tectonics

"You’re invulnerable…” he whispers, but it’s clear that fact falters in his mind.

Confusion writes its way into the lines on Conner’s face and Clark takes a step back as though physically pushed.

“You’re not invulnerable.”

It is a statement, dull like stone.

“N-no, sir.”

— 🦸 —

OR: Conner's not as invincible as Clark thought. Suddenly, he's a lot more human.

Danny Phantom x DC

The Business of Family by Spaced_Ace

Jazz remembered the way their parents loomed in the living room as they’d laid out that verdict. Ever-present weapons gleaming, standing in such a way that they blocked access to both the front and back entrances. Their eyes had been what struck her the most of that horrible tableau. What made her stomach fill with jagged stones and drenched her back in a frigid sweat. The way they looked at her little brother, their gazes cold and hollow and -

Hungry.

(Things are not well in Amity Park.

With the GIW getting more and more aggressive and their parents becoming ever more suspicious of Danny each day that passes, Jazz knows that they're running out of time. It's not safe, and their options are painfully limited. Out of sheer dumb luck or a little intervention from Clockwork, she manages to discover a distant relative that just might be their salvation.

If asked Oswald Cobblepot would say that it's just good business. Adopting a few kids had done wonders for Bruce Wayne's reputation, why not his? It's not like he can't afford to put them somewhere out of the way if they get to be a problem. It's just business. Nothing more.

(His soft heart says otherwise))

The Witcher

Words of Love by ForestWren

"I should warn you,” Jaskier said between kisses in the soft darkness of the shed, “That I know some… very interesting people. You may want to avoid meeting them.”

“I’ve dealt with the Redenian court for decades. Your friends can’t be worse than that.”

Five times Radovid meets Jaskier's friends and family, plus one time they are alone.

Star Wars x The Mandalorian

Master Skywalker: The Absolute Worst by PrinceJakeFireCake

"Din got to his feet. He patted Boba on the shoulder affectionately.

“You should watch the recording of Skywalker fighting the death troopers,” he said, then pressed a kiss to Boba’s cheek and told Grogu to stop eating his blocks.

Boba watched the recording. He was pretty sure he would never be the same again. He was positive that he never wanted to meet Skywalker ever again.”

Boba Fett falls for Luke Skywalker. It isn’t the funnest thing he’s ever done.

Original Works

Call Me Menace by wingedcat13

You, Synovus, are a respectably terrifying supervillain. Your main rivals, a pair of superheroes named Legionnaire and Athena, are actually respectable as heroes. You hate having to stoop to kidnapping their child - but you hate more what the kid's behavior implies.

if it don't hurt now (just wait a while) by quandaries_and_contradictions

Part 27 of mage in a wolf pack

When the hunters first take him, Jaime knows everything will be okay.

He’s scared, of course. He wants his mom and dad and little sister. But he knows it’s going to be okay — because the wolves who protect his town will come for him. Lada’s mother and father and papa won’t let the hunters get away with this. All he has to do is hold on until they get here.

Months later, he's not so sure.

Stranger Things

No One Rides For Free by weird_witchcraft

"Are you okay Harrington?” Eddie asks gently, “Need me to get anyone?”

“No one to get,” replies Steve, so soft Eddie barely catches it. “You think I want anyone seeing me like this?”

Eddie Munson stumbles across Steve Harrington crying next to a bush at Tina's party and makes it his mission to cheer him up.

Clone Wars

mirci't be uja by ihathbenobiwankenobied for whitchry9

Obi-Wan is usually good at keeping track of his blood sugar levels–because he has to be–but this time, it’s out of his control.

(Or, a diabetic Obi-Wan is thrown for a loop after crashing on an unknown planet. Stim does his best to keep his General alive)

#hopefully this makes your monday a bit better #weekly fic round up #my posts #sw recs #original works recs #stranger things recs #dc recs #dp recs #witcher recs #fic recs

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dystopicjumpsuit · 8 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 8

In the Wind's Singing

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings and tags: fluff; bonding; discussions of autopsy/corpses; Coca-Cola is canon in Star Wars; no, I'm not joking; SMUT; masturbation

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The strike team returns from scouting Balmorra.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Voices are in the wind's singing

More distant and more solemn than a fading star.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The hologram flickered off, and Rex stared thoughtfully at the empty space where it had projected. Slowly, he said, “I want you to start looking into the clone assassin’s identifying code. Find out how it was wiped, and see if you can replicate the process.”

Cerra wrinkled her nose. “Does that mean I’m going to have to dissect his arm?”

“That’s for you to find out. I know you’ll do whatever it takes,” Rex said. “In the meantime, I’m grounding you for a few days. No sparring, no supply runs, no missions until your hand is healed.”

She felt a surge of impatience, but his tone brooked no argument, so she simply nodded. Some battles were simply not worth fighting, and she knew Rex would win this one anyway.

“I need to leave this afternoon to meet with a contact,” Rex continued. “Will you be all right alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Hand isn’t that bad.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you can get started on that ID code today.”

“Aye, aye, Cap,” she said with a mock salute.

Once Rex was gone, Cerra opened the stasis pod and examined the dead clone assassin’s forearm. Unlike the inhibitor chips, the identifying codes were not an implant; instead, the data was coded directly into the clones’ wrists. Nothing on the surface indicated how the ID data had been wiped. There was no scar, no wound—nothing except cold, smooth, brown skin. When she scanned it, a hologram appeared, but the contents were empty. She had a sinking feeling that she was going to need to remove the skin and examine it under a microscope to learn more.

Mechanical repairs were no problem for Cerra, but she was wildly unqualified to undertake any kind of medical examination, let alone an autopsy. For the thousandth time, she wished Kix were there. She worried that she would compromise the evidence, and the longer she had the stasis pod open, the more the clone assassin’s body would degrade. With that in mind, she sealed the pod again and began researching autopsy techniques on the Holonet. She watched autopsy vids for what felt like hours with a kind of gruesome fascination, barely noticing when the proximity sensor alerted her that the freighter had returned.

Echo, Fireball, and Gregor entered the garage to find Cerra sitting cross-legged on the couch, utterly engrossed by a vid projected from the holotable as she ate from a promising-looking container. Echo’s stomach rumbled.

“Boys,” she greeted them without looking up.

“Something smells good,” Echo said.

“I got takeout from Dex’s,” she said. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

“Is that brualki brisket?” Gregor asked.

“Yeah, I got extra for you,” she said. “There’s also brakkenback stew, nerfburgers, and two orders of each kind of protato on the menu.”

A woman of taste, Echo thought, heading to the kitchen to examine the options.

“Ugh, what are you watching?” Fireball demanded.

“Autopsy vids,” she mumbled around a bite of brisket.

“While you’re eating? Gross,” Fireball said.

“Gotta figure out what to do with our friend over there,” Cerra said, pointing at the stasis pod. “Besides, it’s not like I’m eating directly off a corpse.”

Echo pulled a face. Gregor went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets until he found a small medkit. Then he swiped the remaining container of brisket and a bag of fried protato wedges and flopped down next to Cerra on the sofa.

“Next time, you can buy dinner, and then you get to pick the holovid, Fireball,” Gregor said. “Cerra, did you take your antibiotics?”

“What antibiotics?” she asked distractedly.

“That’s what I thought,” Gregor said drily. He extracted a couple of pills from the medkit and handed them to her. “Take these.”

Cerra automatically took the pills and swallowed them, then handed Gregor a tub of glockaw sauce without taking her eyes off the holovid. “Ooh, look, they’re about to peel off the skin!”

Fireball gagged. Gregor dipped a protato wedge into the sauce and popped it into his mouth, chewing happily. Echo looked down at the container of stew he’d selected, and his stomach lurched, cheeks going even grayer than usual.

“I, uh, think I’ll hit the shower,” he said, setting the stew back on the countertop.

Cerra and Gregor didn’t respond, too immersed in the holovid. Despite himself, Fireball drifted closer, leaning over the back of the sofa with his eyes glued to the vid. He absentmindedly reached for a protato wedge, and Gregor slapped his hand away. Cerra wordlessly handed her half-empty bag of shoestring fries to Fireball.

Echo shrugged and headed to the refresher. He took his time in the shower, knowing that the rest of the group was likely to be distracted. The hot water relaxed the muscles in his back and soothed his aching limbs where his prosthetics connected. His mind drifted to Senator Chuchi—Riyo, as she’d insisted he call her. He couldn’t imagine the beautiful, gentle Pantoran watching holovids of corpse dissections. When Rex had opened the stasis pod to show Echo and the Batch the clone assassin, Riyo had carefully avoided looking at the man’s face. She hadn’t become desensitized to death and violence the way Cerra and his fellow clones had, but she was fearless, even in the face of Rampart’s attempts on her life.

She was so lovely. Sweet, but strong. As he pictured her smooth, cerulean skin, her soft lilac hair, and the subtle curves of her body, he felt his cock stiffen. Seizing the rare moment of privacy, Echo soaped up his hand and began to stroke himself, careful to keep silent. He braced himself against the shower stall with his scomp arm, tilting his head back to let the warm water flow over his neck and chest.

He envisioned Riyo around him—her mouth, her body, her sighs of passion and her enveloping warmth, her wide golden eyes glazed with need. His breath became ragged. It had been months since he’d been with a woman, he was acutely conscious that any of the team could walk in at any moment. Gritting his teeth to hold back his groans, he squeezed harder and increased the speed of his hand. Before long, the surging pleasure overwhelmed his control, and he spilled hot, white jets of cum onto the shower floor.

All his breath left him in a rush, and his head sagged to rest on the arm that braced against the shower wall. The water started to run cold, so he finished washing and toweled off, dressing quickly and returning to join the others.

Echo suppressed a laugh when he saw Fireball sprawled on the sofa with the other two. The two clones had removed their armor and now wore only their black body gloves. The holotable was cluttered with empty wrappers and takeout containers, and somebody had filled a bucket with ice and several bottles of ale, two of which Gregor and Fireball were already drinking. Echo noticed that the bulky bandage on Cerra’s hand had been replaced with a neat bacta patch, and the medkit had been put away. The group had turned raucous, and Fireball kept up a running commentary on the vid.

“You call that a primary incision?” he jeered. “I could do better blindfolded, with a vibrosword!”

“If you’re so confident, maybe you should do the autopsy,” Cerra said.

“No thanks,” Fireball said. “It’s one thing to watch a holovid. It’s something else when it’s a brother.”

“I know,” Cerra said. “That’s why I’m not drinking. Gotta keep my head clear so I can focus on the techniques.”

Echo grunted as he heated up a bowl of stew. “I can’t believe you’re still watching that. Why not put on something like the Great Galactic Bake Off instead?”

Cerra twisted around to look at him. “You’re a Bake Off fan? Have you seen this week’s episode yet?”

“No. I usually watch it with Omega,” Echo replied.

“Hmph, Charo Intan was robbed last week,” Gregor grumbled.

“You’re just saying that because the Sullustan got Galaxy Baker,” Cerra teased.

“His technical bake was a disaster!” Gregor exclaimed. “The judges are out of their minds.”

Fireball listened to the exchange with a look of utter bewilderment. “What are you even talking about?”

Three heads swiveled to stare at Fireball.

“You haven’t heard of the Bake Off?” Gregor asked incredulously. “Do you live under an asteroid?”

Fireball shrugged.

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Cerra said, punching the control panel of the holotable. “Prepare to lose your sanity and any hope of a social life.”

Echo was surprised at how nonchalant Cerra seemed, especially after the previous night’s disaster. He took his bowl of stew to the sofa and nudged Fireball out of the way as he sat down. It was a tight squeeze with the four of them, so Cerra scooted onto Gregor’s lap to make room. Fireball picked up her legs to drape across his thighs.

Echo couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between Cerra and Gregor. He had assumed they were a couple when he’d first arrived, but he had second-guessed himself when their obvious affection for each other never seemed to go beyond platonic demonstrations. But Gregor’s reaction to Cerra’s distress the previous night; the tender, intimate words he’d whispered as he comforted her; and in particular his anomalous hostility toward Rex made Echo reevaluate his assumptions yet again. But now the commando seemed utterly unfazed as Fireball joined their little snuggle pile, even as the younger clone settled in cozily beneath Cerra’s calves.

Fireball rolled up one of Cerra’s pant legs and began to doodle on her skin with a marker, drawing complex, abstract swirls in black ink. The familiar opening jingle of the Bake Off started to play, and Echo gave up on trying to unravel the complexities of—kriff—whatever was going on at the other end of the sofa, turning his attention instead to the holovid.

Once again, it seemed Echo was the odd man out. It seemed strange and wrong to watch the show without Omega, and he missed his brothers’ familiar camaraderie. He didn’t think Cerra was intentionally excluding him, but he couldn’t help feeling a little stab of envy at how easily she and Gregor had allowed Fireball into their little circle. The younger clone hadn’t needed to work for it at all; they’d simply absorbed him. Echo frowned as he wondered if he had done something to make Cerra hold him at a distance.

As if on cue, she rummaged through the bucket of ice, retrieving two bottles of ale and cracking them open. To Echo’s surprise, though, she held one out to him, and when he took it with a silent nod of thanks, she clinked her bottle against his and took a sip. Echo reflexively drank his as well, watching out of the corner of his eye as Cerra settled back against Gregor. The commando shifted to wrap his arm around her, tugging her closer to him and easing her head onto his shoulder.

“This is the week that useless Garr Tevv goes home,” Gregor declared. “I can feel it.”

“I don’t know, buddy,” Cerra said. “The judges don’t seem to share your opinion of Sullustans. I think he’ll make it to the finale.”

“What’s wrong with Sullustans?” Fireball asked.

