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kingofbodyrolls · 8 months

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Coming Home (m) | PJM | Epilogue

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Summary: When your best friend, Park Jimin, who you’ve had a crush on since forever, suggests you stay at his house to heal and find yourself again after a series of traumatizing events had haunted you for years, you don’t hesitate to accept. Within those walls, a safe haven is woven, where wounds can heal and memories find release. As he nurtures your shattered spirit, an unexpected intimacy unfurls, leaving the fragile barrier between friendship and deeper emotions in question - can you keep your feelings hidden?

Pairing: Jimin x reader (female, “Y/N”)

Other characters: Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, OC (female, she is the therapist) and another OC (male, he is the perp). Also readers parents and mention of Jimin's.

AUs: Best friends to lovers!au, detective!jimin Genres/themes: thriller/dark, yandere vibes, slice of life, healing after trauma, angst, smut and fluff.

Rating: mature/explicit/R18

Word count: 5,3K

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings: Explicit smut, kissing, cuddling/spooning, unprotected penetrative sex (stay safe - OC’s on the pill), slice of life, healing after trauma, BIG feelings, protective, fluffy and sweet Jimin, he is just soft and loving 🥹

Disclaimer about warnings: I know nothing about sexual or physical abuse (I only know psychological because I experienced that, not in a sexual context though). This story is fiction, I do not mean to say that this is how one would go through their emotions or handle this situation. This is a delicate and fragile subject, so proceed with caution. I also know nothing about police work or the work in emergency/hospitals.

Also, I don’t own BTS or know how they would act in a similar situation. This story is purely fiction, a fragment of my imagination. They just inspire me so much 💜

Cross posted to AO3!

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings

With the capture of the perpetrator, the weight that had loomed over your life like a persistent shadow should have been lifted.

The threat was gone, the danger subsided, yet an inexplicable unease still clung to your heart. The ordeal had left scars that extended beyond the physical realm, and even though the world appeared safer now, the echoes of fear lingered in the corners of your mind.

Stepping out into the public domain did offer some relief, as the open spaces and bustling crowds served as a reminder that you were no longer being watched, that the eyes of the perpetrator were no longer fixated on you.

But the invisible chains of anxiety and trauma proved harder to break, leaving you struggling to embrace the newfound freedom.

In the midst of this turmoil, Jimin had emerged as your steadfast pillar of support. His love for you seemed to shine even brighter in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Every gesture, no matter how small, was a testament to his devotion. His warm embraces provided solace, his soothing words acted as a healing balm, and his unwavering presence brought a sense of security that you craved.

As you navigated the uncharted waters of recovery, his actions spoke volumes. His insistence on making you feel cherished and safeguarded demonstrated his commitment to helping you heal, piece by piece.

Even the suggestion of a couple’s retreat - a space where both of you could disconnect from the outside world and reconnect with each other, reflected his understanding of your needs.

The decision to book the retreat for the upcoming weekend became a glimmer of anticipation, a beacon of hope that promised serenity and a fresh start. Jimin’s thoughtfulness in organizing this escape showcased his unwavering love, a reminder that he was by your side, willing to venture into the journey of healing together.

As the days passed and the retreat started to blossom within you, fueled by the love that Jimin showered upon you - a love that had the power to mend even the deepest wounds of the soul.

In your psychologist’s cozy office, the safe space where you could unravel your thoughts without reservation, you found yourself grappling with emotions that seemed stubbornly persistent.

The sessions had become a refuge, a place where you could articulate the turmoil within you, even if the words felt inadequate to capture the complexity of your feelings.

Sitting across from Chin-Sun, you hesitated for a moment before finally expressing your confusion. The logical part of you recognized that the ordeal was over, that you were safe now, yet the emotion remnants refused to be neatly tidied away.

You confessed your longing to feel fine and restored, a desire that contrasted starkly with the lingering unease. Her response, though comforting, carried the weight of time.

The promise of gradual healing felt like a distant horizon, a place you yearned to reach but couldn’t see clearly just yet. As the words left her lips, you absorbed the truth that recovery wasn’t a linear path, that it entailed both patience and persistence.

But even amid the uncertainty, there was a glimmer of hope. Her assurance that, in time, you would regain a sense of ease in your day-to-day life acted as a reassuring beacon. The thought of stepping into a future where anxiety no longer held dominion over your every thought was a vision you clung to, a vision that fueled your determination to push through the lingering discomfort.

With each session, you uncover layers of emotions, gradually unraveling the complex web woven by trauma and fear. Chin-Sun’s words became a steady guide, reminding you that the path to healing was as unique as your journey through the ordeal itself.

And as you navigated the ebb and flow of your emotions under her guidance, you found solace in the belief that, with time and the support of those who cared for you, the shadows of anxiety and fear would eventually give way to sunlight of healing and newfound tranquility.

As the weekend unfolds, you find yourself at the threshold of a new chapter in your journey to healing. The anticipation of the couple’s retreat was a mix of excitement and trepidation, a concoction of emotions that accompanies you on the drive towards the coastal haven that awaits.

The journey itself was a symphony of melodies and laughter, a playlist carefully curated to match the journey’s rhythm.

Jimin’s lighthearted banter wove a tapestry of comfort, a reminder that you were embarking on this adventure together. The miles between your home and the retreat melts away beneath the wheels of the car, replaced by a sense of togetherness that only grows with every passing moment.

And then, as the tires crunches on the gravel path leading to the retreat, a new vista opens before you. The sun slowly begins to paint the sky with hues of gold and tangerine, mirroring the warmth that emanates from within.

As you checked in and received the key to your room, the promise of respite beckoned like a soft melody.

Entering your cozy haven for the weekend, you were met with a sense of comfort and sanctuary. The king-sized bed, invitingly adorned with soft linens, seemed to promise restful nights.

The windows framing the beach were like portals to serenity, the sound of waves a gentle lullaby that seemed to whisper tales of healing and renewal.

The en-suite bathroom, the closet, and even the mini fridge held a promise of convenience, ensuring that your stay would be as enjoyable as it was peaceful.

The allure of the beach was irresistible, beckoning like an old friend ready to envelop you in its soothing embrace. The soft rhythm of waves breaking against the shore was a symphony that set the pace for the evening.

Hand in hand with Jimin, you venture onto the sandy canvas, your spirits lifted by the promise of carefree moments ahead. The sun’s warm caress was a gentle reminder of the joys of summer, and as you settled down, the grains of sand molding to the contours of your bodies, a sense of tranquility settled over you.

The world beyond the shoreline seemed distant, leaving only the two of you in this intimate cocoon of relaxation.

As you lay back, the ocean breeze carrying whispers of salt and adventure, you find yourself immersed in a gentle conversation. Stories flow like tributaries merging into a river of memories, laughter punctuating every anecdote. High school escapades and college misadventures were shared like treasures, creating a tapestry of moments that bound you even closer.

The sound of the waves seemed to echo the rhythm of your hearts, each beat a testament to the connection you share.

As the sun begins its descent towards the horizon, casting long shadows along the shore, you exchange glances that speak volumes.

The love and comfort that you had found in each other’s company was a treasure that had been unearthed, a gift that was now a part of your journey. And as the waves continued their eternal dance, you knew that this day, this time together, would forever remain etched in your hearts.

The echoes of laughter and the gentle crash of waves followed you as you left the beach behind, moving towards a quaint local restaurant nestled in the heart of the town. Its welcoming lights flickered like fireflies in the evening sky, drawing you closer to a promise of culinary delights and shared moments.

The restaurant’s ambiance was a blend of cozy charm and a touch of rustic elegance setting the stage for a memorable evening. The aroma of freshly prepared dishes wafted through the air, tickling your senses and stirring an eager anticipation within.

As you settle into your seats, the soft glow of candlelight illuminated the menus before you. Each bite is a symphony of flavors, a fusion of artistry and passion that delights your taste buds.

The richness of the red wine compliments the meal, enhancing the experience with its velvety notes. Between mouthfuls, you exchange glances that speak a language all you own; a silent acknowledgement of the shared contentment that fills the space between you.

The evening air is crisp and invigorating as you step out of the restaurant, your fingers instinctively entwine as if unwilling to let go og the connection that binds you.

The town is alive with the gentle hum of its nightlife, a backdrop to your leisurely stroll back to the retreat. The world around you seems to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of timelessness.

With every step, every shared smile and whispered word, the love you felt for each other seems to amplify. The moon cast its silvery glow, lighting your path and lending an ethereal quality to the night.

The way your breaths seem to synchronize, the way your fingers interlock, it is as if the universe is orchestrating this moment, recognizing the profound bond that you share.

As you enter your room, the echoes of the day’s laughter and shared stories seem to linger in the air. The curtains dance with the gentle breeze, casting intricate patterns on the floor, a reflection of the intricate journey you had undertaken together.

And as you settle in for the night, the soft rustle of sheets mingling with the beating of your hearts, a reminder that in each other’s arms, you had found a safe haven, a place where your eternal love could flourish.

The room was silent except for the sound of your beating hearts. You sigh and feel Jimin press his warm body into yours, spooning you tighter.

You relish in his hold and let out a soft moan, while you try to calm your racing thoughts. You feel so loved here in his loving embrace, and you realize that you want him like this for the rest of your life.