“Heh, it’s a long story,” Gregor chuckled.

“You can’t judge all Sullustans by what Borkus did,” Echo said.

“Oh, can’t I?” Gregor asked. “How do you feel about Skakoans?”

“Fair point,” Echo conceded.

“Why are there so many contestants from Separatist worlds?” Fireball asked.

“Something about bringing the galaxy together after the turmoil of war,” Gregor said.

“By making them compete against each other?” Fireball sounded confused.

“Friendly competition,” Echo clarified. “Although it hardly seemed friendly when Timi Riniath stole Runa Mone’s conservator and left her custard out to curdle.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe they let Timi stay in after that,” Cerra complained. “Such a cheater.”

“I still think it was an honest mistake,” Gregor said.

“No way,” Echo and Cerra retorted in unison.

“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” Cerra said automatically.

Echo inhaled sharply, and Cerra’s face went rigid as they both realized what she’d said. How many times had Fives repeated that sentence? He and Echo spoke jointly so often that it was practically their catchphrase. Fives and Cerra must have shared the same tendency for her to have picked up the habit.

“Kriff,” she whispered. “Sorry, Echo. I wasn’t thinking. It just slipped out.”

“That’s all right,” Echo said uncomfortably. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

Gregor rubbed a soothing hand on Cerra’s back. Fireball looked more confused than ever, but he wisely didn’t ask questions and went back to his drawing.

“Good to know you shared the same brain cell with Fives as I did,” Echo said to diffuse the tension. “Feels like there’s still part of him with us.”

For once, it seemed he’d said the right thing, because Cerra visibly relaxed, and a small smile crept over her face. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

The recap segment of the show ended, and they all turned to the holovid. Fireball occasionally asked questions about how the competition worked, which Gregor answered enthusiastically, and soon the group became fully captivated. They cheered for their favorites and booed the contestants they disliked. At some point, a second round of beers was passed around, and by the end of the show, Fireball had already downloaded the old episodes onto his datapad so he could watch them next time he was on a long hyperspace jump.

Cerra looked haggard and was probably feeling the lingering effects of the sedative Gregor had administered as well as the aftermath of everything else that had happened the previous night. She didn’t manage to stay awake through the whole episode, lulled to sleep by the way Gregor absentmindedly rubbed her shoulders and the soft drag of Fireball’s marker against her leg.

“I’ll take first watch,” Fireball said quietly.

Gregor nodded, standing cautiously with Cerra in his arms and staggering a little under their combined weight. Cerra jostled awake with a startled grunt.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Gregor said. “I’ve got you.”

She blinked owlishly at him and looked around.

“Good night, Cerra,” Fireball said.

“G’night, Tup,” she murmured as she burrowed her face into Gregor’s shoulder.

Fireball and Echo exchanged confused looks with Gregor, who just shrugged and turned away to carry Cerra to the barracks. Echo and Fireball cleaned up the detritus of their impromptu watch party, and then Echo headed for the barracks as well.

“I’ll take the second watch,” Echo told Fireball. “I don’t think Gregor has slept at all in the last two days.”

Inside the barracks, Gregor had already tucked Cerra into her bunk and was changing out of his body glove into a pair of sweatpants. Echo eased down onto his bunk and detached his leg prosthetics with a sigh of relief. Gregor climbed into his own bunk, and the barracks descended into silence.

By some miracle of fate or the Force, Echo slept. When Fireball shook him awake to stand watch, Echo flinched away, his heart racing. Fireball held up his hands placatingly and returned to the main room. Echo dressed quickly and reattached his legs, then went to join him.

“All quiet?” Echo asked.

“So far,” Fireball said. “But I got a comm from my brother Nemec. He wants out. Do you think Rex will help?”

“I know he will,” Echo said firmly. “We’ll start planning the extraction as soon as Rex gets back.”

The anxiety in the younger clone’s face eased, and he nodded gratefully when Echo told him to get some rest. Before he returned to the barracks, though, Fireball had one more question.

“Echo?” he asked hesitantly. “Who’s Tup?”

“No idea,” Echo said.

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #riyo chuchi #captain gregor #captain rex #oc: cerra kilian #gregor x oc #echo x riyo chuchi #star wars #bad batch #star wars fanfiction #bad batch fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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rascal-xo · 9 months

Text

Things We Never Said - Simon Riley x Female Reader

summary: it’s been a few weeks since your death, and Simon finds an unknown piece of your memory on base…

warnings; ANGST, mentions of death, overall sadness

Tags: @pukbadger @fiveshelmet @myguiltypleasures21 @madamemelaninn @emmaadlerrichtofen1 @swissy23 @thatchickwiththecamera @glitteryeggalmondherring @glitterypirateduck @glitteryeggalmondherring @allaboutirem0 @kittyoonsstuff @guiltgoreglory

A/N: Quick blurb to let you know that i’m alive - Also I no longer have access to my google form that I made for people who wanted to be added to my taglist so if you want to be on it, COMMENT UNDER MY MASTERLIST (pinned to my profile) My posting schedule is hella messy so keep checking back in every now and then if you aren’t on the taglist already.

Ghost, walked down the dimly lit corridor of the military base, his footsteps echoing in the silence. It had been a few weeks since Y/N’s untimely death, a sacrifice made in the chaos of a life-or-death situation. Captain Price had ordered her room to remain untouched, a small shrine to her memory. It was the least the 141 could do after losing someone so vital to the team.

With a heavy heart, Ghost pushed open the door to Y/N’s room. It was as if time had stopped in this space. Her belongings, her scent, everything felt frozen in time. He ran a gloved hand over the edge of her neatly made bed, memories flooding back.

He approached her small desk, cluttered with mementos and photos. Among them was a pair of backup dog tags she always kept close. Ghost picked them up, his fingers trembling slightly. He stared at them, lost in thought.

As he reached for a framed photo of her and the rest of the 141 on a rare day off, his fingers brushed against something unexpected. A folded letter, hidden beneath the photo, caught his attention. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled it out.

The handwriting was unmistakably Y/N’s, and he felt a lump in his throat as he saw his name on the front. He carefully opened the folded paper…

"Simon,

I know you’ll stumble upon this at some point, so i’m writing down some thoughts now anyway. Life's funny that way, isn't it?

I'm sorry, too, for any mess I might've made along the way. Life got tangled, and I wish I could've sorted it out better. I got you caught up in my mess and I promised myself i’d take you out of it eventually.

You've been so important to me, even when I couldn't quite say it right. Your happiness was always my biggest hope, and I hope you find it, even if I'm not around to see it.

In another world, in another time, who knows, right? But just remember, you meant the world to me.

Oh, and about all my stuff, there's no will or anything, but I want you to have it. You can do whatever you like with whatever’s left in my room when you all make it back to base safe. I secured all knowledge that you all will.

Maybe it’s selfish but I hope you’ll keep a piece of me with you. It’s not fair to ask that of you, but I will be at peace knowing you’re safer now.

You’re forever in my heart and mind, Simon Riley. Don’t forget it, Lt.

With all my love,

Y/N

Simon’s world seems to crumble around him. The words weighing heavily on his soul, like an anchor dragging him into an abyss of grief. A profound emptiness settles deep within him, a hollow ache that left him gasping for breath.

It was as if the letter has stolen the very essence of his being, leaving him adrift in a sea of sorrow. The room feels colder, the memories more distant, and the future more uncertain. The person who had given his life meaning, who had been his anchor, was gone.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka · 5 months

Text

Well I got a little carried away again… part 10! There’s so many moving parts to this now, but hopefully everything will be coming to a tipping point again soon. Here’s part 1 of you need some reminders of what’s happened so far.

Pairings: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner, Jake Kiszka x fem OC ***more Christmas slash

Warnings and tags: absolutely no minors!! 18+ only please!!, m/m sex, oral (m rec), hand jobs, smoking and drinking, brief talk about deceased loved ones, slash of course, slight jealousy, third person POV Sam, Jake, Danny, and Kim, restaurant AU, if I missed anything please let me know

Word count: 10k

“Coffee?” An angelic voice broke through Kim’s crippling headache. She peaked her eyes open to see Jake offering a paper cup filled with the piping hot liquid gold.

“Thanks” she groaned, but carefully took the cup in her hands and settled back into the corner of the couch she had found herself sunken into ever since Jake picked her up from her apartment at the crack of dawn and brought her back to his. “You sure your brothers don’t mind me coming along?”

Jake scratched the back of his head as he searched through his small weekend bag, making sure he had all the essentials, toiletries, extra underwear, phone charger. Even if he did manage to forget something, he was sure his mom had stocked up on everything in anticipation for their arrival.

Truthfully Jake hadn’t really thought through what it meant inviting Kim along with him, Sam, and Danny on their trip back home for Christmas when he’d made her the offer. He’d had quite a lot to drink last night, same as Kim who was now currently fighting for her life through a hangover, and he might have gotten a little caught up in the moment after the display of affection he’d put on.

“Well Sam did have some reservations at first” he thought back to the heated conversation they’d had last night.

“You’re a real hypocrite, you know that Jake? Gave me so much shit about Savanna and now here you are inviting the chick you’ve been banging for less than a month to our family Christmas!” Sam unleashed on Jake right in the middle of the dance floor as soon as Jake broke the news.

“That chick is Kim. She’s a friend to all of us. Don’t act like she’s just some random person” Jake spat back, unsure why Sam was so on guard and defensive all of a sudden.

“Yeah” Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, “and we all know how you treat your friends”. Jake’s eyes flashed to Danny who had followed Sam over, but just stood back while he and Jake hashed it out. Danny was uncharacteristically quiet, distant, and distracted. Jake couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was more used to seeing Danny stepping between them before they could all but break out into a fist fight like they would when they were kids versus whatever this act was.

“What the fuck is your problem right now?” Jake turned his attention back to Sam since Danny was being no use. “We’re taking my car to Michigan tomorrow. I wasn’t asking your permission to invite her; I was telling you she’s coming”.

“Right, cause we all have to act and feel the way you think we should all the time! We’re all just pawns in Jake’s little world. Fucking hypocrite and a narcissist”.

“Sam…” Danny finally piped up, though still very mello and hollow with his tone. Sam was taking his frustration out on Jake, and he knew it wasn’t just about inviting Kim.

Danny hadn’t said anything to either of them about what Kim had told him. That she had seen Sam and Savanna kissing while everyone was opening their secret Santa gifts. He had once tried to imagine how he would react if Sam and Savanna hadn’t gotten over each other, but he stopped himself before he could get too far thinking he was just being over anxious. Now that he knew his fears were true though nothing could have prepared him for how he really felt. His entire world inverted in on itself and he was trapped inside his own head while everything else slowed and blurred around him.

“Jesus Danny, you need to do something with him before he fucks up”. Jake gave his last input and stormed off leaving Sam still fuming and Danny there to heartlessly calm him.

Yeah, he did need to do something because Sam had already fucked up. For some reason though Danny didn’t feel anger like the other two did. He felt like an idiot. He felt like he should have seen this coming and that he didn’t blame Sam for slipping up, as pathetic as that sounded. He loved Sam and he resolved himself to believe that this didn’t have to ruin everything.

“He will get over it though, he just had his head in his ass for whatever reason last night”. Jake shrugged it off. He’d had plenty of fights with his brothers over the years that he’d learned to not take anything to heart that Sam especially said when riled up.

Kim shrunk down further into the couch as she tried to sip on the coffee and wake up a little. A lot had happened last night. Jake being her secret Santa and the sweet gift he gave her made her lips pull into a smile at the memory of it. Then there was what she had seen and accidentally ratted on. She thought about the past few breakfast dates she’d had with Danny where she mused on and on about being with Jake, and not once did Danny ever mention that he was in turn dating Sam, her friend's ex.

She wondered if that was the argument she had seen, though it seemed weird that Sam and Jake would be the ones fighting instead of Danny. Regardless, she hoped they were able to reconcile last night before they all got stuck in a car together for the next nine hours. Not to mention, their childhood home for the weekend.

Jake’s phone buzzed on the table in front of the couch and he leaned over to place a reassuring kiss on her forehead before checking the notification. “Alright, they said they’re ready. Let’s go”.

Danny slid into the backseat next to Kim with a merciful smile as he took in the state of her. She was bundled in the buggiest fluffiest sweater she could find in her closet this morning. A pair of what was obviously Jake’s dark sunglasses perched on her nose, hiding red baggy eyes.

“Party a little too hard last night?” He chuckled as he got situated, buckling up and angling his knees towards her so he wasn’t so scrunched up.

“I’m hanging in there” she gave him a faux excited thumbs up but jumped at the sound of Sam hopping into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut.

“Oh, my bad” Sam gave Kim a hardly convincing apology when Jake shot him a dirty look. “So, passenger gets control of the radio right?”

“Sure, just don’t play anything too loud for now. It’s still early” Jake replied as he waited for Sam to connect his phone to the Bluetooth before he started to back up and officially hit the road.

“Come on! It isn’t a Kiszka road trip without a little jam session. Isn’t that right Danny?” Sam looked through the rear view mirror, he and Danny making eye contact for a brief moment before Danny looked away. Kim watched as his chest rose and fell in a silent sigh.

Kim set her nearly empty coffee cup into the cup holder on the back of the console between her and Danny and sat back, leaning her head against the window and letting the vibrations of the tires against the rocky asphalt lull her to sleep.

Kim woke up to her head bouncing again over a patch of bumpy highway. Only this time instead of leaning against the cold hard glass she was resting on a shoulder. She’d expected it to be Danny’s shoulder she was snuggled against, he was the one who had been sitting in the back seat with her at the start of the trip.

When she opened her eyes she saw Danny instead sitting behind the steering wheel. One hand was focused on driving, and the other was laying against the console where he had his elbow propped, his fingers laced together with Sam’s still sitting in the passenger's seat. Looked like they were out in the open now as well.

With Sam and Danny in the front, that only left one other option for who she was now sitting with. “Feeling any better?” Jake whispered, his fingers gently brushing a lock of hair off her forehead and tucking it behind her ear.

“How long was I asleep?” Kim asked, sitting up and trying to take in the unfocused landscape flashing by outside the car to attempt to discern where they were.

“Three hours” Jake replied.

Kim rubbed her sore eyes. Sometime in her sleep, maybe during the stop when the seats were switched, Jake had stolen back his sunglasses.

“Are you hungry? We can stop again and get some lunch”. Kim nodded her head and everyone collectively agreed to pull over in the next town somewhere between the border of Kentucky and Ohio.

After food and more fuel they all piled back into the car. Jake stayed in the back with Kim and this time it was Sam’s turn to drive.

The next five hours went by pretty smooth, and Kim was surprised that Sam was able to finish out the drive with only one more quick stop. She was thankful that she was fast asleep for the first good bit of it, because by the time they finally breached Michigan territory the three boys were jumping in their seats with excitement and dying to get out of the car.

She was glad she was awake for this last part though. When they arrived in Frankenmuth she stared out the window with wide delighted eyes. Jake had told her about the place he grew up in, and she’d googled it to get an idea of the picture he was painting from his memories because she never thought she’d actually have a chance to visit herself. Yet here she was, and it was exactly like she’d seen in the pictures, a real magical place.

“We’re dropping Danny off at home first” Jake leaned over and informed Kim once the car started to slow to a roll through normal looking neighborhoods compared to the intricate Bavarian designed buildings of the town itself. Eventually they parked in front of a house right in the middle of the block. “I’m going to take over up front”. Jake hopped out of the car and helped Danny get his bags out of the trunk.

Sam got out too, walking around to the other side of the car to give Danny a hug before they parted ways for the evening.

“Tell Lori I said hi” Sam requested when Danny squeezed back into the backseat to grab a few things he’d left in the seat back pocket.

“I will” Danny replied, haphazardly stuffing his things into the front pocket of his bag, clearly eager to get inside and see his family again.

“Lori? Is that your mom?” Kim was suddenly reminded that she was an outsider here. That they all grew up together in this funny little town and all knew each other's families inside and out.

“Yeah” Danny looked up at her with a fond smile “when we come over tomorrow, I want you to meet her, and my Dad, and my sister”.

Kim smiled big in return. This was going to be so different for her, spending the weekend with not only one, but two functional families that all loved and cherished each other. It made her heart ache for her family that didn’t see her as a valued enough member to ever stop and include her in holidays or celebrations.

“Have fun at the Kiszka household! If you need me to come save you just text” Danny waved bye one last time and started his walk up to his house.

Once he’d disappeared safe inside Jake backed out of the driveway and they made the short drive over a few blocks to their destination. Their neighborhood was similar to Danny’s, though their house was near the end of the block. It was a two story house, though nothing extravagant, definitely a home for a big family with a wide yard and a detached garage at the end of a long driveway.

“You guys go ahead inside I’ll start carrying in the bags” Jake offered as they pulled in. Kim wanted to say that she could help, but as soon as the car parked Sam threw the door open and jumped out. She figured it would be best to follow him and let Jake do his thing.

“Mom!” Sam hollered into the open home the second he stepped through the front door.

“Is that another one of my babies?” A sweet and warm voice called back from somewhere inside.

“Only your favorite!” Sam replied, following the direction of the voice, Kim trailing behind. “Did Josh beat us?”

“You bet I did!” Sam’s oldest brother jumped out and attacked him with a hug and a rough ruffle of his hair. Sam returned the favor by wrapping Josh’s head in a lock until he was tapping his side to surrender, repeating “not my hair!”.

“There you are darling!” Their mom rounded the corner to find two of her boys already roughing each other up. “Hey you know the rules, if you’re going to fight do it outside”.

“Later?” Sam let Josh go and he agreed “later” both backing down so that Sam could give his mom a hug next.

“Where’s Jakey?” She questioned, knowing that he and Sam drove together.

“Oh he’s getting the stuff, he’ll be in any second now” Sam replied, throwing his arm against the banister of the staircase and leaning back.

She shook her head and turned around, suddenly noticing there was an unfamiliar face in her home. “Oh, you must be Savanna!” She smiled and held her arms out in a welcoming hug.

“Umm, no” Kim awkwardly glanced between Sam and Josh for help in correcting their mom who both just shrugged and started their own little conversation. “I’m Kim” she meekly introduced herself.

She looked over at Sam in confusion who didn’t seem bothered enough to clear anything up. “I’m sorry sweetie. You came in with Sam so I just assumed”.

“Actually mom” Jake stepped in to join everyone, setting down all the bags at the foot of the staircase “Kim is with me”.

“Well isn’t that lovely” she smiled and reached her arms out again, offering another hug to which Kim accepted before quickly pulling back to let Jake get his turn.

“I had no idea you were bringing anyone Jake, you should have told me!” She smiled as he spoke and squeezed her arms around her last son indicating that she didn’t mind at all.

“Thanks for having me Mrs. Kiszka” Kim tried to be as polite as possible hoping to ease her own embarrassment.

“Mrs. Kiszka! Oh my I haven’t been called that in a long time. Please, call me Karen, or mom”.

Kim smiled and nodded and Jake moved to her side, taking her hand in his own.

“Kim and I have been dating for a little while, she didn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas so I invited her to come along”.

“The more the merrier!” Karen gleamed, “come on, I’ll show you around while the boys get settled”.

After a tour, and a speed round of questioning about how Kim and Jake had met, how long they’d been dating (which really did only sound like a short amount of time when said out loud) they all settled into the living room just as the sun was starting to go down.

“You all must be starving, I didn’t cook anything because I didn’t know what time you’d all be getting in, but we have plenty of leftovers from closing the restaurant this morning”.

“It’s fine mom, you will be cooking all day tomorrow we can handle ourselves tonight” Jake replied.

“Well let me go warm some things up at least” she stood up and left for the kitchen, Josh knocking Sam on the shoulder as soon as she was out of range.

“Go help her!” Josh ordered to which Sam rolled his eyes but got up anyways and followed.

“So Kim, it’s good to see you again, and with my brother nonetheless” Josh turned his attention to her who sat alone in a chair, still trying to quietly take in all her surroundings.

“Yeah, I’m glad you remember me, I wasn’t sure if you would”. She replied, speaking about the time she had met him at his going away party.

“Of course I remember you” he flashed a toothy smile and chuckled, “I also remember us having a pretty intense conversation about philosophy while high off our asses that night”.

Jake butt in leaning over the armrest of the couch to whisper over to Kim, “You didn’t tell me you smoked? I have a surprise for you later then”.

Hopefully Jake was insinuating they could have a little smoke sesh later, because that would certainly relieve some of the tension she felt.

Everyone was extremely nice and welcoming. Even their Dad whom she spoke to for a moment during the tour with their mom, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a little out of place.

Once Sam and Karen had set the table Kim took a seat next to Jake who began a long conversation with his dad about all the new dishes they had started at the restaurant since the last time they talked.

“Jake’s always been just like his father” Karen leaned over and spoke to Kim who was enjoying just sitting back and listening.

“I can see that” she replied, smiling over at Jake who was now arguing with Josh over the benefits of organic versus locally grown. “He’s a really great guy, you raised him right. All of them”.

Kim really was thankful for the opportunity to meet such great encouraging parents. Karen actually reminded her of her mom a little bit in the way she always smiled and called everyone sweetheart, darling, my baby. That was making it easier to get comfortable interacting with them.

It was a breath of fresh air compared to the couple of intense and uptight dinners she’d had with Courtney and Paul who only ever wanted to talk about politics or which investments he was making and why. Only one person talked at a time at their table, usually Paul who demanded attention more than gave it. The Kiszkas weren’t like that, the sound of laughter and multiple different conversations happening simultaneously filled the dining room and made sharing a meal together feel less like a chore and more like an opportunity to enjoy each other's company.

“Come with me, I want to show you our hang out spot” Jake whispered into Kim’s ear, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss behind her ear. She relaxed into his touch, they were alone in the kitchen right now, and she breathed a sigh of relief at his touch.

“I was going to help your mom with the dishes” Kim replied, leaning back against his chest, completely giving up on the glass she was drying with a towel she’d found hanging on the oven.

“That’s Sam’s job” Jake turned her around, examining her expression for a moment. “You hanging in there? You’ve been quiet”.

“Yeah, I’m fine” she knew that was probably the worst response she could give him, but she didn’t really want to get into all the feelings she was having right now.

“Well let’s go, maybe this will make you feel better”.

She knew exactly what that meant, and when she followed Jake out the back door and through the yard to the garage they found Josh already waiting inside, meeting them with the familiar smell of a freshly lit joint.

“So this is where all the cool kids go?” Kim gladly took the piece from Josh, and plopped down onto the old raggedy couch next to him taking one long hit before passing it to Jake who pulled out a folding chair and propped it up in front of them.

“Yep, this was the spot back in the day” Josh replied, kicking his feet up on a crate, already having had a few puffs alone. “Jake and I used to stuff a tarp under the garage door and hot box this whole thing. You remember that?”

Jake laughed, taking a few hits then passing it along. “We thought we were being sneaky but mom knew the whole time. Told us as long as we didn’t light the place of fire and didn’t let our grades drop then she’d keep pretending she didn’t know”.

“I used to smoke with my mom” Kim started on a story of her own. Everything about the evening reminded her more and more of the last few months they shared together in their small two bedroom rental house at the edge of Nashville. “When she got diagnosed, it was already stage four, she tried chemo for a while but it wasn’t working so she stopped after just a little while. Shortly after that she started smoking to control the pain”.

“Damn” Josh exhaled, Kim quickly realizing that he didn’t know that about her.

“Sorry if that sounds like I’m being a downer, but I’m actually really happy every time I think about her”.

Josh pat her knee and shook his head, “no you’re alright, you want to tell us more about her?”

She looked over at Jake, making sure she really wasn’t ruining the mood, who smiled and sat back in the chair making himself comfy.

They shared one more joint between the three of them, all getting sufficiently high as Kim recounted stories of Christmases and new years, birthdays and even just any old day, living alone with her mom. Needing no one else, just the company of one another.

Jake and Josh shared stories of their own in between, even some about Sam and Danny joining them in the garage, or past flings whom they’d shared their first kiss with on this very couch.

After it started to get a little too cold, the garage door not doing much to keep out the frozen Michigan air, they headed back inside and regathered with everyone in the living room.

Kim curled up on the couch this time next to Jake, Josh taking the chair instead, their mom and Dad sharing the loveseat and Sam must have already headed upstairs to his room.

“I think she’s about ready for bed honey” Kim barely heard Karen mention to Jake. Her eyes were heavy and unfocused as she leaned her head against Jake’s shoulder and stared ahead at whatever they were watching on the TV. “I’ll go get some extra pillows”.

Jake helped Kim up, taking the stack of mismatched sheets and blankets that had already been set out. “I hope you don’t mind, but you will have to sleep on the pull out in the basement”.

“That’s alright, I know I was a last minute addition”.

“Don’t be silly, we’re so glad you’re here, but if you guys have a September baby then I’ll at least know it wasn’t at my house”.

“Mom!” Josh groaned, oddly enough being the one freaked out about the comment while Jake just blushed and smiled as he took the pillows from her and showed Kim the way.

The descended the carpeted stairs which took a turn at a 90 degree angle about halfway, revealing a fully finished room which looked like it had t been touched since the early 2000s.

Jake went to work on the couch, pulling out the bed and fixing the sheets onto the thin mattress as Kim walked around and took in all the pictures hanging on the walls.

“Is this you?” She asked, pointing to the first baby picture she saw.

“No, that’s Josh” he chuckled, gently grabbing her shoulders and guiding her a few paces to the left. “That’s me” he pointed at another picture. A little boy no more than two or three holding a toy guitar with a huge smile on his face.

“You were cute” she giggled, staring at the picture with a tired grin.

“I still am” he teased and pulled her away, guiding her now to the set up bed. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well because tomorrow will be a lot”.

A lot it was. From the moment they all came stumbling out of their rooms, wiping the sleep from their eyes drawn to the kitchen with the smell of breakfast already filling the entire house, it was game time. After breakfast they each took a shower and got to work preparing for the party Kim learned that the Kiszkas hosted every year.

Jake helped in the kitchen, Josh decorated just like a professional, and Sam was the errand runner picking up last minute ingredients from the store. Kim helped anywhere she could, mostly trying to not be in the way of their systematic way of working together.

The Wagners arrived at the party first, followed by a few other friends of the family, each of them so thrilled to be seeing all the boys home again.

“Here, this will take the edge off” Danny snuck up behind Kim who was leaning on the door frame just outside the living room that was filled with unknown people. He handed her a wine glass and placed his hand against the small of her back, guiding her away from the busy room and over to a quieter area.

“You guys do this every year?” she sighed nervously, taking a sip of her wine glass wishing it was a cup of one of the stronger cocktails she’d seen Josh mixing up earlier.

“Usually they have the party at the restaurant but I heard they’re doing a few renovations next week so they’re hosting everyone here instead. It is kind of a lot of people for one house” he agreed, drinking on his own glass of sparkling white.

Truthfully he wasn’t in the mood for a party today. Danny enjoyed his time at home yesterday. He always missed his family terribly when he was away for a long time. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to Sam yet, but his Dad had pointedly given him a few ideas for jobs after graduation that involved him moving closer. Graduation was just around the corner, and he was anxious that neither of them had talked about what their plans for the future were.