He presses his crotch into your ass, and you feel his growing erection grind into you.

A deep groan escapes his soft plush lips as he rolls his hips against you sensually. Wetness begins to pool between your legs and you squirm as an involuntary moan leaves your mouth. Fuck.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks innocently in a teasing voice, giving another delightful roll of his hips to your ass. Fuck, the duality of this man, you think as you chuckle and moan in frustration.

“Not with that hard dick of yours grinding on my ass,” he moves to hover over you, looking you straight in the eyes, his breath already ragged.

He leans down, locks your lips in a tender and sweet kiss and then makes a slow and forceful grind with his dick to your clothed cunt. In search of release you arch your back and moan his name hungry for more.

“Take this off,” he tugs at your shirt, well his shirt.

You shimmy into a seating position, as he sits on his knees and helps you get rid of the offending piece of clothing, leaving your naked breasts for his eyes to soak in.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he sucks in a breath and licks his lips teasingly.

You feel more of your arousal soaking your panties at his pleasing words.

He pushes you lightly down again with a smirk lacing his lips as he looks just about ready to devour you whole. “You’re not that bad yourself” you laugh wholeheartedly, catching his attention as your boobs jiggle.

He makes another grind to your pussy and your chuckles are immediately replaced with a growl of his pretty name. He lets out a pleased sigh and smiles, before he surges down to your neck, sucking lightly.

Nipping at your neck, he leaves small marks in his wake as he slowly descends down your tingling body.

He kisses your collarbones, licking his way down to one of your breasts. He licks around it playfully, before he captures your hardened nipple in a swift motion. He teaks and pinches, making you moan the prettiest noises as his dick twitches inside his boxers.

For a minute or maybe two, he played with your tits, squeezing them together, flicking and sucking.

“Jimin, ah!” you whimper as you run your hands over his tensed abdomen. He kisses down your soft stomach, venturing down to your throbbing pussy. You feel his hot breath on your clothed core, as he licks his lips before sliding your panties off.

“So fucking wet for me, huh?” his eyes are sinful, as he checks out your cunt, before diving in.

He pinches your clit with his thumb and index finger, “So swollen I can almost feel it pulsating.”

With his pretty, plush lips he wraps around your clit and sucks it into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it, while his hands slip under your ass to hold you closer to his face. Then he moves down to your slit, fingers stretching you open as he laps at your folds. You feel delirious, your juices slowly running down.

Your hands find his beautiful head of soft black hair, and you pull on it as he eats you out like a man starved.

Slurping noises fill the room, making your pussy clench in anticipation.

The more he sucked or touched you, the wetter you grew. Removing his tongue from your core, he sits up, appreciating the view. By the lack of contact you let out a frustrating growl.

But you don’t have to wait long before he inserts his index finger into your throbbing cunt. You hiss and clench at the contact, but relax the following second as he slowly starts pushing his digit in and out of your pussy.

With your wetness, the glide is easy and it doesn’t take long before you are used to the intrusion of his finger inside of you. His one finger reaches deep inside your cunt and you moan in pleasure as he watches you close your eyes, throwing your head back into the mattress.

You begin to feel the pleasure building in your stomach and for a moment your toes begin to curl, “Shit! I’m almost there, Jimin–”

The second finger he adds, gives you a slight stretch and you feel your breath hitch. He hums, pleased, as he starts pumping his index and middle finger in and out of you, slow at first.

As you moan his name and curses leave your mouth unabashedly, he picks up the pace more as your noises spurs him on. It’s not long before he adds a third finger, and you arch your back at the stretch, but Jimin places his other hand on your stomach, pressing you down to the bed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you whimper as he begins to fuck you harder, fingers slipping in and out of you. He scissors you open, pulling out and searching for your sweet spot when pushing in again.

As the pads of his fingers tickle and press on your sweet spot, you mewl.

He dives back down to your clit, starts sucking as he fingers you at a fast pace.

You feel your body tighten, your vision going blurry and you close your eyes as you come undone to a moan that sounds awfully like his name. You huff for breath, as Jimin keeps lapping and fucking you slowly with his fingers, helping you ride out your orgasm.

“Fuck” he growls as he removes his fingers, taking them up to his mouth, licking each digit dry of your slick juices.

You leave out a dragged out groan, “Fuck, that’s hot” and feel your pussy throbbing again.

He removes his boxers, freeing his raging hard cock, giving it a stroke as he throws his head back while letting out a soft moan of your name.

You lick your lips and reach a hand out to touch his dick, but he swats it away, “Sorry babe, but I desperately need to be inside you. You can suck me off later.”

You don’t want to be one to complain, when you already feel a new flood of arousal drenching your pussy, mixing with your earlier orgasm and his saliva. He gives his dick another stroke, as he looks deeply into your lust filled eyes.

When he braces your folds, you gulp and let out a delicious moan. As he drags himself further into your warm hole, he pants in your ear. You shudder and roll your eyes back as his lustful sounds send tingles down your spine.

You grab his biceps, as he pushes himself all the way in, making you feel so fucking full.

“It’s so good, Jimin!” you whimper as your hands clench tighter around his biceps. As he drags his cock out and then back in, he hisses in pleasure.

“Damn, you still feel so tight” he growls as he sets a slow pace, fucking you tenderly, as he looks at you with hooded eyes.

“Faster, Jimin,” you pant as he picks up the pace and starts fucking you faster.

He drags himself out, only to push back into you with so much force you feel his hips dip into your ass. You feel delirious as he begins to hit your g-spot repeatedly, making you breathe like you just ran a marathon.

Sweat beads at your hairline, and you notice sweat dripping off Jimin's handsome face. He pants and moans your name, as he fucks you deeply.

“Fuck, Jimin! I, I-” you begin, panting hurriedly. He slows the pace down for you to make a coherent sentence.

“Do you want to come on my ass?” you manage to ask him, albeit shyly as you feel your face turn beet red as a blush settles.

He stops his motions for a second, looking at you endearingly and he chuckles at your sudden shyness, “Fuck yeah”.

He pulls out of you, and for a moment you feel so empty, as you turn around, on your hands and knees, stinking your ass in the air towards his slick cock.

You push yourself back, with one of Jimin’s hands on your ass and the other on his dick, he guides you back onto it.

He enters your pussy without much discomfort, but you do feel a slight stretch at the new angle and you can already feel him hit inside you deeper.

Your head falls down on the bed, droll pooling at your mouth and running down to the sheets. He picks up at a fast pace right from the get go, hands on each side of your ass, as he thrusts deep inside you.

“Jimin, I’m coming!” you moan his name as you feel the knot in your stomach about to snap. With one hand, he finds your clit, pinches it hard, then rubs it in circular motions.

He alternates between quick and slow, and it's making you go crazy. Your chest moves up and down, as you heave for air, face pressed to the sheets and hands clenching around it.

You feel your vision blur as your orgasm overtakes you moments after he begins to touch your clit. Your tight walls close around him and he feel his own orgasm tethering dangerously close and he knows that if he wants to cum on your ass, he has to fucking pull out now.

But he wants to stay a bit longer inside your warm pulsating cave, as you ride out your orgasm.

“Fuck!” he yells as he pounds into you and then he pulls out and strokes his dick and releases his semen on your ass.

You jiggle your ass teasingly, and he grabs some of your soft flesh, squeezing it in his hand as he gasps for air as he rests his throbbing dick on your ass.

You feel so utterly tired that you collapse on the bed, so out of breath. Your body feels tingly and spent. You turn to your side as you watch Jimin follow suit and fall down beside you, with his back to you.

“You have a tattoo?!” you almost shriek, but your sore throat makes it sound more like a whimper than anything else. He chuckles and nods his head into the bed.

Why haven’t you seen that before?

Instinctively, your fingers begin to trace the contours of his spine, his delicate tattoo etched into his skin like a secret map. Three moon phases line down his spine, and they almost glisten under the soft ambient light of the room.

“Do the moons mean anything significant?” you ask as your fingers keep tracing the ink.

“Yeah. They each represent a meaningful chapter in my life” he turns around to face you, and captures you in a chaste kiss.

“Turn back, I wanna look at it again” you say as you poke him in the shoulder to get him to move around. As he turns his back to you again, your touch lingers over the tattoo, the significance of its design tugging at the strings of your heart.

You trace the first moon, on the top of his spine, closest to his neck. “That one is of the moon’s phase the very first day we met in kindergarten,” a nostalgic smile tugs at your lips, as you trace the crescent of that first moon, your minds remembering your beginnings, the days of shared crayons and laughter in the playground.

Your hand then travels to the second moon, more pronounced and radiant.

“That one is of the moon’s phase on the day in high school I realized I had feelings for you,” a rush of memories floods your mind, the playful teasing and stolen glances that had marked the awakening of something deeper.

The tattoo seemed to capture the essence of that realization - a confession of feelings that had simmered beneath the surface.

And finally, your fingers land on the third moon phase adorning his skin.

“That's the day that I became a police officer”. It represents the day he had chosen a path of courage and responsibility. The weight of that decision, the commitment to safeguarding others, was etched into the ink, a mark of dedication that mirrors the love he has for you.

As you traced the contours of each moon, it was as if you were tracing the trajectory of your lives, the shared milestones that had shaped you into the people you were today.