Sam had actually been on his mind a lot since arriving home. Danny had hoped that he would have enough distraction to not think about what had happened at the Christmas party in Nashville, but he found that the turmoil in his mind was too strong.

Now being in this house again, surrounded by Sam’s family and friends, his things, the memories of their past, it was all coming to a sharp point pounding against his forehead. He needed to do something to stop the pain, and soon.

“Hey, there you are” Danny heard Jake’s voice from behind him. He turned around to greet him, but quickly realized Jake wasn’t talking to him, but to Kim.

“Talk later?” Kim asked Danny before taking Jake’s hand and letting him pull her off to some other part of the house, leaving Danny alone.

He slipped unnoticed in and out of the kitchen, trading his wine glass for a green plastic cup full of what he’d heard Josh call his secret Christmas punch.

The liquor was helping clear his head, one cup having been enough to get a buzz going as he walked around the house and took in all the familiar furniture and frames.

“Miss it yet?” He heard another familiar voice speak up as he stood in the hallway waiting to use the guest bathroom.

“Miss what?” Danny asked his sister who leaned against the wall across from him, taking a break from socializing for a moment to check in on her big brother.

“Being here” She motioned around to the house they were in, Danny’s second home away from home for the majority of his life.

She had known something was up with him last night, and after they had dinner she had done a good job at wringing the truth out of him.

He confessed to her that he and Sam had been dating for a couple of months, but that he was afraid Sam wasn’t over his ex.

“Sam broke up with her for you right?” She’d asked, trying to get all the details in place before she offered her words of advice.

“Yeah, but kind of told him to”.

“No, you gave him an ultimatum. Her or you. He chose you. Sam has always been there for you whether you see it that way or not. I know you think you are the dependent one in the equation, but I think it’s really the other way around. If Sam did something to weaken your trust in him then I don’t think he did it on purpose”.

Danny had been thinking about what she’d said last night all day. He didn’t do it on purpose. He believed his sister's intuition, even though he knew it was maybe a little stupid and naive of him.

“I think you should go find him and just talk to him ok?” She suggested, kicking his boot with the pointed toe of her heel before leaving him be.

She was right and he knew it, he wouldn’t be able to go on much longer sulking like this before other people started to pick up on it too. Only he had another idea in mind that after getting Sam alone wouldn’t involve much talking.

Sam had been stealing bites from the kitchen periodically throughout the day, so by the time the party started he wasn’t even hungry. That left room for him to drink while he mingled around the house with all the people he hadn’t seen in at least a year.

By the time he saw Danny making his way through the crowded living room he was already feeling pretty drunk off of Josh’s popular cocktails.

“Where have you been all night?” Sam tried to ask nonchalantly when Danny finally stood beside him. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d had the suspicion that Danny had been avoiding him since he arrived.

“Around” Danny replied, taking Sam’s halfway finished drink from his hand and setting it on a random nearby surface. “Do you want to get out of here for a bit?”

“Are you not having fun?” Sam pouted, obviously not picking up on the insinuation of getting out of here.

“No I am” he lied, “but I could use a little fresh air, go for a drive. You won’t believe it but my parents got me a car for Christmas”.

“A car! I want to see it!” Sam exclaimed excitedly, drawing some attention with his raised voice.

Danny shushed him and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the closet that held their coats. “It’s parked outside, let’s go I’ll give you a ride”.

“Where are we going?” Sam giggled loudly while Danny continued to try and hush him as they made their way out the door.

“For a drive, you said you wanted to see the car”. Danny replied, clapping his hands on Sam’s shoulders and pushing him along.

“You do not want me driving right now” Sam joked as he was marched down the sidewalk leading from the Kiszka’s porch to the end of the driveway where the sleek black car was parked last. He let out a whistle when he saw it and Danny wedged his elbow into his side to shut him up.

“Are you trying to let the whole neighborhood know what we’re up to?” Danny was speaking in a hushed tone, like any of the neighbors were going to leave the warmth of their colorfully decorated homes to come outside.

“You sound like we’re up to no good. Thought we were just going for a drive Daniel?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows but finally obediently got into the car. How in the hell did he know? That Danny was indeed up to no good.

Danny got into the driver's seat and backed out of Sam’s driveway, letting the small drive ahead give him the courage and control he needed to follow through with his plan.

Sam stared out the window, starry eyed at all the glittering lights hanging from the rows of houses on the streets they grew up on. Danny stole glances in his direction every chance he got. He beat himself up over how much he’d let himself be negatively affected when he knew he should really be spending his time cutting loose and having fun with family just like Sam was.

Sam looked over at Danny when he started to recognize the next street Danny turned down. “Why are we going to your house?”

“No reason” he tried keeping up his calm indifference, but the ruse was slowly fading as he actually started to grow excited. “Just want to show you a few things”.

Danny pulled the single key from the ignition and stuffed it into his front pocket, making a mental note to attach it to his keyring before he lost it. Sam had already flung the door open and threw his legs over the side so Danny hurried over to offer his hand, which Sam just cocked an eyebrow and took with a roll of his eyes. Danny closed the door behind him and they held hands as they walked up to the front door.

“Okay, wait right here for a second” Danny stopped before unlocking the door, positioning Sam to stand across from him on his porch.

He took a step back, not even worrying about checking to make sure the street was empty, just looking over at Sam who was standing there with a confused grin, staring back at him with glazy doe eyes.

He took in Sam’s entire figure, from his messy lopsided bun that he’d thrown up at some point during the party, to the way his facial hair had grown longer in the past few days since he’d been too swept up with everything to care about trimming.

Around his neck was the scarf his mom got him last year, he hardly took it off once the weather turned cold enough. He was wearing an old corduroy jacket over his sweatshirt, probably something he’d found at that flea market when he’d gone back to see the lady they’d bought their rug from.

That was just one of the special things about Sam. He cared so much about any and every little thing that even the most uninfluential or unexpected people he met became another thread in the weft of his ever-loving personality.

“Can I?” Danny asked, bringing his cold numb fingers up to the thick elastic in Sam’s hair and carefully pulling the long chestnut locks free to fall around his shoulders.

“Hey” Sam welcomed Danny with a smile when he stepped closer, letting one of his hands linger on the back of Sam’s neck cradling his head.

“Hey” Danny smiled back, chuckling a little at the way Sam ran a hand up his chest and started to play with a twist of Danny’s hair in return.

“Can I?” Danny asked again, looking down at his lips to insinuate the reference to his question this time.

“Stop asking so nicely and just kiss me already” Sam’s hand shot up to pull him down, but Danny reached around with his free hand and wrapped it around Sam’s, bringing it back down between their chests.

Danny eased into the kiss, hardly grazing his lips over Sam’s, nudging his nose against his cheek with each gentle pass until Sam was shuddering underneath him. Sam inhaled a shaky breath and before he could exhale Danny’s lips were attacking his. Danny took command of Sam’s bottom lip, slotting it between his own as he continued to cradle the back of his head in one hand and Sam’s hand in the other.

When Danny pulled back he was suddenly transported in time. He opened his eyes and the Sam that he was holding onto wasn’t the Sam he’d been so upset with up until now. In his place was his younger self, with his smooth baby face and chin length hair, oddly straighter than when it was long but choppy after the fresh cut.

His eyes were the size of saucers, the creamy whites as crystal clear as milk glass.

This was the Sam Danny had fallen in love with. Created a whole fantasy in his mind of what it would be like to be lovers like they were now.

His vision blurred and he closed his eyes again, fighting back a few tears as Sam freed his hand from Danny’s grip to cup his face.

“I wanted to kiss you right here” Danny began, keeping his eyes screwed shut so he could revel in the image his mind had tricked him into seeing for just a bit longer. “When I told you I was going to Nashville with you”.

“Really?” Sam responded, now picturing it in his mind as well. It was the week before Christmas then. He’d made his routine walk through the snow to Danny’s house who was outside checking the mail when he arrived. They walked together to the door when Danny stopped in his tracks and opened a letter. He’d been accepted into the same university as Sam, and although they hadn’t talked about moving together yet, Sam was so excited to hear that Danny had even applied and better yet gotten in.

Sam had no idea about his feelings at the time, and Danny had just been coming to grips with it himself.

When Danny opened his eyes again Sam was back to normal. Gone was the image of the boy he once was, and gone was the grief Danny had been holding onto along with it. He let go of Sam and turned to unlock the front door, holding it open for Sam to take the first step.

Once inside they shed their outermost layers, leaving Danny in a sweater and Sam in his sweatshirt.

“So what else did you want to show me?” Sam stood awkwardly at the door, like he’d never been in the Wagner house before. His eyes flicked around the house, remembering how warm and inviting it had always felt. The house wasn’t cluttered like his was with three boys all living under one roof, but it was still filled with years of love and use.

“Come on, in here” Danny waved Sam on to follow him through the front of the house and into the cozy living room. The remnants of a fire from the night before still sat in the fireplace, leaving behind a slightly smoky, almost cottagey smell.

He took a seat on his couch, patting the spot next to him for Sam to join him. “Remember that first year Jake and Josh couldn’t make it back up for the holidays, so you spent nearly the whole week here?”

Sam nodded as he took a seat himself. A little far at first but then scooting over until their thighs were flush against each other.

Danny reached behind himself and pulled out a quilt, the same one that sat in his family’s living room over the years, ready for anyone’s use. He didn’t unfold the blanket, just set it in Sam’s lap, letting him feel the fabric and remember the time he was referring to. “Yeah, we watched movies every night in here until I’d fall asleep and your mom would offer for me to stay the night”.

“I’d tell myself every time that I wouldn’t let you fall asleep. That once you started looking tired I’d stop the movie so you could get home. Then each and every time I’d see you relaxing underneath that quilt and I wouldn’t say a thing, because I wanted you to stay”.

“I wanted to stay too” Sam admit. Though maybe it hadn’t been for the same reasons then, he wanted to be sleepily drug off by Danny to his room. His childhood bed had never been quite big enough to fit the both of them, especially not when they grew into themselves, but Danny never once complained about sharing.

“I wanted to kiss you here too. Every night when you fell asleep I’d watch you and try to keep myself from imagining if you’d wake up if I tried”. Danny leaned over and gave Sam another kiss, this time letting his tongue glide along the crease of Sam’s lips until they parted and let him inside.

Sam sighed into Danny’s mouth, the quilt falling to the ground as he moved to sit on the edge of the couch, wrapping his arms around Danny’s shoulders and squeezing.

Danny grabbed Sam’s hips and lifted as they stood up together, never breaking the kiss. He backed Sam out of the living room and down the hallway towards his bedroom. Sam’s feet remembered where they were going after all the years of making the same trek without him having to even think about it.

His back was being pushed up against the door while Danny fumbled with finding the doorknob.

Sam took the momentary halt to claw at Danny’s back, digging his fingertips into the plush of Danny’s knit sweater and pulling it up and over his head.

Danny managed to get the door open and reconnected their lips as soon as his sweater was discarded onto the floor.

They found the bed quickly, Sam bringing Danny down on top of him as he fell back onto the old worn in mattress. “Did you want to kiss me in here too?” He teased, making a little joke out of the sentimental story Danny had been trying to tell. He appreciated the extent of love Danny had held for him for so long, but it was also a little overwhelming at the same time. So like usual he used his humor to mask his nerves.

Danny’s form loomed over him as he smirked and shook his head. “I wanted to do a lot more than just kiss you in here”.

Sam took a steadying breath, his blood was pumping quickly, still feeling warm with alcohol, or maybe the warmth was coming from Danny who had his entire body laid out flush against his.

Without another word Danny snaked his hands between their bodies and lifted the hem of Sam’s shirt. The cold air in the still room hit his stomach, making him squirm as Danny lifted it the rest of the way over his head and down his arms until it was falling to the floor.

“Let me know if you want to stop, okay?” Danny’s voice was hushed now, putting the point in just how far he was willing to go by grinding his hips down against Sam’s.

“No!” Sam’s hands frantically flew down to grip Danny’s hip, guiding him to put more pressure again which elicited a small breathy moan from above. “No, I don’t want to stop” he repeated again with a little more reserve and control.

Sam was surprised with how narrow and delicate Danny’s waist was in his hands. He was used to being the bigger person in his relationships. Though he was skinny and lanky most of his life, his limbs grew like a tree from the moment he hit puberty, quickly surpassing his older brothers. He always had his broad shoulders, large hands, and long strong legs, at least compared to a woman’s physique.

With Danny though he was matched. His hands traced up Danny’s arms, twisted around dense bones were thick ropes of muscle, only visible when he flexed like he did now holding himself up. His hands continued their exploration, arms connected to vast wide chest, smooth along the edges then decorated with coarse patches of hair as you reached the center and trailed lower… When his fingers met the front of Danny’s pants he paused, remembering the last time he’d tried to undo his pants in a hurry only to be stopped before he could get very far.

Danny didn’t move to ease him this time though, just watched with slightly hooded eyes as Sam’s deft fingers popped the button open and pulled the zipper down exposing the large bulge in his boxers. His breathing quickened as the feeling of panic started to spread and consume him again. He knew Danny was well endowed, Sam was pretty gifted in that department as well, but what was the dynamic here? Like he said, he was used to being the bigger person, the lead, but with Danny, and especially in the position he was currently in pinned to the bed on his back, he felt like he didn’t have any control.

“Can I be on top for a bit?” Sam spoke, his voice sounding loud and out of place.

Danny smiled fondly and flopped down onto his bed next to Sam, waiting patiently for his counterpart to sit up and roll over on top of him. What was it with Kiszka’s and always wanting to have the upper hand in the bedroom?