The tattoo was more than an artwork; it was a testament to the depth of your connection, a tangible embodiment of the love that had blossomed against all odds. The moon phases held a mirror to your journey, each one reflecting a facet of your shared history.

The innocence, the awakening, the unwavering devotion - they were all there, etched in indelible ink. And as you let your fingers linger, you realize that this tattoo is part of him, a part of you, and a part of the beautiful tapestry you have woven together.

It’s a reminder that even in the darkest of nights, the moon still shone, casting its gentle light on the path you have and will walk together.

Amid the gentle lapping of the waves and the soft rustle of the night breeze, an unspoken tenderness envelops you both.

The atmosphere seems to shimmer with an almost palpable sense of affection, your fingers intertwining and tracing his moon tattoos as the conversation flows effortlessly. With each word exchanged, the layers of your relationship are peeled back, revealing vulnerabilities, dreams, and reflections.

The notion of having done things backward danced into the conversation, a thought that had crossed your mind more than once. You share how you felt that maybe, in another universe, you could have come together sooner, avoiding the pain and suffering that had marked your past. It is a sentiment laced with regret, a tinge of what-ifs.

Jimin’s warm gaze, however, held a different perspective. He listens to your words, his thumb brushing tenderly over your hand as he prepares to share his thoughts.

“You know,” he begins softly, “I believe that every step we took, every twist and turn, brought us to this exact moment. Maybe it wasn’t the path we expected, but it was the one we needed.”

You feel tears pool at your waterline by his soft spoken words.

His words resonate with a quote of wisdom, a profound understanding that speaks to the intricacies of your bond.

He goes on, his voice carrying the weight of his emotions, “And as much as I wish you didn’t have to endure what you did, I also believe that it’s part of what makes you so incredibly strong, so resilient. It’s a testament to your spirit.”

With every syllable, he seems to weave a tapestry of reassurance, affirming that even the darkest chapters have a role to play in shaping your love story.

And then, in a moment that leaves you truly speechless, he produces a ring, a delicate masterpiece of metal and gemstone that glints in the low lit bedroom.

Your heart skips a beat, as he looks into your eyes, his voice steady and brimming with affection.

“Y/N, you’ve shown me a love I never knew was possible. You’ve been my rock, my partner and my best friend. Will you marry me?” the words hung in the air, the weight of his proposal settling between you like a cherished promise.

Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, shimmering like dewdrops under the moonlight.

A surge of emotions overwhelm you, and as you nod, words escaping you, the tears finally spill over.

You reach out to him, your arms wrapping around his naked body in an embrace that holds the universe of your feelings.

The kiss that follows feels like a culmination of every shared laughter, every tear wiped away, every hurdle overcome.

The ring on your finger feels like a circle binding your past, present, and future together, a symbol of the love that had weathered trials and emerged stronger.

And in the quiet harmony of your hearts, you both know that this is just the beginning of a new chapter - one where your love, tested and unwavering, would continue to grow and flourish.

The following day greets you with a sense of tranquility, a feeling that seems to linger from the beautiful moments shared the previous evening. The sun baths the world in a gentle glow, casting a warm invitation to embrace the day ahead.

You and Jimin had decided that today was all about relaxation and release.

The tension that had built up over months, the weight of past trauma and newfound joys, all deserved their own moment of acknowledgement and release.

The luxurious spa you enter seems like a haven of serenity, a space designed to envelop you in a cocoon of calmness. Soft, ambient music hummed in the background, and the soothing scent of essential oils filled the air.

You exchange knowing glances as you change into plush robes, ready to let go of the worries that had become far too familiar.

The skilled hands of the massage therapist work their magic, kneading away the knots of stress and worry that had taken residence in your bodies.

With each press and stroke, you could feel the tension slowly dissipating, replaced by a sense of ease that was long overdue. As you lay side by side, lost in the world of tranquility, you could almost hear the sigh of relief echoing between you.

It is as if the very act of being pampered is a balm for your souls, a way to acknowledge the challenges you’d faced and celebrate the triumphs you’d achieved.

After the massages, you emerge from the spa like new beings, your steps lighter, your expressions more serene.

As you make your way back to the retreat, a quiet understanding passes between you. The intensity of your experiences had deepened the bond between you, making the simplest moments feel profound.

With the gentle caress of the breeze on your skin, you settle down on the patio of your suite, where a table is set for a delightful lunch.

The azure expanse of the ocean stretched out before you, its rhythmic waves serving as a reminder of the ebb and flow of life itself. The delicate clinking of glasses and the murmur of the waves intertwine in perfect harmony, creating a symphony of relaxation. Plates adorned with delicious dishes are placed before you, a feast that mirrored the nourishment your relationship had provided in recent times.

As you savor each bite, the laughter that punctuates your conversations feels like a melodic thread, weaving through the tapestry of your shared experiences. You speak of dreams, future plans, and even the silliest stories from your childhoods.

In a quiet corner of the world, where the whispers of the ocean and the rustling leaves seem to compose a symphony just for you two, Jimin’s heartfelt words weave a spell that transcends time itself.

As you sit together on the beach, your fingers entwine and your gazes lock, the weight of the past mingle with the promise of the future. Jimin’s eyes hold a mixture of emotions, a kaleidoscope of regret, determination, and most importantly, an unwavering love that has stood the test of time.

His voice, soft yet resolute, carries his feelings to your heart with each word.

“Y/N, I’ve loved you all this time,” he confesses again, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at the ring dorning your finger.

“You are the love of my life, the one who’s been etched into my heart since that very first moment we met” there is a tremor in his voice, a vulnerability that lays bare his soul.

The frustration of not finding you sooner, of not being able to protect you from the darkness that had clouded your life, weighed heavily on him.

He isn’t just apologizing for the lost years; he is acknowledging the pain he’d felt for every moment he couldn’t be by your side.

“I regret every moment we were apart, every day I couldn’t hold you close,” he continues, his voice gaining strength as he channels his emotions into his words.

“But from now on, I promise you, Y/N. I will cherish you like a precious gem, protect you like a shield, and love you with everything I am.”

With each promise that flows from his lips, it is as if the very atmosphere resonates with his sincerity. The waves seem to whisper agreements, and the wind carries his vows to the universe.

This moment, under the expanse of the sky and the watchful gaze of the stars, is a testament to the unbreakable bond that had weathered the storms of life.

As if Jimin’s declaration hung in the air, you can feel the power of his love enveloping you, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

Tears well up in your eyes, not out of sorrow, but out of the overwhelming beauty for this moment. You reach out, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs wiping away the stray tear that has escaped from his eyes.

“I believe you,” you whisper, your voice a gentle affirmation that echoes the depths of your own feelings. “And I love you too, Jimin. With all my heart.”

His smile, a mixture of relief and pure joy, is like a sunrise after a long night. He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that carries the weight of the past and the promise of the future.

And as your lips touch, it is as if time itself paused, giving you both the chance to savor this moment; a moment that holds the culmination of a love that had traveled through time and adversity to finally find its place in the sun.

Author's note: Gosh, I just had to add Jimin’s moon tattoos (in a variation, I know) into the story. Because damn, he looks good with those beautiful moons on his back 🥹 Also, I hope the story wasn’t complete shit - I did enjoy writing it and have more planned (ones with lighter themes. Anyone up for a roadtrip/camping trip with Yoongi? 😝).

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orqheuss · 4 months

Text

Free and young and we can feel none of it

(Platonic!Ominis Gaunt and the Sallow's HURT/COMFORT)

Solomon Sallow POV

Summary:

Stability he could do. Stability was something Solomon was comfortable with. He could be the support beam to Ominis’ crumbling walls. And when they woke, his niece and nephew could help pick up the pieces and put them back in their correct places. They could do this. Together. *** The game dialogue hints at the fact that Ominis left his family home before the events of the main story. This is how I feel it would go. Title from the song "Sedated" by Hozier.

Word count: 3.7k

Tags: referenced child abuse, neglectful family, bruising/violence

AN: Little different from what I usually do. Hope you like it! This one's for my Solomon lovers.

The small town of Feldcroft was not one that people traveled to often, if they knew about it at all. It was not a popular destination for tourists to the area, and very few took notice of the communities there. Some would even say that the people of the town fit into the same cookie-cutter shape of everything else. That is, of course, if they didn’t pay attention to the finer details. Feldcroft, quaint, lively, but quiet all the same, stood against the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside. Each unique cottage breathed life into the fields— within, their walls were resolutely upright, bricks meeting neatly with the roughly tumbled cement below, and doors were sensibly shut against the calling winter chill beyond their sanded wood finish. Yes, it was a simple town, and the people there liked it that way, thank you very much.

It was not a particularly special night in the tiny village when it was startled awake by a rapid knocking on the Sallow cottage door. The moon was high in the sky by this time, only the soft sound of handmade bone-chimes and settling snow singing in harmony could be heard outside of the incessant pounding— it would be a long time before the sun even considered breaching over the horizon. Solomon Sallow was the first to rise, a light sleeper by trade and with a plethora of enemies to match that could be at his door this very moment. With his wand tucked securely in the sleeve of his night clothes, he quietly made his way towards the home entrance, pondering what he would find on the other side of the wooden barrier. His work as an Auror made him fear the worst in almost all occasions, and this situation was unfortunately not a new one in his years and travels. The common folk of the wizarding world would be surprised by how many dark witches and wizards would knock first before storming into a building, hoping to catch the homeowner off guard and lower their walls for a friend. Whom else would be knocking with such vigor than someone with ill intent? Not a friend of the family— not at this time of night.

As silent as he could possibly move he crept closer to the door, his steps timid as he tried to avoid the squeaky boards under foot that he never got around to fixing, lest he wake his niece and nephew sleeping in the adjoining room. They were still so young, just barely into their third year of Hogwarts. If something terrible was beyond the foundation of their house, he needed them safe, not on the front lines with him, no matter how much they would fight to be beside him. Solomon had only recently taken them in after the deaths of their mother and father— his brother and sister-in-law— and even now he could see remnants of their knowledge and fiery personalities in the young children. The youngest of the two, only born mere minutes after his sister, was the worst of the bunch. Sebastian was headstrong, resilient, and downright pugnacious at times. Smart as a whip, and can crack just as hard. Solomon saw a lot of his brother in the boy, not just in his unruly brown hair or how his hazel eyes glimmered with delight whenever he read about some knowledge he was not originally privy to, and if he was to be honest it scared him at times. That fire, that bullheadedness was what did his brother in in the end— he didn’t want to see the youngest fall prey to the same fate.

As for the daughter, the eldest of the two siblings, Anne was not that different from the boy. She was less confrontational than him, but had just as much spark. Where Sebastian thrived in knowledge, she thrived in action. There was never a day where Solomon didn’t see her running up and down the Hamlet, practicing every and all spells she had learned so far at the school just north of their house, performing little tasks for her neighbors like delivering things or wrangling escaped farm animals, or just rolling around in the dirt after a heavy rain because she simply could. If Sebastian was his father, Anne was most definitely her mother— he was the scholar, and she was the experimenter.

Sebastian wanted to understand why something ticked; Anne wanted to see what would happen if she set it on fire.

Even still, with her proclivity for offensive spells and her desire to run rampant, free of all binds holding her down once her schooling is over, Anne was the more reasonable, the more docile of the pair. The boy could fly off the handle at a moment's notice, while the girl would be there to hear all sides and weigh everything out like the god Osiris, the feather of truth on one side of the scale and your heart on the other.

Solomon believed she would make a great Auror one day, if she wanted it.

The eldest Sallow stood before the door, his shadow no doubt peaking through the stained glass windows atop the low archway and hopefully intimidating whomever was on the other side. Still the knocking persisted, growing more frantic as the seconds ticked on. He sighed silently to himself, squaring his shoulders like his father always taught him to do before a fight and shrugging on his house coat, bracing himself for the cold winter air just beyond the range of the homely hearth burning away just beside their tiny kitchen. It was now or never, he mused to himself, as he cast one last glance over his shoulder, checking that there were no newly minted teenagers behind him before reaching his hand towards the door handle, his wand firmly grasped in his other.

Just as his fingers just grazed the cool metal, the pounds stopped, bathing the room in silence once more. Solomon stood befuddled, his shoulders once again slumping as gravity took hold of his sleepy limbs. Could they have given up trying to get his attention? He didn’t think it took him that long to get to the door— it was a tiny cottage afterall. Still inquisitive, he forgoed just shrugging it off as a harmless winter prank and instead leaned closer to the door, pressing his ear against the wood and straining his hearing to identify anything on his land. The wind howled outside, rustling whatever remaining leaves clung to the trees lining the town and shaking the freshly fallen snow from their branches. It was sure to storm again soon, the air still smelled heavy with the scent of cold and incoming onding. He could hear some remaining jobberknolls flying south before the breaking of dawn, preparing their long flight as the yule tidings began across Scotland. Everything natural, he reasoned. Nothing out of the ordinary. But, as he was about to lean away from the door, content with crawling back into his warm bed and sleeping the night away, something else caught his attention. Just beyond the natural was a small slosh at his steps, like someone was toeing at the ground with the tip of their boot and digging into the icy path leading to the door. They were light in weight, that much was for sure, barely enough for their shoes to make a crunching sound as they paced.

Steeling himself again, Solomon creaked open the door and peered out through the crack, casting his eyes to and fro in search for their late night visitor. Upon not seeing anyone at first, he opened the door more, pulling it until it was inches from the inner wall and wide open to the world. His eyes were hard as he glared into the night, his wand hand raised and prepared for anything while his other pulled his house coat tighter across his body.

His voice was strong and resolute as he called out, careful to keep his volume low so as to not wake anyone. “Who goes there? Show yourself!”

There was a moment of stillness before a tiny voice piped up from his feet, barely auditory over the banshee-ish wind. “Mister Sallow?”

Solomon shot his gaze downwards, his eyes hardened and prepared to fight as he took in the form sitting on his steps. Curled around themselves was a young boy, his blond hair as pale as the stars above and skin littered with constellations of birthmarks. He had to be the same age as the twins, maybe even a bit younger if the eldest Sallow took into account how skinny he was. Once his sleep-muddled brain caught up with his eyes, Solomon realized he recognized the boy as the young Ominis Gaunt, a close friend of the children. He was shivering harshly, the cold seemingly seeping into his bird-like bones and chilling him to the core.

The boy’s home life was no secret, even if the Sallow man wasn’t a retired Auror he would still recognize the last name. The Gaunt’s were known for their dark magic and pureblood status, their descendents going all the way back to the Hogwarts founder, Salazar Slytherin. Solomon had seen the family's cruelty first hand before, and because of this tried to forbid his brother’s children from talking to their new friend. That was, of course, until he met the boy. Ominis was small for his age, and definitely wise beyond his years. Not one ounce of dark magic could be found in his veins, and he detested the very idea of following in his family's footsteps. Not only that, he was exceedingly kind, something rarely seen from such high society families, especially to those that lived in the “slums,” so to speak, like Solomon and the children did. The boy helped around the house where he could, pointing out things with his location charm that even a sighted person could not find. He talked to Solomon about his work, and was often found playing games with the twins in their garden during summer break. If the boy was here, on his doorstep, that means something terrible had happened in the Gaunt manor. The ex-Auror startled quickly upon the realization, hastily ushering the trembling boy into the house before he froze to death.

Now safely under his roof, the Sallow man took in the lithe child, his eyes moving across his figure as he analyzed the state he was in. Wrapped around his neck and lower face was a thin scarf, likely grabbed quickly as it was distinctly not weather appropriate. No winter cloak sat over his shoulders, just a thin housecoat hung loosely around him— more for propriety than functionality. Underneath was a sage green sleep shirt, some of the buttons in their proper place and others, particularly the ones near his collar, hanging on my the tiniest bit of string— like someone took him by the throat and shook him until they popped loose. Covering his legs was a matching pair of sleep pants, the knees dirtied from the muddy sludge outside— his left knee visible through a small tear in the fabric. Solomon could see some crimson blood decorating the edges of the slice. The boy’s slippered feet shuffled anxiously against the hardwood floor, the skin of his bare heels tinged slightly blue from the near freezing temperatures outside.

It was clear that the young Gaunt boy had not planned on fleeing that night.

Ominis had his wand clutched in his hand like a lifeline, his head downcast but still shooting from left to right, his ears straining to hear anything that could be deemed a threat. Every creak of the floor sent a jolt up his spine like he was being continuously struck by lightning. He was wound as tight as a spring, constantly on edge and ready to flee at the drop of a pin.

What was most concerning, though, was that the smallest bit of bruising was peeking out from underneath his scarf. Just along the collar of his shirt, once likely covered by the cloth but shifted after his dash to the door, was a distinct ring of purple spots, so deep and dreadful that if Solomon looked close enough he could probably see the swirls of each individual fingerprint. The ex-Auror was sure that if he pried the fabric off of the child he would find a similar bruise in the shape of a palm wrapped around his tiny throat. No doubt his father was the culprit— Erebus Gaunt was not one to be trifled with, even if you were his kin.

While one could argue it was part of the job, Solomon was not very keen on consoling fearful children. Sure he had encountered a few during his days as an Auror, but he was not proud to say that he primarily just shooed them away towards the nearest person that seemed equipped for the task. It’s not that he didn’t like children, he tolerated his niece and nephew after all, but he just didn’t know how to act around them, especially when they were processing some big emotions.

Hesitantly, he kneeled in front of the trembling blond boy, trying in vain to get a good look at his face— if there was bruising around his neck, there was sure to be some wounds that he needed to tend to above his jaw. Solomon awkwardly raised his hands from his sides, moving them slightly towards the boy’s shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting touch, only for Ominis to take a shaking step backwards, a whimper unconsciously weeping through his clenched teeth. The man’s hands stilled in the air in shock, his heart cracking at the fear that seeped from the boy like a murky fog.

Trying a different approach, the eldest Sallow held his hands upwards in a placating manner, still within touching distance but far enough away to show he meant no harm. His voice broke through the encompassing silence of the cottage, the tone low, hushed, and, he hoped, calming.

“Ominis, you’re safe now. Nothing is going to hurt you here.” He sighed at the apparent trepidation that took over the young blond’s face, more anxiety than annoyance in the puff of air. Solomon tried again, schooling the shake from his voice, “I would like to take a look at your face and neck, is that alright?”