Sam flipped up and onto his knees, sitting at Danny’s side as he took the opportunity to look him over, matching what his hands had felt just a moment ago to what he could see in the dark room.

He knew Danny’s skin was slightly tanned like his own, the result of all the time they spent outside walking to class or just trying to soak up as much nature as they could when they could.

With the only light being the moon hanging just outside Danny’s window, his skin actually glowed. His eyes were dark though, like raw jewels, muddy with longing desire as he stared at Sam watching to see what he would do next. His hair was dark as the shadows of the room, mixing into the faded navy of his blanket.

In slow testing movements, Sam reached over and started to tug at the waistband of Danny’s pants. He lifted his hips in response, helping Sam as he guided the pants down his thighs. Sam abandoned them once they fell loosely around his knees, but crawled down the the edge of the bed and gripped at the hems around his ankles instead, pulling until Danny’s pants came sliding clean off.

“Take yours off too” Danny requested, propping up a leg to try and hide the fact that he was palming himself over his boxers.

Sam stood up off the bed and undid his pants too, easily dropping him down to his feet where he stepped out of them before rejoining Danny on the bed.

Danny sat up quickly, meeting Sam midair and clashing their lips together. His fingers tangled in Sam’s hair, leaning back to ease them down into a lying position again. Sam fumbled, trying to watch where his knee fell for fear it might land somewhere sensitive, but Danny only chuckled into the kiss, finding Sam’s clumsiness endearing and cute.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’ve never done this before” Sam pouted, ending up with one leg between Danny’s, their hips asymmetrical to each other.

Danny reached up and tucked a lock of Sam’s hair that he’d tousled behind his ear. He was kind of glad that they weren’t doing this for the first time without either of them having any experience, otherwise it might’ve proved to be an awkward and exhausting ordeal.

“Don’t act like you’ve never had sex before Sam” Danny teased, letting his hand wander down his back and around his side, it was his turn to explore Sam’s body.

So this is what we’re doing. We’re having sex. Sam finally got the answer to his question from when they pulled into the driveway. Danny brought him here to have sex together for the first time.

Sam experimentally rut, his hardening length sliding from behind his tight underwear into the groove between Danny’s hip and pelvis.

Danny groaned his approval, lifting his knee again causing Sam to fall further into him. He let Sam hump him for a bit. Although he wasn’t getting much friction of his own from this position, he was enjoying the choked whimpering sounds coming from Sam and the way they turned him on even more.

“Tell me what you want Sam, I want to give it to you”. Danny knew what he wanted. To bend Sam over this tiny bed and give it to him. He knew that would be too much for Sam right now though, so instead he resolved himself to letting Sam make all the decisions this time.

Sam slowed his movements, thinking about Danny’s offer for a moment before he got the right idea in mind. “Do you want to, I mean, would you give me head again?”

Danny smiled and pulled Sam into a tight hug, kissing him a few more times before his mouth got busy somewhere else. “Do you want to lay back down then?” He asked when Sam’s lips were nice and swollen and glossed with spit.

Sam nodded, dazed and out of his mind with need. They traded positions again, Danny waiting for Sam to get nice and comfortable against the pillows before he started to peel back his underwear, removing them completely.

He kissed all along Sam’s hips and the tops of his thighs, trailing inwards until he placed the last right against the tip. He watched in awe as Sam’s dick twitched in response.

“Sam” he whispered, getting his attention before he began. When Sam looked down they made eye contact and Danny held it as he started to gently stroke with one hand. Sam sighed and let his head fall back. “Sam” Danny called him again, more depth in his tone this time.

Raising his head they made eye contact once more and Danny started back up, waiting and hoping that Sam had gotten the memo eyes on me before he focused on his task and took him into his mouth.

After a few minutes of sucking and swirling his tongue to his best capabilities his eyes flicked up. Saw was propped up on his elbows now, but his eyes were closed, mouth hanging agape. Danny stopped once more and Sam's eyes sprung open. With a raise of his brows he started over again starting with his kisses, then a few more barely there strokes.

“You like getting sucked off don’t you?” Danny teased, running his lips and just the tip of his tongue up and down the side of Sam’s shaft.

Sam groaned, bucking his hips up against Danny’s mouth but retreating quickly when Danny pulled his tongue back and let his teeth just barely graze him next. “You like your body being worshiped, and I like being the one doing the worshiping”. His grip tightened and the stroking became more serious, more calculated, as his mouth moved lower until he was kissing and licking at Sam’s balls.

A moan fell from Sam’s still parted lips, but this time he kept his eyes obediently on Danny, now knowing what would happen if he didn’t watch.

“You know, there are a lot of ways I can worship your body. Like sucking on your pretty little cock, and…” he moved his thumb underneath his balls and pressed deeply, trying to angle his massage in just the right spot.

Sam had likely never had his prostate stimulated before, so Danny definitely felt the pressure to make this as gentle as possible and hopefully a mind blowing experience for him.

He replaced his hand with his mouth, freeing up his fingers to continue their work while he bobbed his head up and down.

A moan got caught in Sam’s throat, turning up in pitch as he fought to control his voice. Danny wanted to tell him to let it go, to let him hear his desperate noises, but he was too busy tasting salty precum.

Danny rocked into the mattress, he was throbbing. The last time he’d done so well in controlling himself but this time he was aching to receive some attention himself.

He pulled off Sam, but this time not to his alarm. In fact he breathed a sigh of relief because he’d been so close to cumming already. Danny moved to a sitting position between his legs and extended his hand in Sam’s direction. “Come here” he implored, his own voice losing its strength as he descended further and further into the pit of his own body’s hunger.

Sam took his hand and Danny pulled him forward, wrapping the other arm around his waist and sliding him into his lap. He hadn’t even stopped to remove his own boxers yet, but that didn’t matter at this moment he could deal with that later. He just clung onto Sam’s body like a wet rag, arms wrapped around his waist and chin resting on his shoulder, listening and feeling Sam’s breaths return to a normal pace.

“I love you Sam”. He squeezed tighter. “I want you- I need you to know that I love you”.

Sam hugged Danny in return, patting the back of his head and smoothing his wild curls. “I know Daniel, I love you too”.

Danny felt like his heart could stop and he worried that his mind had made up Sam’s words like it had when he saw the younger Sam standing with him outside on the porch. Sam nudged the shoulder he was resting on, getting Danny to pull up and look at him. Once he had eye contact again (something that was a lot easier to hold without Danny having his dick in his mouth) he repeated his words so Danny knew they were real. “I love you too”.

Sam leaned in for the kiss first, not shying away from letting his tongue glide into Danny’s mouth. He didn’t think Danny could hold him any tighter, but he didn’t mind at all.

“Now” Sam pulled back just the few inches that Danny’s iron grip allowed him to, “say something filthy again”.

“You liked that did you?” Danny chuckled smugly like he wasn’t even surprised. He moved his kisses to Sam’s collar, working on sucking tiny light pink bruises he hoped would last at least a few days so he could remember this moment every time he saw them.

“I never knew you had such a dirty mouth” Sam giggled as well, partly from his juvenile use of ‘dirty mouth’ but also because Danny’s kisses were tickling him.

“There’s a lot you still have to learn about me Sammy, but I know you. I know everything you’ll like even before you know you’ll like it”. He sucked one last love bite into Sam’s chest and leaned back to admire his work. “Just like you’re going to love this”.

Sam smiled wildly, eager to see what Danny had in store next. He’d all but forgotten that he was sitting naked in Danny’s lap, that was until Danny dropped his head and let a trail of saliva fall from his mouth onto Sam’s still hard length.

His strokes had intent this time, no longer worried about anything other than getting Sam, and himself, to the finish. One hand worked Sam while the other slipped under the waistband of his own boxers.

“Here, let me” Sam reached over and tugged the waistband down, exposing Danny’s hand and his erection in its full glory. He wasn’t panicking anymore, only worried that he could make Danny feel good too.

How hard could it be though? He knew how to make himself feel good, all he had to do was apply the same techniques and surely that would do the trick.

So he reached forward, taking over for one of Danny’s hands, stalling a second to let his mind take in all the subtle differences between Danny and himself. He squeezed a little tighter, the way he liked it, and Danny inhaled in then exhaled a moan as he mimicked the same grip on Sam.

The room filled with the combined sounds of heavy breaths, moans, and sloppy open mouthed kisses until Danny gripped Sam’s ass hard enough to elicit a surprised yelp from him and pulled him closer until he could get his fingers around himself and Sam at the same time.

The feeling of their heat pressed together as Danny pumped sent a slur of thoughts that short circuited Sam’s mind. Like how could this feel so good when all they were doing was essentially jerking each other off? Or how he never expected himself to be having sex with another man, let alone Danny. Yet here he was leaning back onto his hands and thrusting his hips upwards into Danny’s fist.

“That’s it Sam, don’t stop, fuck you’re so sexy”. Danny abandoned himself for a moment and wrapped his hand fully back around Sam, running the other up the expanse of his tight stomach. Sam thrusts stuttered and he let out one more cry before coming undone and falling back onto the bed.

Using his cum slicked hand Danny continued to finish himself, shooting hot ropes of milky white across Sam’s sore thighs.

Spent and tingly all over Danny laid down next to Sam, their shoulders touching since they hardly fit side by side.

“That… wasn’t what I expected” Sam spoke up after a few minutes of catching their breaths.

Danny’s stomach flipped. He knew that wasn’t exactly the Earth shattering orgasmic sex that either of them were capable of, but now that the door had been opened it could only get better from there, right?

“I’m glad we waited” he blindly reached around on the bed at his side, finding Danny’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “You were right, the build up was worth it”.

Danny let out a gust of air followed by a trail of laughter, catching Sam completely off guard. “I thought you didn’t like it”.

“I’m covered in jizz, what’s not to like about that?” Sam jested then drug his fingers along the mess and smeared it all over Danny’s stomach. “There, now we’re even!”

“Sam! What the fuck!” Danny shoved his shoulder and Sam overreacted like he’d tried to push him off the bed. He rolled over, over correcting until he was practically on top of Danny again and attacked him with kisses.

Although all Danny wanted to do was lay in bed naked with Sam for the rest of the evening, he knew their time alone would need to be coming to an end. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up and head back”.

“You think anyone noticed we left?” Sam questioned as he followed Danny across the hall and into the bathroom.

Danny flipped on the light and Sam got a good look at himself in the mirror, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the necklace of hickeys. “Oh absolutely, Josh doesn’t miss anything”. Danny came up from behind him, and pressed a kiss into his shoulder.

Sam smiled, not only because he had proof of their little shannagains, but also at the thought that if Josh knew, then Jake probably did too.

After a speedy shower, trying not to get their hair wet so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when rejoining the party, they got redressed in Danny’s room. Sam was chatting away like he was entirely unphased about what had just happened, but Danny couldn’t help but get lost in every single detail.

Once he got his pants pulled up and his sweater back on he stopped to take it in one last time. He felt like everything had finally come full circle. He’d fallen in love with Sam here, back in the living room on his couch, on the front porch. Here, everywhere, at home. It only seemed fit that he sealed his love in the flesh here in his old bedroom.

And he shut the door behind him.

@alwaysonthemend @twistedmelodies @heckingfrick @psychedelicstardust-gvf

#greta van fic #greta van fleet #greta van smut #danny wagner #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #sanny gvf #gvf

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hyvnology · 1 year

Text

question....?

pairing(s): hyunjin x reader

tags: angst, self-doubt, angst, hyunjin being sad (sorry)

requested by: @lovesunshinefelix

note: so so sorry for the delay!!! I was sick for the first two weeks of december and then had exams after exams... it was a mess. Also, I’m very tempted to turn this into an actual fic lmao Enjoy!!!

Your mind is hazy, the rush that came with alcohol long gone and replaced with this bitter taste on your tongue, this tightness in your chest and lump in your throat. It feels as if something is crawling along your skin, there’s a burning feeling in your eyes and yet you can’t help but feel…. feel numb.

“Do you ever think about us?”

You freeze.

His words are soft, barely audible over the wind and the distant sound of cars. There’s this wistful quality to his voice almost as if he is reminiscing over something unreachable.

You hesitate for a second before looking at him and..

He is just as breathtaking as you remember.

The moonlight bathes him in an almost ethereal glow, making the harsher lines of his face appear softer. He is not looking at you, just staring at the stars littering the sky and you stare at him unabashedly, looking at him for the first time in months.

Your eyes trail along the line of his jaw, the crimson dusting sitting high on his cheeks due to the cold, the moles under his eye and his lips that were curved downwards. His hair was shorter, barely reaching his shoulders now.

Do you ever think about us, he had asked, as if it was something you had never doing.

How could you not? How could you not think about days that seemed to pass away in a blink, filled with laughter and this feeling of comfort that you longed for. You still long for it, the press of his hands, the taste of his lips, the sound of his laughter, the feel of him.

You still think about him, about what the two of you could have been. You still think about your bodies pressed against each other as you watched movies or stargazed, your intertwined fingers as you watched him marvel at paintings or look around museums, the way you were just content to sit around and watch him do something he loved or the way he listened to what you had to say, no matter how broken or messy your words were.

You still think about him, the way he was love personified, the way he was comfort, the way he was the best thing to have happened to you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not wanting to voice what you truly wanted. Not wanting to say that you haven’t stopped thinking about the two of you, that you haven’t stopped thinking about him even though it had been months.

A bitter laugh fell from his lips, eyes fluttering as he rested his head against the wall.

“I…” Hyunjin paused, a heavy sigh falling from his lips as he looked at you with sad sad eyes. It hurts, to see anything but happiness on him. It hurts, aches to see the hollow look in his eyes and the downturn of his lips. It hurts to know that you were the cause of it. “I was too much wasn’t I?”

“Hyunjin-”

“What else could it be?” His voice was soft, almost lost to the surrounding as he spoke, “One day we were laughing and joking around and we were.... we were happy. And then you just.. you leave”

“Hyunjin, it… ” you sigh, hoping that he can see the desperation on your face. You weren’t good with words, not like he was. Hyunjin had the ability to articulate his thoughts into something beautiful, into something soothing and something that you couldn't help but listen to where as you? You could barely get out a coherent sentence. “You were the best thing to have happened to me.”

“Then why?” His voice cracked at the last word and it felt like a physical blow. You feel as if there’s a hand around your throat, stopping the air from entering your lungs as you look at him, looking at the pain written on his face and the hear the tremble in his words “I just.. I just want an explanation on how you are here with someone else when you left me with nothing but questions.”

You can’t get anything out. Words are at the tip of your tongue, just aching to escape but you can’t.

You were always a coward.

Hyunjin had always been easy to treasure, with his soft touches and eyes that held warmth that rivalled the sun, with the comfort that came with him just being him. He was always easy to treasure, with his endearing habits and unrestrained laughter and belief that love is soft and gentle and something warm.

He was someone you could never be enough for.

It was something you realised one day after you had hung out with his friends. The way they had talked with him, teasing and yet always gentle. The way their gazes held nothing but fondness as they looked at him. The way they showed that they loved him, somthing that you feared you couldn’t do.

It was a small thing at first, the idea of not being enough, the idea of not loving him enough, the idea of him not knowing the way you were willing to give every part of yourself away for him. And then it just spiralled from there into conversation and situation and circumstances being thought over and over in your head.

The fear had been negligible back then, barely there for you to notice but it had spread, slowly oh so slowly before it had wrapped itself around you like a noose.

And you were a coward, afraid of not being good, of ruining someone like him

And.. and running the best thing you could’ve done before you ruined someone like him.

You don’t reply, staring down at the drink in your hands and you can feel the silence that settles. Thick and acidic and suffocating.

You hear him move and you force yourself to not look at him, afraid of what you will see.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, even though he is long gone. “I am so sorry Hyunjin-ah”

#hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #skz #stary kids #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #anst #exes

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the-corner-window · 1 year

Text

As Light Falls

“Are you taking inventory again? Look at all this equipment...” Ghost flits around the hall of the H.E.L.M, eyeballing the assortment of firearms leaning on the walls as I prod at the Vault terminal to tag defunct guns for dismantling. He zooms over and hovers above a white auto rifle with gold inlaid Cabal markings. “Oh wow! I haven’t seen this one in years, I thought you got rid of it after the whole... Shadow incident.” I pause from my tinkering with the screen and look back at the gun. Ghost was busy idly scanning the mechanisms within, simple enough to be readily synthesized from glimmer if discarded or damaged. “It’s a good gun.” I curtly remark, turning back to resume organizing a hoard of gear. “Do you ever wonder how things would have changed if we hadn’t stopped the assault on the Spire of Stars?” Ghost ponders, slowly floating over the minefield of worn out armor scattered along the floor. “Would we have ever met Caiatl? Would we have been able to fight off House Salvation long enough for Rasputin to...” “I don’t linger on ‘what-ifs’ like Elsie and Osiris, we just have to face consequences we’re dealt and adapt... or collapse.” I posit, walking over to take the familiar Ghost Primus in-hand and tracing along the gilded patterns. “They do well to learn from the past, but I tend to hope for the future. There’s not enough room for hesitation when we’re facing down what foes may come.” “That hope seems more distant than ever before.” Ghost murmurs as he drifts to the bridge window. The H.E.L.M is making it’s way back into the station, now overlooking the City. The skyline is unsettlingly hollow bereft of the Traveler. Maintenance frames can be heard behind closed doors clearing out the facilities from our major operations, along with the heavy footfalls of Imperial Legionnaires under command of Lord Saladin. Masked by the muffled rummaging, the ethereal buzz of a transmat abruptly sounds from the War Table. Light-footed steps characteristic of a Hunter trail into the bridge and stop at the edge of the communications terminal. “You finally going to take those to your quarters?” I ask aloud now sifting through armor. “At least I don’t treat half the bridge as a laundry room” Crow chides with a chuckle. Despite his tone it’s easy to tell something weighs on his mind, which for him in particular is typical. “He left them for you as a parting gift.” I say, tracing the honed edge of the iron battle axe with my eyes. “You know what he meant by it.” Crow takes the medallion into his hand and runs his thumb between the engraved wolf heads. The battle axe stands unmoved since the day Saladin became Bracus Forge, having since rose in rank to become a Valus on the Imperial War Council. “I heard that you’ve earned a legacy of your own ‘Young Wolf’. How do you seem to handle everything that’s thrown at you in stride so readily?” Crow asks, still feeling over the surface of his amulet. “I don’t.” I said bluntly, before continuing on. “The Taken, the Red War...” “...Cayde.” Crow stutters as he grips the medallion tightly. “I realize it must be hard to have me around so often.” “I’m grateful that you’re here with me. I know that it wasn’t you during all of that mess, and I forgave you, as Crow, before we’d even wrested you from The Spider’s web. But it took me a long time to forgive Uldren... back on the Leviathan. But when I look at you I don’t see him anymore, I see a companion who’s endured far more than any New Light should. A friend that I trust to step up when it’s needed.” “And I see my Guardian, who didn’t abandon me even when it meant he’d suffer as well!” Chimed in Glint, Crow’s ghost who had been buzzing around my own catching up on some chatter. “The point is” I continue, “I’m not an unflappable force of nature. We’re both still human despite having been chosen by our ghosts. I’ve stumbled, and I’ve had lessons to learn along my own journey. We’re both young and reckless in our own ways. What matters is that we make our recklessness count for something in the end.” “You don’t sound young, you sound like you’d have seen Twilight Gap firsthand. But I guess I never realized that it’s only been 8 years for you... so much has happened in less than a decade.” “It’s hard to say what will happen next with The Witness on our doorstep. Keep your eyes up, guardian” Crow nods with a new look of determination, takes hold of the battle axe, and with a simple “Let’s go Glint.” transmats out, leaving me to my ‘laundry’. I clean up my mess with the H.E.L.M still bustling with grunting and clangs as the Eliksni board to relocate the captain’s atlas. I nod to Miisraaks and Eido before stepping out into the City streets for the first time in what feels like forever. It’s about time I go grab a nice bowl of ramen, maybe I’ll see if the clan wants to join.

#destiny 2 #lightfall #short story

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vollzz · 11 months

Text

new chapter just dropped for Diverging Paths of Heart, my chaptered eleonora/yura fic exploring them as dragon hunters. small snippet of chapter 3 is under the cut, and you can read the whole thing on my ao3. thanks for reading! :)

Perhaps we will cross paths again, should the grace will it to be.

That word, grace, had wormed its way into Eleonora’s thoughts. It burrowed, a near-constant presence reverberating throughout her mind as she finally set sight on the distant light of a settlement glistening within the darkened horizon.

“You tread on ever-thinning ground, Eleonora. The Land of Reeds is your lifeblood. Do not tarnish the years honing your razor’s edge. This is your life, your eternity. We bloom from blood-soaked soil and one day water it with our own.”

“But I don’t want to-”

“There is no want. We do what we need to reclaim what we have lost. Such speak is the language of exiles.”

Her memory still felt as though a thick layer of fog lingered above everything, obscuring more than the bits and pieces that dared stick through. Eleonora knew deep in her bones that she’d been sent here as an outcast, and there was something about grace involved, but she still struggled to glean anything beyond that.

That mystery could continue as such until another time, when she had food in her stomach and a roof over her head.

It took another hour of travel but Eleonora finally found herself approaching the entrance to the town. It wasn’t anything particularly grand, and had a meager excuse of a boundary consisting of not much more than a row of tall wooden logs. They stood rather haphazardly, many of their pointed tips having broken off or otherwise wrecked, and a loud minority of them had fallen over completely. Looking past the sorry border, she glimpsed that the road she had been walking along continued straight through the town and made a sharp right turn once it hit grassy fields.

The town’s main road hosted a variety of small, rickety-looking stores with signs flaunting a variety of wares, weapons, armor, and food. It seemed that the residents’ homes all branched off of the main road, spread out within the confines of the town. There were very few souls roaming at this hour, though that was to be expected - it looked to be just before dawn.

A tall, pointed building caught Eleonora’s eye as she crossed the town’s threshold. Its facade was fashioned from a truly ridiculous amount of concrete and cobblestone, and an abundance of twisting vines creeping across it betrayed its old age. At the very top of its spire lay a hollowed-out section housing a large bell.

As she approached the building she was greeted by large, wooden doors fastened shut and a huge sculpture of a woman looking down upon her. It seemed as though she’d been crucified, but Eleonora noted the distinct lack of a cross behind her body. Two long braids framed her elegant face, which assessed her with what she hoped to be a warm smile.

---

dpoh tag list- (ask to be added for fic updates!)

@kourumi

#elden ring fanfic #writes #eleonora violet bloody finger #bloody finger hunter yura #dpoh #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #elden ring

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yutasbimil · 2 years

Text

Safe Word

asahi x fem!oc | haikyuu ff. (time-skip!older asahi) [short one-shot] tags: fluff, hurt/comfort cw: slight and very minor suggestive set-up, established relationship, mentions of bullying, anxiety note: not that comfy w/ 2nd POV, tho no specific characteristics are mentioned on the fem!oc so pls feel free to imagine as y/n or YOU ♡ word count: 0.4k

“Tangerine.”

“Hmmm?”

“Tangerine!” Aoi exclaims, startling Asahi. He quickly embraces the smaller girl in his arms, seeing her shaking. Though, she’s more on clinging to herself. Her presence feels somehow hollow and distant, looking through her eyes.

Asahi feels see-through.

“You okay?” The taller guy runs his fingers in circles by her back, her agitation still creeping through her skin. He feels she feels more exposed; bare now that they got to discard half of their clothing away. He pulls the blanket over her.

“N-no… sorry.” Aoi puts the blanket over herself, feeling guilty as well as she’s been the one who initiated being intimate. Yet she is here quivering at her intrusive thoughts.

“Sorry… for stopping.” She slips off a bit breathless due to her nervousness, her boyfriend shakes his head. “It’s fine…”

Asahi watches her as she spaces out.

Even though he’s still quite at the stage of comprehending this state of her whenever it happens, he just rides along to be there for her. Being present beside her may be enough to ease her.

“I am… comfy for kisses though.” She mutters after a while, inching closer back to his warmth, she already feels bad earlier as they are a bit heated. Asahi feels her calming down more with his touch, all the more as he places kisses on her face.

Asahi strokes her hair, seeing a bit of her color back on her cheeks. He took the chance to ask her again as she just stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“Are you okay?”

Aoi shrugs lightly, though it’s noticeable how disturbed she is.

“Is it them?” He’s cautious with his delivery. Asahi is quite aware of how she got bullied at school. As much as she already got out of the situation, it’s evident how it is still affecting her.

“Either way, I have to deal and see them there…” She vents out her thoughts, and with a hum, Asahi urges her to continue. “I don’t know, I still want to go, and this is the first time that I felt this…”

Even though she's scared, Aoi wants to push through the club joining, she explains.

“They're not messing with you hmmm?” He asks just to make sure though. Asahi is there to protect her, she's assuring her.

“Sorry, this still disturbs me.”

“I told you, it's not your fault and I understand.” He puts his chin by her chest. She hugs him a bit, not as anxious about it now. Though at the back of her mind, of course, she's still bothered by how this affects her.

The look in his eyes set a warm fire to her heart.

“I'm just here.”

He tightly holds her hand sweetly, to ground her assured comfort in his eyes.

Asahi pats her until both their heartbeats are mellow, at the same pace of each of their breathing. And every gentle pat touches her back to the ground.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

#asahi azumane #asahi #asahi fluff #karasuno #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu fic #enjeiwrites

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anons-in-ethersphere · 8 months

Note

[ J:\\ HELLO. ]

\\1

Hello! How are you? "

#DISTANT THOUGHTS/HOLLOW MIND; ask tag

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collapse-and-comfort · 3 years

Note

Love your blog! Can I ask for a sick fic with some comfort? The whumpee ignoring symptoms and pushing on until they collapse. So the caretaker carries them to bed, and looks after the whumpee the next few days. The whumpee is weak and scared because they’ve never been that badly sick. But they don’t want to go to hospital (maybe bad experiences before).

🌡🤒🌡Thank you so much!!! Sorry this took so long. It just kind of kept going and ended up being a little over 4K words! I hope you enjoy! (I'm going to tag @lurkingwhump because I know you were interested in a story like this! I'd also be remiss if I didn't mention @i-write-whump because her prompts were constantly on my mind while I was writing this.) 🌡🤒🌡

Whumpee watched their interviewee’s retreating back. They’d been less a lead and more an aggravation. The beat of an eighties pop song made their headache (and their mood) worse and they closed their eyes and pinched the bridge of their nose.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee said as they tapped a thumb on the table and tried to ignore the growing ache in their throat. “Let’s go.”

They walked back to Whumpee’s apartment to review information. It amounted to tirespinning and tail chasing. The longer the evening went, the more difficult it became for Whumpee to concentrate. They tossed a file onto their coffee table with the rest of the information they were pouring over. They leaned back on their couch and closed their eyes. No matter how they tried to will their headache away, it continued to compound itself. An ache and a chill were working their way into Whumpee’s body. They didn’t need to look at Caretaker to know they were watching them with questions on their tongue and concern in their eyes.

“Getting late,” Caretaker said.

“Late” was several hours ago.