The boy sighed to himself, a deep and foreboding thing that seemed to shake him to his very core— like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was only now safe for him to put it down and rest— and nodded, stepping closer to the elder man and more into the light of the dimly burning braziers. Solomon was gentle with his hands, more gentle than he had ever been in his life, when he touched the young Slytherin’s chin, tilting it upwards and revealing the damage done to his face by the people he had once considered his family.

Solomon felt his soul crack when Ominis’ visage came into the light. Under the tufts of blond that fluttered across his temple were his ghostly blue eyes, both rimmed with red from his tears and the skin colored a dismal purple— whether from lack of good sleep or a slap to the face, he wasn’t sure. They sunk deep into his skin like they were permanently a part of his features. Across his left cheek, still plump with a bit of baby fat from his young— much too young— age was a long jagged scar, blood pooling at the surface and streaking down his face, just shy of dripping onto his once starched collar. The man thought of the onyx ring that adorned the ring finger of the Gaunt patriarch and had to swallow down his bubbling rage. Cradling the young boy’s face like one would cradle a fragile family heirloom, he carefully pushed Ominis’ bangs to the side, only to still when the boy winced. At the upper corner of his head, right where his hairline began, was a thin line of bruising. Solomon sucked in a breath as he peered closer, mapping out the injury to himself to see how well he can possibly heal it. There was a distinct diamond shape at one end, the dark plum and incarnadine colors blending together into a deeper, more concerning shade of maroon. Small curls, like scrapings of widdled wood or peeled fruit, could be seen in a pattern across the rest. The man felt anger spin into a burning knot just under his ribs when he realized what that could mean. A table. They slammed their son, their own flesh and blood and bone, into a table hard enough to leave indents. Finally, Solomon’s eyes flicked downwards towards the young Slytherin’s neck. His earlier suspicions were correct. The soft, pliable skin decorating the limb that kept his head afloat was covered in deep, angry fingerprints. Large ones. If he wanted to, he could put his own hand over the bruising and it would likely be a near perfect match— palm to palm, fingerprint to fingerprint.

Underneath all the physical pain, though, there was something deeper. A glimmer in the young boy’s eyes. A tremble in his fingers. A stutter in his breath. Ominis’ hands shook at his sides, the tiniest of twitches sweeping through his small frame as if ants were crawling underneath his skin— biting at his fragile bone marrow. Through his years as an Auror, Solomon Sallow was well versed in the after effects of particular spells. This one, he was all too familiar with, and his rage knew no bounds at the thought of it being used against such a small soul. Such a gentle soul. Such an undeserving soul.

The cruciatus curse.

The eldest Sallow’s eyes softened with pity, a deep frown turning down the corners of his lips as a soft sigh puffed out of his chest. There would be time to wreak havoc upon the heads of the people who did this to this young boy in the morning. Now, though, he was needed here. His hands trailed down the sides of Ominis’ face, smoothing his hair behind his ears before taking him by the shoulders and gently pulling the boy into an embrace.

How heartbreaking it was, how quickly the boy clinged to him. Even after growing in a den of snakes, he sought kindness first.

Solomon’s left hand raised into the boy’s soft hair, combing his fingers through the knots with his fingers as he leaned his chin against the top of his head. His voice whispered through the silent cabin, the words awash with sympathy and care.

“Oh, my boy…”

That was all it took for the dam to break. The youngest Gaunt child wrapped his shaking arms around the man holding him even tighter than before, his jaw clenched so tight that the creak of his teeth was near audible, his eyes shut as tight as the shutters lining the windowed walls, and openly sobbed for the first time since arriving. Solomon held Ominis as tight as he dared, feeling the young boy’s fingers dig into the fabric at his back as he clawed onto the first solid thing he could find. He quietly shushed him, the hand still in his hair softly carding through the silken strands and his other soothing up and down his back. Never had he been the one to comfort others, but this felt right. This felt like what he needed to do.

All he could do was hold the small, trembling boy with every ounce of care he had in his body. No words needed to be said— no curses towards the loathsome family of his hiding behind their tall metal fences and mile-high blood wards— no words of sympathy whispered against heaving necks and snow soaked pajamas. Now, there was just kindness and silence. Everything else would fall together in time.

Solomon held Ominis until the early hours of the morning, only taking note of the time change from the clouded colors of his little stained glass decorations streaming through the beige living room and catching on the soft blond head wrapped in his arms— like the sun against the melting snow just beyond his door. Through it all, his hand did not falter once in its path up and down the young boy’s back. The ex-Auror’s heart did not once change its ever-present rhythm against the sobbing child’s cheek. He held the Slytherin’s tiny world together for him, because the eldest Sallow knew that in that moment the youngest Gaunt could not hold it himself.

Stability he could do. Stability was something he was comfortable with. He could be the support beam to Ominis’ crumbling walls. And when they woke, his niece and nephew could help pick up the pieces and put them back in their correct places. They could do this. Together.

So when the boy finally fell asleep in his arms, exhausted from the journey to his tiny cottage and from crying until he had no more tears to shed for his uprooted life, Solomon did not hesitate to scoop him up and carefully tuck him into the armchair in the corner of the room, the family tartan blanket wrapped around his frail shoulders and the fire roaring in the handmade hearth. He did not question when he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his alabaster temple, for it was as natural as protecting one's own. Because Ominis was his. Not by blood, not by name, but by choice.

And as he would with any of his family, he silently, secretly, cared. He watched. He listened. He loved.

Solomon’s voice did not stutter as he whispered a soft “Goodnight, my son,” against the blond’s temple.

And he pretended that his heart did not warm when he heard a hushed, almost inaudible hum of “Goodnight, father,” be spoken in return.

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ejunkiet · 1 year

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long nights, dark days (milo/sh)

taking a little trip back into the imperium again...

redacted audio: milo/sweetheart, rated teen. mentions of panic attacks!

READ ON AO3

A shifter meets with a stealth enforcer in the woods.

Milo/Sweetheart, Imperium edition.

“Hey, hey- sweetheart?” They’re breathing too fast yet too shallow, but they cannot think, the panic overwhelming them, and shit fuck fuck- “Come here, you’re okay, breathe.”

long nights, dark days.

“You’re far from home, enforcer.”

The title pricks at them, even with the Imperial Emblem stitched into their collar. They are an investigator in truth, but that doesn’t change their official title, as much as it chafes.

He melts out of the shadows like a ghost, human for now, although they can still sense his magic in the air, taste the sharpness of it on their tongue. “Milo. I was hoping to run into you.”

“Keeping tabs on us wolves?”

“Just one in particular.”

He lets out a snort, a corner of his sharp mouth lifting into a smirk. He’s handsome in this light, with the rugged cut of his jaw, his messy curls swept back from his face so he can catch their eye. They catch a glimmer of yellow in his gaze as he steps further into the light, a fading reminder of the wolf he was a few moments ago before he’d shifted back to human.

It gives him a feral edge, reminding them that his kind isn’t human - not fully, anyway. Not by the standards of the Imperium, at least. But they’ve never taken much stock in what the Imperium believed, anyway.

A high-pitched howl sounds in the distance, piercing the stillness of the night. He tilts his head, his gaze going distant for a moment, and they feel the flicker of his magic against their aura.

“Do you have to go?”

He blinks, refocusing on them, before he shakes his head. “Nah. Let’s talk.”

He nods towards a path, and they start walking.

They’ve been meeting like this for the last six months, under the cover of darkness in a distant corner of Shaw Pack territory. It’s an information exchange, focused on keeping tabs on the free-roaming vampires in the region, beneficial to both groups. It’s unsanctioned, of course. If the department knew… they don’t want to think about that. But his pack knows. Milo had made it clear early on that he’d be talking to his alpha, and the fact that he's still here meant that the conversation had gone well.

From what he’s said about him, his alpha was a good one. They’re glad. They’ve heard the stories from the other packs, and they knew that wasn't often the case. Life under the thumb of the Imperium didn’t leave much room for kindness.

“You’re quieter than usual. Something on your mind?”

The question is posed casually enough, but they can read the tension in his shoulders, the sharp way his eyes trace over the woods around them, as if he almost expects an ambush. His lack of faith in their truce doesn’t bother them; if they’re being completely honest, they don’t entirely trust him either.

“I’ve had a - day. It doesn’t matter.”

His brow raises, and his dark eyes flick back to theirs. “Considering your line of work, that’s gotta be an understatement.”

He’s closer to the truth than he knows. Then again, he’s gotten enough hints about how the department operates over the last few months; seen the effect it has on them.

(He'd found them on a particularly bad night, curled up in a corner of their apartment, cloaked and unable to breathe, unable to think. He hadn't asked, hadn't done anything more than talk them through it, his voice a low murmur, his hand twitching as his dark eyes kept flickering to where they were - they never learned why he was there, or how he'd found them, and he hadn't told them.

But that moment after, when they shuddered back into visibility and he'd asked to hold them in his arms… the warmth of his embrace and the strong earthy smell of him still lingers in their memory, almost like a dream.)

"S'not like you find every day working with your pack rosy either, Milo.” He snorts, conceding the point. Before he can think of a way to approach the topic again, they change the subject. “What’s that like, anyway? Being part of a pack?”