“Mmhhm,” Whumpee said without opening their eyes. They weren’t taking the bait. “You’d better get going. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Right,” Caretaker said with a dubious quirk in their brow. They left, but they gave Whumpee ample time to reconsider, to tell them they needed a break, or help. Or something.

Whumpee sat on their couch in silence as the chill in their body intensified. They refused to believe they were getting sick. Allergies, exhaustion. Had to be. They couldn’t even remember the last time they were ill. Whumpee groaned as they heaved themself up. The room spun and they closed their eyes until the dizziness passed. A string of expletives played in their head as they found their way down the hall and into the restroom.

They dry swallowed some pills that had likely exceeded their expiration date and they avoided catching sight of the flushed, hollow-eyed specter they would see if they looked in the mirror.

They didn’t bother struggling out of their clothes before curling up beneath their covers and dropping into a fitful sleep.

Whumpee woke to someone banging - no, just insistent, undemanding knocking the way their partner always did - on their door. They pawed at their nightstand in search of their phone, but it was nowhere to be found. They peeled their eyes open and wondered how long Caretaker had been knocking. They disentangled themself from their covers and slowly rolled their way off the mattress.

Too hot, they thought as they willed themself, one foot after the other, to make the distance from their room to their door.

When they opened up, Caretaker stepped in with a coffee in each hand. Their affable expression faltered when they looked at Whumpee. If Caretaker noticed Whumpee was wearing the same clothes they’d been dressed in the previous evening - and of course they did - they didn’t mention it.

“Shit,” Caretaker said as they handed Whumpee a cup. “Guess I should have brought you tea instead, huh?”

“As long as it had sugar in it,” Whumpee said before clearing their throat and grimacing at the sensation and the way their voice rasped. “Just give me a minute.”

---

“We can pass this off,” Caretaker suggested by mid-morning. They could. They knew several of their teammates were dying to sink their teeth into this case and there was no harm in letting them.

They watched as Whumpee rested their head against the passenger side window. Whumpee didn’t respond, but Caretaker knew what they would say. They couldn’t put this on hold; they had to finish it. Besides, I’m fine.

“Right,” Caretaker said. They felt as though that one, marginally passive aggressive word, was becoming their personal mantra. They couldn’t make Whumpee do something they didn’t want to do, and while they’d never seen Whumpee with so much as a sniffle, they knew Whumpee would run themself into the ground regardless of whether or not they had a job to do.

God forbid you take care of yourself, Caretaker thought.

The day wore on like that. Caretaker doubted the small measures Whumpee was taking to make themself less miserable - resting or rubbing their eyes, pulling their coat tighter around themself - were cries for help. Each time they asked Whumpee if they were okay, they were rewarded with a glare or a surly shrug.

The evening found them back in Whumpee’s apartment. Caretaker had grown genuinely worried about Whumpee. They watched as Whumpee stared at the same paper they’d been holding for the past ten minutes. They shut their eyes and slouched forward in their chair before closing their eyes. Caretaker frowned at the way Whumpee’s jaws were clenched, the way their shoulders were bunched, and the way their face was flushed. Whumpee’s clothes looked rumpled and uncomfortable. Not exactly surprising since they were the same ones they’d been wearing the previous day.

“You’re half asleep, Whumpee. Why don’t you at least change into some fresh clothing?”

They expected a brusque reply, but Whumpee put down the paper and nodded without looking at Caretaker. That set off warning bells.

Whumpee used the coffee table to steady themself as they rose and Caretaker reached out to help when they saw how badly Whumpee’s arms were shaking.

“I’m fine,” Whumpee muttered as they stood to their full height.

“Bullshit,” Caretaker said as they stood too. They’d spent the entire day watching Whumpee suffer needlessly and they’d had enough. “You can’t keep pushing yourself.”

Caretaker waited for Whumpee to tell them how they’d be better in the morning, or they’re just tired, or...

Whumpee swayed on their feet and their eyes rolled back before their knees buckled and dropped to the floor with jarring force. Caretaker swore as they quickly closed the distance between them and caught Whumpee’s upper body before they could fall the rest of the way. Whumpee let out a distant-sounding moan as their forehead rolled on Caretaker’s shoulder. As Caretaker held Whumpee’s chest against their own, they were shocked at the heat rolling off of Whumpee.

How the hell did Whumpee let themself get this bad?!

Caretaker didn’t berate Whumpee for neglecting themself. Rather, they gathered Whumpee in their arms. There was a flash of confusion, then annoyance on Whumpee’s face. Caretaker pretended they didn’t see the latter emotion.

“Just gonna get you to bed,” they said.

Then possibly to the hospital, they added in their head.

Whumpee didn’t put up a fight as Caretaker carried them back the hall and to their room. Caretaker angled themself so as not to run Whumpee’s head into a wall or door frame. They were unsurprised to find that Whumpee had left their covers a tangled mess. They set Whumpee down and helped them into a seated position while they straightened the covers as best they could. Caretaker circled back around to where Whumpee sat and all the aggravation they’d felt at Whumpee for not taking better care of themself fled them completely.

Whumpee’s arms hung at their sides, their mouth was part way open and their eyes were glassy. Without worrying about Whumpee’s sensibilities, Caretaker put their palm on Whumpee’s forehead.

“You’re burning up, Whumpee,” they said. That Whumpee was running a fever was far from surprising, but the sickly heat that was coming off of them was no less worrying to feel. “Jesus, how long have you been sick?”

“Few days,” Whumpee said. They looked up at Caretaker with wounded pride and they tried to pull away when Caretaker cupped their neck with their hands.

“Sshh,” Caretaker said as they gently pressed their fingers against Whumpee’s throat. They winced at how swollen Whumpee’s glands felt beneath their fingertips.

They frowned and idly swept a damp lock of hair from Whumpee’s forehead and decided what to do.

“Okay,” they said. “Is there anything we need to bring with us to the hospital?”

Whatever indignation and bravado were left in Whumpee disappeared. Whumpee’s eyes went a little wider and they shrank back from Caretaker as they drew in several sharp breaths as they shook their head.

“No. No hospitals.”

“Whumpee, you passed out and you’re running a high fever. I really-”

“No!”

Whumpee tried to stand, but Caretaker stopped them before they could land on the floor again. Caretaker put one hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and held onto one of Whumpee’s arms, trying to hold them as steadily and as gently as possible.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Caretaker said. They kept their voice low as Whumpee landed back on the bed and began to struggle. “Easy, Whumpee. Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. It’s okay. Hey, hey, look at me.”

Whumpee’s energy flagged and finally, their wary, fever-bright eyes found Caretaker’s.

“That’s it, Whumpee.”

Caretaker knew Whumpee had a thing about hospitals, but they never would have guessed it was this bad. Had their fever amplified that fear, or had it simply laid it bare?

“No hospitals.”

Caretaker sighed and nodded. It wasn’t going to do either of them any good to drag Whumpee, half out of their mind with a fever, into an emergency room. Maybe they could talk Whumpee into it if it came to that. Or maybe they’d call an ambulance. Caretaker let go of Whumpee’s arm and rubbed their shoulder. Their heart went out to Whumpee when they felt their breathing hitch beneath their palm.

“Okay,” Caretaker conceded. “No hospitals. But we have to get your temperature down. Where do you keep your thermometer?

“I’ve never been this sick before,” Whumpee said. Their voice was thick and apologetic as they dropped their gaze.

No thermometer, then, Caretaker concluded as they alternated between rubbing and patting Whumpee’s shoulder.

“Okay, what about some Tylenol?”

Whumpee paused and thought about it.

“Above the bathroom sink.”

Caretaker located the bottle. Empty. They sighed, discarded it, and moved to the kitchen. They rummaged through Whumpee’s fridge, but settled on taking them a glass of water. Whumpee sat where they left them.

“I want you to drink some of this,” they said as they pressed the glass into Whumpee’s hands. “I’m going to go pick up a few things, okay?”

Whumpee looked from the glass and back up to Caretaker. They nodded and took several sips of water before setting the glass on their nightstand. Caretaker took note of the way they winced each time they swallowed.

““Do you think you’d be more comfortable in different clothing?”

Whumpee gave them a tired mmhmm and tried to lift themself again.

“I got it,” Caretaker said as they put up a staying hand. “Let me help.”

Whumpee directed them to the bottom drawer of their dresser. Caretaker selected a pair of black athletic shorts and an overly large gray tee shirt. Whumpee didn’t protest when Caretaker helped them out of their old clothes and into the new ones. Whatever energy Whumpee had was depleted and they allowed themself to be helped down to the mattress without complaint. They used one arm to unevenly pull their covers back over themself. Caretaker refrained from helping them pull the covers more completely over them.

They didn’t want to leave Whumpee like this for any amount of time, but if they were going to help them, they needed to. Caretaker fetched Whumpee’s cell phone from the living room and put it on the nightstand next to the water.

“I’ll be back soon, but if you need anything, just call.”

All told, it took them about a half an hour for them to visit a drug store and a convenience store - both within walking distance - to gather what they needed and return. They organized everything on the counter, then took the immediate essentials to Whumpee’s room.

Whumpee was asleep beneath their covers and the water sat, untouched, on the nightstand. Caretaker regretted that they needed to wake them up. They put a hand on Whumpee’s forehead - still far too warm - then patted their cheek.

“Hey, Whumpee,” they said. “I need you to wake up for a minute, okay?”

“Mmm?” Whumpee mumbled as they looked up at Caretaker with bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Just gonna get your temperature,” they said as they held up the oral thermometer they’d bought.

Whumpee frowned.

“It’s clean,” Caretaker said, though they doubted that was Whumpee’s objection. They leaned down and put the tip of the thermometer to Whumpee’s lips. “C’mon.”

Thankfully, Whumpee did as they were asked.

“Keep it under your tongue,” Caretaker told them, letting memories of their mother be their guide.

Whumpee kept their eyes closed while the thermometer worked, but they opened them again when the beepbeepbeep sounded. They reached for the offending instrument, but Caretaker halted them.

“Just leave it for a sec,” they said. Part of them didn’t want to see the reading, didn’t want the numbers to force their hand with Whumpee’s care.

They removed the thermometer and turned it so they could see the segmented, digital numbers.

“One-oh-three point nine,” Caretaker said, frowning at the thermometer as though it were to blame.

Not great, Caretaker thought, though they knew it could be worse. They tried to remember if they’d seen Whumpee eat anything the past couple of days. They picked up the new bottle of Tylenol, but paused when they saw Whumpee’s face. Whumpee’s jaw clenched as they clumsily wiped a tear away, They crouched down at Whumpee’s side - the pills rattled as they did so - and they put a hand on Whumpee’s arm.

Caretaker cursed themself for not stepping in earlier, for not seeing just how sick Whumpee was, for not making Whumpee take better care of themself. The latter was easier said than done, of course, but now it seemed the confirmation that they were sick was too much for Whumpee to bear.

“Okay,” they said, speaking more gently than they could ever remember speaking to Whumpee. Overt tenderness, or any other sort of tenderness for that matter, had never been a part of their dynamic. Whumpee let themself sniffle and that led to a coughing fit. Caretaker seated themself on the mattress next to Whumpee and patted their back as they waited for the coughing to pass. “It’s okay. I know this sucks. We’ve gotta work on getting your temp down, though, so I want you to take these pills.”

Caretaker helped them lean up and take the pills.

“You need to drink more, too,” Caretaker said, careful not to sound like they were scolding them. They wondered how much longer Whumpee would have let themself go without some sort of aid. A niggling thought worked its way into Caretaker’s mind. There was the very real possibility Whumpee had never had anyone to care for them in this way.

Caretaker gave Whumpee’s forearm a squeeze and then stood.

“Be right back,” they said.

They returned with a cool, damp washcloth. Caretaker swept Whumpee’s hair back and put the cloth on their forehead.

“Cold,” they murmured without opening their eyes.

“I know,” Caretaker said as they sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just don’t want your brain to get cooked.”

Whumpee hummed in agreement and laid still. Their breathing evened out and Caretaker removed the cloth when it had taken on as much of Whumpee’s body heat as it could. Whumpee didn’t stir while Caretaker repeated the process several times.

Once they were sure Whumpee was resting soundly enough, Caretaker went about the business turning their case over to other, equally competent hands. They didn’t look forward to telling Whumpee, but they’d cross that bridge when they had to.

When Caretaker returned to Whumpee’s room, Whumpee was curled on their side. Their mouth was open and their breathing was deep. Caretaker risked placing the back of their hand on Whumpee’s forehead. Still warm, but it was better.

All was quiet until just after one in the morning. Whumpee stirred and Caretaker sat upright in the recliner in the corner of the room. Whumpee rolled onto their back and pawed at the covers.

“Hey,” Caretaker said as they walked over to the side of the bed. They put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and shook it a little bit. “You good, Whumpee?”

Whumpee’s eyes slid open and settled on Caretaker. It took a moment, but Caretaker could see the memory of the evening return to them.

“Too warm,” they rasped.

“Fever’s breaking,” Caretaker said with a nod as they helped Whumpee off with the covers. To Whumpee’s chagrin, Caretaker got their temp again, though that time it was a much more agreeable ninety-nine point eight.

“Don’t have to stay,” Whumpee mumbled as they rubbed a hand over their face.

Yes I do, Caretaker thought.

“It’s no problem,” they said with a shrug. “Besides, I know your WiFi password. Can I get you anything?”

Whumpee swallowed and grimaced as though there was a bad taste in their mouth.

“Drink?”

Caretaker brought them ginger ale, more pills and chapstick. Whumpee was quick to fall back to sleep after that.

Whumpee’s fever spiked again in the morning, though it was nowhere near as harrowing. What worried Caretaker was how pliant Whumpee had become. Just more evidence of how run down they’d let themself get.