He glances at them sidelong. “Why d’you wanna know?”

The question gives them pause for a moment. They just… wanted to get to know him. It was as simple and dangerously complicated as that. “Humour me.”

He holds their gaze for a long moment, his eyes dark. They shift on their feet, ready to turn back, when he finally breaks the silence that’s fallen between them, his eyes on the path in front of them.

“There’s not much to say.” His voice is low as he says it, a furrow in his brow. “It’s hard to understand, if you weren’t born in it. It’s like a family. You’re never alone.”

Alone. The words send a shiver down their back. They’re familiar with loneliness. Painfully familiar.

It takes them a moment to realise that they’ve stopped walking, and that’s only because he has stopped too. He’s watching them, his head cocked, those dark eyes on theirs, so damn perceptive. When was the last time someone looked at them like this? Really looked?

“You got anybody else?” His voice is softer, almost gentle, his eyes unreadable as they shake their head, avoiding his gaze. “No family? Friends outside of work?”

They swallow hard, but tilt their chin up, holding his gaze. “No. Not in a longtime.”

It’s not as if he didn’t know that. He’s been keeping tabs on them too - it’s how he’d found their apartment, and honestly, just seeing that was evidence enough. It was a lonely place, built for one.

But he doesn’t seem to be thinking about that. There’s a light in his eyes that they don’t quite recognise, a gentleness there. “...I’ve lost people too, you know.”

They know. They can tell, they always have. It’s something about the way he holds himself, the defensiveness. The way he looks out for his family, his pack.

But they’ve never had anyone else to look out for. They lost them all, in those early days. Just another orphan, one lucky - or unlucky - enough to be taken under the wing of the Imperium regime.

Their chest feels - tight. They’re struggling to find the air to breathe, and shit, not again, not now-

“Hey, hey-” They’re breathing too fast yet too shallow, but they cannot think, the panic overwhelming them, and shit fuck fuck- “Come here, you’re okay, breathe.”

They’re pulled into a tight embrace, their senses filled with the warmth of him, the heat of his body against theirs. He’s left himself open to do this, his hands tight at their back, holding them to him, and the pressure grounds them, anchoring them to the present.

The panic fades, slowly. They take one breath, then another, feeling the dizziness ease, and as it does, they can hear his voice, a low, rough-cut whisper - that’s it, I’ve got you, sweetheart.

Sweetheart. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but there’s something different about it this time. It’s in the way he says it, softer, almost like an endearment, and they realise that he means it.

It’s a dangerous thought. Their alliances aren’t diametrically opposed, but if the imperial regime were to find out… It’d be cause enough for their title to be stripped, if they were lucky. If they weren’t, a case could be brought forward to an official military tribunal, and they don’t want to think about what comes after that.

But still, he’s so close. They can’t mask the effect he has on them, heat rising in the places he touches them, their heart beating at a rapid pace inside their chest.

Their fingers twist into the rough material of his sweater, drawing back until they can catch his gaze – and he’s looking at them, his dark eyes ringed with gold, and he knows.

“We can’t.” Their voice is hushed, breathless. The forest around them is quiet, too quiet. The panic is still close to the surface, and they feel stretched thin, as if they could fall apart at any moment.

“I know.” But he doesn’t let them go, and they don’t ask him to.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #ej writes redacted #writing #imperium verse #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #milo/sweetheart #i love them your honour #this dialogue was cut from another fic #and it just worked for these two #sh sweetie you get all introspective trauma of loneliness from the imperium okay

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xxplaugexx · 10 months

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Oh, Baby!

a/n; hi hello! this came out nowhere! xx

synopsis; when you get accidentally pregnant your team comes through to help you through these trying times

pairings; the 141 x afab!reader (platonic) simon "ghost" riley x afab!reader (slightly less platonic)

warnings; pregnancy, religious trauma (only if you squint fr), slight angst

part 2 (coming soon)

"No..." I look down at the device in my hand. "No, no, no, NO! FUCK!" Tears burn in my eyes as I stare down at the positive pregnancy test.

I take my birth control every day. I wore a condom when I hooked up with that guy, but of course, that 0.01% had to come back to bite me.

I was in my room at the base. Someone would come to check on me at some point. I really didn't want anyone to, but I never got what I asked for.

Clearly.

The first person to check on me was Price.

The captain knocked on my door five minutes after I had finished screaming and crying my eyes out.

"Come in," I said weakly. My voice was hoarse, and I didn't trust myself to say more than a few words at a time.

The door opened and I looked towards him. "I'm sorry about the screaming."

He shakes his head, waves it off, and comes to sit next to me on the floor. I look over at him. "Are you going to be able to sit down here, old-timer? Won't your knees lock up?"

Price chuckles. "I think I'll manage, kid." We sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks up. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm pregnant. I don't want to be. End of story."

Price nods slowly. "I get it. But you know, there are options..."I cut him off, "I can't have an abortion, Price."

Price gives me a sympathetic look. "Why not?"

"If my family found out...my mom, specifically. She's the most anti-abortion woman you'll ever meet..." I look over at him. "I'm alone in this."

Price puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're not alone. You have us. You have me. And we'll do whatever we can to support you."

I nod slowly, tears still streaming down my face. "Thank you, Price."

He gives me a small smile. "Of course, kid. That's what family is for." We sit in silence for a few more minutes before he stands up. "I'll let you get some rest. But if you need anything, anything at all, you come find me, okay?"

I nod, grateful for his support. As he leaves, I can't help but feel a small glimmer of hope in the darkness surrounding me.

The next person to arrive was Johnny. He didn't bother knocking; he barged into my room and slammed the door roughly behind him. He plopped down on the floor next to me. It seemed he didn't even realize I was upset until he looked at me.

His eyebrows knit together. "Whoa...are you alright, dove?"

I just shake my head, unable to speak. Johnny puts a hand on my back and rubs it soothingly. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it together. I've got you, okay?"

I nod, grateful for his presence. He leans his head back against the wall, and we sit in silence for a few moments. "You wanna talk about it?" he finally asks.

I take a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

Soap's eyes widen in surprise and then soften with understanding. "Oh...? That's... that's a lot."

"I don't know what to do," I admit, feeling lost.

Johnny shakes his head. "Yeah, me neither. I've never been pregnant."

I chuckle at his comment. "Yeah, I suppose you're not very helpful."

He nods. "Who's the daddy?"

"Some guy from the pub, I guess."

He thinks for a moment. "The one with the neck tattoo?"

"That's the one..."

"Didn't Ghost tell you not to go home with him?"

"Ghost tells me not to do a lot of things... I should probably start listening to him." I sigh.

Johnny rubs my back again. "We'll figure it out. We always do. But right now, you need to take care of yourself. You need to eat something and get some rest."

I nod, grateful for his care and concern. "Thanks, Soap."

"Of course, dove. That's what family is for," Johnny says. We sit in silence for a few more minutes before he stands up. "I'll leave you to it. But if you need anything, anything at all, come find me, okay?"

I nod, feeling a little bit better with Johnny by my side.

He finally leaves after a few minutes, and I'm not alone for long before Gaz walks in. I smile up at him. "Hi, Gaz."

"Hey sis..." he sits on the bed behind me. "Price told me."

I take a deep breath and nod, tears still streaming down my face. "Yeah, I'm pregnant."

Gaz looks at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes, feeling overwhelmed and scared. "I don't know what to do..."

Gaz puts a hand on my shoulder. "We'll figure it out together. We always do." I open my eyes and look at him, grateful for his support.

He gives me a small smile. "But for now, let's get you something to eat and make sure you're taking care of yourself."

"Why is everyone trying to feed me?" I look over at him.

Gaz raises an eyebrow. “Cause everyone likes food.”

I nod in agreement, looking down at the test in my hand.

Kyle looks up at the door before turning back to me. "Mess hall in 30."

I nod with a bit of confusion. When Kyle leaves the room, Ghost walks in and closes the door behind him. He sits down next to me. I look down, not ready to hear his disappointment.

"Hi, Simon..." I sniffle and refuse to make eye contact with him. He grabs me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

I bury my face into his chest and sob. "I'm so sorry," I whisper.

Ghost pulls back and looks at me. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I...I don't know. I just feel like I let you down, like I let everyone down."

Ghost strokes my hair and wipes away the tears on my cheeks. "You didn't let anyone down. Accidents happen. We'll figure this out."

He pulls me back into a hug and I let myself melt into his arms. "I'm scared," I admit.

"I know, love. But we'll get through this together. I promise."

I nod, feeling a little better with him holding me. "Thank you, Simon, for being here."

"Always." We sit in silence for a few more minutes before he stands up. "Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. "Everyone's trying to feed me. I'm not that hungry."

Ghost chuckles. "Well, we can't have you and the baby starving, can we?" He stands up and pulls me up with him. "Let's go get some food."

I sigh as he pulls me out of my room and into the mess hall.

a/n; ngl, i kinda hate this, but i also already have plans for a second part so like...lemme know if you want that <3

#cod #cod mw #cod mw22 #cod modern warfare #captain john price #simon ghost riley #soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #the plague is alive??