After they took a shower, Whumpee set up camp in the living room and Caretaker took the opportunity to change the bedclothes. It was a small thing, but sometimes those provided the most comfort. Caretaker knew they were well on their way to becoming a mother hen, but they couldn’t quite bring themself to care.

Caretaker waited for the inevitable questions about work, but they never came. Caretaker wondered if Whumpee already knew what they’d done. The day wore on and Whumpee alternated between dozing and trying to watch whatever brainless actioner Caretaker opted to play. Their blanket was on. Their blanket was off.

Caretaker intermittently cleared away tissues when they began to accumulate around Whumpee. Caretaker plied them with a steady stream of drinks (Tea with honey seemed most effective.), and in the early evening, despite their declaration that they weren’t hungry, Whumpee managed to eat some soup. Caretaker extended a hand to take the dishes away when Whumpee was done. Whumpee started to say something, but their words fell off and they looked down at their lap when Caretaker took the dishes from them.

Caretaker wanted to reassure them, but they knew whatever they said in that moment would sound useless and patronizing to Whumpee. Maybe the best thing they could do was give Whumpee some alone time. At least for as long as it took Caretaker to pick up some things from their own place.

When Caretaker got back Whumpee was ready for bed. Caretaker regarded them. Their cheeks were flushed again and their eyes were glassy. Caretaker asked them the same questions they’d been asking them all day. How’s your throat? You okay? Do you need anything?

“I’m just tired,” Whumpee said as they started off with shuffling steps towards their room.

“Okay.” Caretaker calculated the time they’d remind Whumpee to take more pills like the world’s most proactive medi-minder. They chewed their lip as they watched Whumpee go. They hoped they got some rest. “Let me know if you need anything.”

That night, Caretaker dozed in the couch, but a single whimper from Whumpee’s room woke them. They crossed the room and fumbled for the lamp’s switch. The golden light revealed Whumpee, sweating and tangled in their covers. Their eyes were dazed and frightful; their mouth opened and they let out a pathetic groan as they pulled themself toward the edge of the bed.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker said as they put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder; they were looking at them, but they weren’t seeing them. “Hey, Whumpee.”

“Nonono,” Whumpee said. Their voice was far off, but it sounded no less distressed. “Stop Don't Please. It Hurts. N-”

Whumpee came awake and they panted as they braced themself on their elbows. They recoiled from Caretaker’s touch with a whimper and their feet worked at kicking their covers away.

“It’s okay, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “Ssh. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe, Whumpee.”

They risked putting a hand back on Whumpee’s shoulder. They reminded themself to stay calm for Whumpee’s sake. A sob escaped Whumpee as they fell onto their side, breathing hard. Their feet stil moved ineffectually under the covers.

Caretaker pulled the blankets off of Whumpee and they stopped trying to escape whatever was hunting them. Caretaker grabbed the thermometer and the tissue box before sitting down next to Whumpee and began rubbing the curve of their shoulder.

“It’s okay,” they repeated. “Shshsh. Just a bad dream.”

Was it, though? How dramatically had their fever spiked?

After a bout of coughing, Caretaker offered Whumpee a tissue. Whumpee blew their nose before Caretaker tried to get them to take the thermometer in their mouth. Whumpee turned their face away and pursed their lips. Caretaker might have found humor in the sheer petulence of the gesture had Whumpee not looked so scared.

“C’mon, Whumpee. I’ve gotta see your temp.”

“No,” Whumpee said as they reached with a weak hand, trying to bat away the thermometer.

Caretaker caught Whumpee’s clammy hand and lowered it to the bed.

“I’ve gotta know how bad it is, Whumpee. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Don’t…” Whumpee said as they looked at Caretaker with unfocused eyes. “Don’t take me to the hospital. I can’t be there.”

“I’m just-”

“I can’t.”

Caretaker took a breath. They couldn’t let Whumpee work themself into a lather.

“You’re just coming out of a nightmare, Whumpee. Just give things a minute to make sense.”

“I-”

Whumpee cut themself off; Caretaker hadn’t said whatever they’d expected to hear.

“Just focus on me for a minute. Can you try to do that?”

They nodded, blinked and looked at Caretaker as though they were actually seeing them. Silence fell between them. Whumpee took a deep breath and rested their head back on their pillow and stared at the opposite wall.

“Okay,” they said finally. They allowed Caretaker to place the thermometer under their tongue. It seemed to take an eternity for the thermometer to beep. Caretaker took it back and before looking at it, they prayed to whoever or whatever might be listening that they didn't have to get Whumpee to a hospital.

“One-oh-two point six,” Caretaker said with relief. “That's not so bad. Just a bad dream that did a number on you.”

The lines of Whumpee’s face relaxed and they rested on the pillow, but some sort of melancholy had taken the place of Whumpee’s fear. It was an equally disheartening sight.

“Need anything?” Caretaker asked after they went through the routine they seemed to have established in nursing their friend.

“No.”

“Okay, ” Caretaker said. “Just let me know if you do.”

Caretaker stood and pulled a blanket back over Whumpee, who took its edge in their hand and pulled it to their chin.

“Wait,” Whumpee said when Caretaker turned.

Caretaker paused and looked back at Whumpee.

“Can you…” Whumpee looked at them, their eyes begging Caretaker to understand. “Can you stay?”

What had they dreamed that had them so rattled?

“Of course, ” they said. They settled back down next to Whumpee and swept Whumpee’s hair out of their face. “Whatever you need.”

Whumpee slept late the next morning and Caretaker took the time to tidy the apartment and ask for updates on the case. It had been solved.

When Whumpee came out into the living room, they made a beeline for their recliner. Though Caretaker was constantly present, they exchanged few words and Caretaker could tell Whumpee was putting effort into avoiding their gaze. The news that the case had been resolved seemed to do little to cheer them.

After cleaning the lunch mess, and doing dishes Caretaker sat on the side of the couch that was closest to Whumpee.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Whumpee said without taking their gaze off of the TV.

“It’s no problem.”

More silence. Whumpee dozed off and Caretaker channel surfed.

Caretaker chose a book from Whumpee’s shelf.

Caretaker read the same sentence five damn times before giving up and putting the book on the coffee table.

Whumpee jolted awake with a gasp. Their fingers dug into the armrests and their eyes darted over the room as though they’d woken up somewhere entirely foreign. They cursed and let out a harsh breath.

Caretaker guessed embarrassment, and not sickness, colored Whumpee’s cheeks.

“It’s fine,” Whumpee said before Caretaker could ask.

Whumpee stood, shakily at first, then walked to the kitchen. Caretaker knew any attempt to help them would be rebuffed, so they waited for Whumpee to stare into the refrigerator before they selected a bottle of water before moving back to their seat.

Whumpee sat and sipped.

Caretaker needed to address the elephant in the room. Or at least let Whumpee know the elephant could stay where it was.

“We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Caretaker said. “But I hope you know you can if you need to.”

Whumpee’s fingers worried at the armrests.

“I do. I do know. I’m just not used to...” Whumpee’s voice was low but solemn as they gestured toward all the signs of care that had been taken on their behalf. “... to any of this.”

Caretaker wanted to pull them close and tell them how sorry they were to hear that, that they never needed to hesitate to ask for help. They didn’t know what they could possibly say to make it better. Instead, they flashed the easygoing smile that had been missing from their features for the past couple days.

“Well,” they said. “Get used to it.”

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Until Spring Comes Again

Summary: All Prince James Potter wanted was to live happily in Gryffindor Kingdom with his best friend Lily. But when evil forces conspire to take his throne, he needs to choose between a life of mischief or to become the king he should be. (Inspired by The Lion King).

Notes: One thousand thanks to @the-dream-team for this gorgeous banner and for @maraudersftw for betaing this.

I'm so nervous about this, but I am finally starting to post my precious baby story and I so hope you enjoy this ride.

Rated T.

Read on AO3 (for full tags/warnings).

_________

Prologue

There was nothing like the view from the East Tower.

It was not the highest tower of the castle, but James always enjoyed running the narrow steps — careful to avoid the old, weak steps ever since he’d fallen from them, headfirst, when he was seven — until he reached the small room at the top of the tower and then that balcony that allowed him to watch the sun rising over the kingdom.

‘Lily, Lily,’ he called, pushing the bundle that was Lily on the floor. She blinked, waking up slowly. ‘It’s sunrise!’

She gave him a sleepy nod, yawning, but she raised to stand side-by-side with him at the balcony, hugging the blankets around her. It was cold at the top of the tower, so James always took care to pack more than enough blankets to keep her warm.

‘It’s so beautiful,’ she whispered in awe, her voice sounding girlish and dreamy, but James didn’t tease her like he would in another moment. He was just too glad by her presence.

Lily was the only one that would come with him to watch the sunrise; Peter was too afraid of the height and his father couldn’t go up all those stairs.

James felt sorry for them. The view was really amazing, with the sun rising above the hills that surrounded the kingdom, tinting the purple sky with that blazing orange until the light became too bright and strong for them to stare at.

James didn’t mind; he put his hand above his eyes, shadowing his face, and looked down. The colours in the sky were beautiful, but what he enjoyed most was watching the light shining down the castle, from the top of the highest tower until it reached the grounds of the castle and the village right in front of it, the red brick roofs glistening in the light; and then, from the East Tower, James could see nearly the entire extension of the Gryffindor Kingdom, the distant villages and farms, up to Godric's Hollow, all basked in the golden sunlight.

It was magical.

‘Do you ever think of leaving the kingdom?’ Lily asked him, and James saw she was looking in the direction of the hills, past the Forbidden Forest in the North, and then in the direction of the sea, eastward.

‘Why would I?’ James asked, confused. Gryffindor Kingdom was the best place in the world, as far as he knew. There was nothing in other kingdoms or beyond that could attract him.

Lily looked amused at him.

‘For the fun of it?’ she suggested, knowing that James could not resist an invitation to do something just for pleasure and joy.

‘There are plenty of things to do around here,’ he said, thinking that he had only explored a part of the kingdom. There were too many streets down the village, many fields and parts of the Forest that he had never been to before, and he had only travelled to a few of the most distant villages; even inside the castle, sometimes, there were rooms or halls he had never gone to before.

The Gryffindor Kingdom had still many secrets for him to unravel before he thought of ever leaving it.

‘Well, I want to travel when I grow up. See other kingdoms. Meet other people. Discover everything there is out there.’

James watched her; there was resolution written all over Lily’s face, her jaw set on a stubborn expression he knew very well—she was his friend since always. He didn’t doubt that she would do all she had said and accomplish anything she set her mind to.

‘I could go with you, my lady,’ he offered, all pompous and noble like his father told him he should be. James supposed that was one of those occasions; he couldn’t let Lily travel alone. The world outside was strange, his father also said.

‘You can’t,’ Lily told him as if it was obvious. ‘I mean, you can travel but you will always need to come back here. It’s your kingdom after all… Prince.’

James sighed; Lily usually called him Prince only when he was pestering her and she wanted to be left alone, but he didn’t think it was one of those occasions. She didn’t sound annoyed, just… truthful.

And she was right, he supposed. The kingdom was his father’s, but his father always told him he would inherit the land someday and as such, James figured he couldn’t leave Gryffindor. James wasn’t sure what being the heir to the throne meant, but he saw the way his father was greeted when he held court, the way people seemed to look at him with respect and gratitude, and he sometimes thought being king didn’t sound too bad; and then there were times his father would be holding one of those boring balls or meetings with ambassadors or, God have mercy, discussing politics . In those moments he hoped he didn’t ever have to worry about being a king.

His father told him not to. He said that James had a lot to learn still and he had many years until those worries fell on his shoulder. James was only ten, after all.

‘You can be my guide, then,’ he offered Lily, smiling at her. ‘You see what’s best out there and you come back to take me with you then.’

Lily beamed back at him, her emerald eyes sparkling as she took a step closer to him and offered her hand for him to shake it.

‘It’s a promise.’

______________

Chapter 1 - The Spring Festival

Chapter 2 - The Forbidden Forest

Chapter 3 - The Stone Circle

Chapter 4 - A Special Day

Chapter 5 - Mischief Managed

Chapter 6 - Riddle

Chapter 7 - A Marauder's life

Chapter 8 - The Hunt

Chapter 9 - The Scarf

Chapter 10 - The Promise Ring

Chapter 11 - Changes

Chapter 12 - Sunrise

Chapter 13 - Mercy

Chapter 14 - Duty

Chapter 15 - The Mirror

Chapter 16 - Distractions

Chapter 17 - The Plan

Chapter 18 - Until the very end (+ Extra - Rated M/E)

Chapter 19 - The Promise

Chapter 20 - The Knight of Gryffindor

Chapter 21 - The Queen of Words

Chapter 22 - The Spring King

Epilogue

#Jily #Jily Royalty AU #Until Spring Comes Again #Inspired by the lion king #James and Lily #Marauders #Prince James Potter #I am SO NERVOUS

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Text

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?”

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably.

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.”

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open.

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous?

“Young man, do you know what day it is?”

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue.

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all.

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.”

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat.

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on.

The hell?

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it.

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.”

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him.

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies.

“This young man fell from the roof!”

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels.

“Well, hello there, not dead person.”

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet.

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm.

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences.

“From up there?”

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head.

“Um, yeah. I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid.

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?”

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?”

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him.

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.”

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head.

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Enough, Tony.”

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly.

“What’s your name, son?”

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment.

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit.

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer.

“Peter?”

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.”

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.”

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens.

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him.

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.”

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man.

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?”

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging.

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later.

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?”

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that.

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow.

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?”

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment.

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand.

“It’s all you had.”

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face.

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?”

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.”

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan.

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.”

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?”

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway.

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out.

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.”

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit.

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

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