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rays-of-fire-and-ice · 1 year

Text

Horizons

Hitsuhina Gift Exchange 2022

Prompt: a song inspired creation

Rating: K+/General with some mature themes and mentions of violence/blood

Setting: A few days after the end of the TYBW arc, but there are flashbacks, two set before the main story, one between the end of the Fake Karakura Town and the beginning of the Lost Agent arcs. Basically, any scenes in italics are set in the past.

Synopsis: During the first days of reconstruction, Hitsugaya and Hinamori decide to visit the Junrinan. Along the way, Hitsugaya comes to realisation.

AN: @rainfestive, thank you for this prompt! I must admit, I had the basic idea for this fic before the gift exchange, but this prompt got me listening to music, and several songs helped inspire the completed story. The main songs that provided inspiration were I Was Born for This by Austin Wintory, Catharsis by Vishal Naidu & Dan Caine, and My Universe by Coldplay x BTS. The other songs included: She Lit a Fire by Lord Huron, compassion from the BLEACH ost, Snowfield from the Clannad ost, and going home from the BLEACH ost.

I wanted create a fic that conveyed the same softness that your fanart does, and I’ve hopefully succeeded in doing that (well, this fic actually has a pretty angsty start, but it does get fluffy I promise!). In a way, this is a spiritual prequel to It’s Been a While, but honestly, this was meant to be it’s own thing, so feel free to consider the two stories linked or not. Also:

I know it’s stated that the Seireitei needed reconstruction after the Quincy War, but there’s nothing concrete about whether the Rukongai was also badly damaged or not. However, for the sake of this story, sections of it were and need to be reconstructed.

A kokeshi doll is a traditional Japanese toy. The Rukongai seems to have traditional Japanese toys (like spinning tops, which Toshiro used to play with), so I figured they likely have this kind of toy there too.

Hasukappu is the Japanese name given to blue honeysuckle.

Also, I may or may not have been inspired by @canariie's fic trepidation at one point (for those who have read it, you’ll know it when you see it).

I hope you, Rain, and everyone else enjoy this!

__________________________________

Toshiro doesn’t flinch at the blast of freezing wind. The bare branches above and below him rattle, and the first snow falls from the dark grey clouds over the Junrinan in erratic spirals.

Only a few souls wonder the streets and alleyways of the first district, keeping their heads low and wearing multiple layers against the wind. Most souls can’t withstand the cold at this time of the day, with most choosing to stay indoors around a fire. The orange glow emitting from within most houses is bright against the still dark morning.

He again wonders what the lives of those inside is like. Are they still asleep or waking up? Do they all sit around the fire as they eat breakfast? Did they have anything they worked towards? Did any of them feel alone or different from the rest?

He shakes his head; the train of thought is useless to follow.

As the dawn mist gradually thins, he gets a better view of the whole Junrinan and the second district. A slice of the sunrise manages to peak through the clouds and he raises his hand to shade his eyes. Some of the houses in its way are bathed in a yellow-pink glow and the snow on their roofs glimmers.

Below, a soul treads into the light's path cast over one of the Junrinan's main streets. A girl, from what Toshiro can tell, wrapped up in a blanket that almost touches the ground. She avoids the growing piles of snow gathering on the sides of the road and her breaths fog in the air. Her strides are purposeful, enough to go against the harsh wind and cold. Why would she be out at this time? Was she going to go into the forests and find some firewood? Or food? She wouldn't need the main road for either of those things. She could be a new soul, left to her own devices to find a place to stay.

Toshiro shakes his head again; another useless train of thought.

At the growing tension in his chest, he begins to climb down the tree. He tells himself it’s because he needs to get back to Granny, she’d be awake soon. If he were honest with himself, it was because if the girl were to look to her right, there’s a good chance she’d spot him, and possibility of that makes him uncomfortable.

___________________________________

The kokeshi doll rolls away from Toshiro’s foot. He watches it tumble over chips of debris until it bounces off the ruins of the house it likely belonged to. Unlike many of the buildings surrounding it, this one still had most of its roof intact. One of its walls was obliterated, lying in chunks splayed out across the ground, with various broken and torn housewares scattered amongst remains.

Toshiro steps over the wreckage and stays bent over after he picks up the toy, shading it from the late afternoon sun. Paint had scratched off in various places and there’s a small chunk gone from the top of the head, but it’s otherwise remarkably in good condition compared to the other objects scattered about.

He hears Rangiku’s footsteps coming towards him before she calls out. “Captain, we have an update on assessment for the thirteenth district!”

Toshiro rises as his lieutenant nears. “Go on.”

It’s like almost every other report he’s received: buildings completely leveled or caved in, some souls have injuries being tended to by the squadron sent by Fourth Division, but thankfully no casualties for this one. He can’t say the same for this district.

As Rangiku continues to give the details, his gaze involuntarily wonders to the souls a short distance over her shoulder. There’s about twenty of them all underneath a temporary shelter, all in various states of disarray. They’d been given fresh clothes, and behind them, some of his unseated officers are preparing food rations. They watch as the Shinigami comb through the remains of their homes, and the only thing stopping them from joining in are the seated officers keeping them from interfering in the assessment. A few officers remain silent, the rest are trying to offer comfort or reassurances, but they’re falling on deaf ears.

Toshiro’s brow furrows deeper when he spots a young boy, his dark hair in whipped in all directions and wearing a clean yukata. The boy had been staring at him with widened eyes. At being caught, his shoulders rise and he’s quick to shift his gaze to the ruined house the doll belonged to. At his crumbling expression, Toshiro knows this was once his home, and the toy is his.

It's not the first time he has seen that kind of expression in the last week, nor will it be the last. All the lives of the souls here are forever changed, and he doesn’t blame the resentment he sees in some of them. He’d been up at the Palace, had tried to stop as much debris as he could from falling on to the Soul Society, but he couldn't stop all of it.

“Sir?”

Toshiro blinks and is quick to bring his attention back to Rangiku. “Thank you for the update, Matsumoto. Send…No, ask the assessment team to return to here and help with distributing resources. When you’ve done that, bring back whatever written reports you’ve completed to here. We'll finish for the day after the food rations have been given out.” When Rangiku doesn’t leave, he fully turns to her. “Was there anything else?”

Perhaps she’s caught off guard by the way he speaks; in other circumstances he’d be more relaxed with his tone and his choice of words, but it didn’t feel right to be anything other than direct and authoritative right now.

“Captain…” Rangiku purses her lips. It’s only then he notices how frazzled her hair is, it’s so out of character for her. But then, it was hard to be one’s self in the aftermath of something this destructive. Toshiro waits, and it’s a moment later when whatever hesitation she has disappears.

“Everything’s been set up here," she says. "After the assessment team comes back, we’ll have enough to keep things under control.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You should take a break. You’ve been up since dawn and haven’t stopped once all day, or even all of yesterday for that matter.”

He half expected her concern - the bags under his eyes become more apparent each day – and she hadn’t been the only one. Some of his seated officer, though they tried to hide it, showed their concern yesterday and this morning. It came out in the small smiles they give him and the over enthusiasm they have to some tasks he assigns, as if to assure him they are more than capable and that he can rest easy. But he sees the way their shoulders weigh down, the hardness or sorrow in their eyes when they think he isn’t looking. “I’ll rest once all the assessments are completed.”

She glances at the doll in his hand. Something about it makes her sigh. “You always tell others to know their limits, but never yourself.”

“I know my limits,” he responds curtly. “You don’t have to --”

“Yo, Captain Hitsugaya!”

Both swerve in the direction of Shinji’s call. Several officers from the Fifth Division approach, and in the middle of them are their captain and Momo. The latter doesn’t notice either of them, too preoccupied with giving instructions to her surrounding subordinates, but the former waves at them.

Toshiro tucks the doll away into his sleeve. “What’s he doing here?” he wonders under his breath.

With their impending argument interrupted, Rangiku smiles. “They have jurisdiction for the district next door. They might just be passing by.”

Whatever Momo instructed her subordinates to do, half march off down a nearby alleyway while the others remain. It’s then she spots them and gestures for her officers to wait.

“Afternoon you two,” Shinji greets.

Momo comes over to them, but unlike Shinji, her grin doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello Rangiku-san, Hitsug – I mean, Captain Hitsugaya.”

Toshiro would voice his surprise that she actually called him by his title, but this isn’t the time or place. “Doing assessment for the west ninth district I assume?” he asks Shinji.

“Just finished it actually.”

“Then are you here to discuss the proposal for repairs in north districts twenty through to twenty-five?”

Shinji’s grin wobbles and he raises a brow. “Geez, ain’t that a bit early? Pretty sure Head Captain said we didn’t need to get to work on that until two months in at the latest. Are you ahead of schedule already?”

“No, just planning.”

“Well, regardless, we ain’t here for that. We’re actually on our way back to the Seireitei to write up assessment reports for districts nine and ten. However, I think Hinamori and I are feeling a little generous and have some time to spare. Did you guys need any help here?”

“We were going to offer help regardless,” Momo quickly adds.

Toshiro folds his arms. “Thank you for the offer, but we don’t need-”

“I think we’ll take you up on that!”

For the first time since returning from the Palace, Toshiro breaks the authoritative air he’d been putting on, blinking up at his lieutenant in bewilderment. “Matsumoto?”

Rangiku keeps going as if she hadn’t noticed the change in his demeanor. “See, I need to go get the assessment team from the thirteenth district and also pick up some reports, and the Captain needs to take a break.”

“Wha? I don’t-”

“Everything here is mostly set up, and we’d ask our third seat to watch over things, but he’s with the assessment team. So, we just need someone to watch over our officers while we’re both away.”

“We need no such thing!” Toshiro looks to his fellow captain. “I don’t need a break, Matsumoto is speaking out of turn.”

Rangiku gives an indignant huff while Shinji lists his head to the side. “Well, when was the last time you took a break?” he asks.

“It’s not necessary, I can still oversee things here. As is, I assume you’ll need to write up those reports as soon as you get back, so don’t let us keep you.”

Shinji’s eyes narrow, but before he can speak up, Momo steps forward. “A-Actually, Captain, weren’t you saying we should take a break before we start on those reports? I was going to ask if I could walk to the Junrinan. I know it’s not one of the damaged districts, but there’s some friends I need to visit.”

Shinji blinks at his lieutenant’s interruption, but with the rising tension diffused, he nods. “Fine by me, just make sure you’re back in an hour for the reports.”

“Of course.” Then to Toshiro, with a renewed, softer smile. “Perhaps you’d like to join me, Captain Hitsugaya? I know you feel responsible for what’s happening here, but there’s someone you’ve wanted to see, right?”

Likely unintentionally, her words make guilt flare up in him. He’d wanted to go see Granny as soon as he’d arrived back in the Seireitei. What had become of the Junrinan? Was she all right? He’d sprint to there if he could, but duty bound him to the Seireitei. He barely contained his relief when he heard in the report the next day it was one of fifteen higher level districts that hadn’t been damaged during the war. He couldn’t visit her until the assessment is completed, but it didn’t stop the urge to drop everything and visit her.

“Can imagine you’d have friends you wanna see, yeah?” Shinji remarks. “I’ve told my subordinates to take their breaks to go visit anyone they need to in the Rukongai, and I’m sure you’ve told others to do the same in your division.” He shrugs. “I reckon us captains can grant ourselves the same if things are under control in our jurisdictions, and you’ve clearly got that going on here.”

“Hirako…”

“Besides, I owe you for saving Hinamori and I back up at the Palace. She told me about what happened after I got knocked out.”

He glances at his childhood friend, who gives a rueful roll of her eyes and a shrug.

“I didn’t just enter that battle to save you two,” he clarifies.

“I know, but regardless, you saved us from being crushed by that giant. So, least I can do is help you out a little while we’ve still got the time to.”

“That’s actually a good point,” Rangiku adds. “This’ll be the best opportunity you have. You know that once we get into the repairs, we’ll have even less free time.”

Toshiro isn’t sure what he hates more: that he’s made others worry or that his resolve is waning. He wants to argue back, but then Momo fixes him with that gaze – the one that’s half pleading and half concerned – and he’s useless to dismiss it.

He unfolds his arms with a huff. “Fine, I’ll only be gone for an hour.” Rangiku gasps with a grin, but he stops her from saying anything with a sharp gaze. “If anything happens, you send a Hell Butterfly right away. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Shinji’s own grin returns. “Well, it’s settled. I’ll stick around here until Matsumoto returns, then head back to Fifth. Take good care of my lieutenant, yeah? She's been working a lot lately."

Momo shakes her head, exasperated. "Honestly, sir."

Toshiro rolls his eyes. "She's capable of doing that herself."

With a chuckle, Shinji jerks his chin at Rangiku as he half turns away. “Mind giving me an overview of what’s going on here before you run off?”

Rangiku nods and joins him as he returns to his waiting officers.

Toshiro watches them go, but his attention is drawn away when Momo comes to his side. It’s just the two of them now, and the thought makes him nervous for some reason.

“Shall we go, Hitsugaya-kun?” she asks.

“Already dropping the title, are we?” he half grumbles.

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“You don’t look one bit sorry.” With a sigh, he goes to lead the way. “I guess the quickest route would be…”

A jostle in his sleeve stops him. Without thinking, he sticks his hand into his uniform. How had he forgotten about it?

Momo tilts her head when he faces the group of souls under the shelter. “What’s wrong?”

The child stares at them, had probably watched the entire exchange from before. He bites his lip at being caught a second time.

No, they can’t leave just yet. He hates to ask her to do anything for him, but this is better suited for someone like her.

Toshiro digs his hand into his sleeve. “I was going to ask Matsumoto to do this before she left, but I may need you to do it instead.”

Momo raises both brows; it’s a rare occurrence for him to ask her for anything. “What is it?”

Toshiro holds out the doll. “Can you give this to him?” he requests, tipping his head at the boy. “I think it’s his.”

She glances at the child, then at the remains of his house over her shoulder. “Why don’t you do it?”

“It’d be better coming from you.”

Her hand hovers over his for several beats, but she surprises him when she rolls his fingers over the doll. “You’re the one who found it, you should give it back to him.”

Why? The question must show on his face, because she lets out a weak chuckle. “It’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t elaborate further, but they need to get a move on, and he won’t push her to do this. Taking a deep inhale in, he approaches the crowd, and slows his steps once he’s within a few meters of the boy. The child is trying to decide whether to cower away or stand his ground as he approaches.

To calm him, Toshiro holds the doll out before he comes to a stop. “I’m guessing this is yours.”

As if expecting this to be a trick, the boy hesitates. A woman comes up behind the child and rests a protective hand on his shoulder while bowing.

“I’m sorry about my son, Captain,” she says, her voice on the brink of quivering. “He didn’t mean to stare.”

Toshiro shakes his head and gestures for her to rise. “It’s fine.”

Reassured by his mother’s presence, the boy takes the toy back. The moment he touches it, his anxiety starts to ease. He examines the faults in it, seemingly forgetting a high-ranking Shinigami stands before him. He fingers the dent in the top, and fights a disappointed frown from forming. Something about it tugs at Toshiro, and squats down to the child’s height, capturing his gaze once more.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stop this,” he says. “It will be a long time before you have a house again, but we're working to make sure it'll be sooner rather than later." He points to the toy. "Hang on to that in the meantime, don’t let it go. There will come a day when you can get others to join it.”

Heat rises up the back of his neck as he senses the eyes of all the residents on him. Most are surprised, others are skeptical. To have a Shinigami admit fault and apologise is a rare thing; they’re viewed as too prideful or out of touch or secretive to do such a thing by most district residents. If only they knew what they’d been like when the Quincy invaded, the fear and determination his officers showed. For a moment, Toshiro allows the thought to roam in his mind before he banishes it.

He stands and gives a bow with his head. “If any of you need basic supplies, my officers will assist.”

He tries to turn and stride as naturally as he can back to Momo, resisting the urge to spin on his heel and rush down the forest path they’re going to take to the Junrinan. A new wave of heat rushes up to his cheeks, but this time it’s because of the tender smile Momo gives him when he approaches.

___________________________________

Toshiro scowls at the cracked rooftiles next to his foot. A few pieces had dislodged, revealing the wooden rafters beneath. “Going to have to replace those,” he mutters. “How long have they been like that?”

He stares at them for several heartbeats before going a few feet further up the roof. Once he reaches the top, he sits on ridge, takes in a long breath, and leans back with closed eyes. It’s the first moment of quiet he’s had in a whole month.

However, as if to remind him of where he should really be, the wind lifts up the ends of his haori behind him. Opening his eyes, he rests his elbows on his knees and picks at the new addition to his uniform. Despite being a relatively light garment, it still feels heavy to wear. He never considered himself to be the type to indulge in metaphors or analogies, but there might be something to say for the weight of the job weighing down on ones shoulders. With a sigh, he lifts his gaze.

He’s not sure where his inclination to go to high places came from, nor does he understand why he continues to make it a habit. Somehow, it felt right to climb tree and sit in their branches as a child, and then to perch himself on his old home’s rooftop. The latter he can chalk up to feeling protective of Granny, believing that having a vantage point to see everyone and everything ensured he could warn her of anything; but the former, he still can't figure out why he did it. A part of him always wanted to watch over everything, and being above everything somehow felt right. The tallest height he'd gotten to was in a tree in the Jurinan forests, and it allowed him to see all the way to the tenth district.

Now, he’s on the tallest building in the Tenth Division, and it gives him a view of the Seireitei all the way to the Eastern Gate. There was a time where he was on the other side of that gate, and the Seiretei was just a part of the horizon he looked out towards. It strange to think he has ended up on the other side, and to feel less lonely than he was when he was outside of it.

He distracts himself from the thought by watching the Shinigami out and about. Most are on the ground, weaving their way between buildings, not in any rush to get where they need to. Some have stopped in courtyards and gardens, gathering in groups for training or lunch. Not too far away, the instructions of his third seat reach his ears, his voice coming from one of the dojos.

Others are on the balconies and verandas, coming and going, but he doubles back when he spots Momo and Aizen. They’re two small figures in the distance, but he can make out that they're walking on the second floor balcony of Ninth Division’s main barracks, talking about something that makes Momo smile.

Toshiro rolls his eyes. Even from all the way up here, her feelings towards her captain are obvious, and Aizen is probably too polite to bring it up. He finds himself lingering on that thought, but he doesn’t understand why he’d care.

She’s his oldest friend, and he cares about her wellbeing. That’s as far as it went.

He shakes his head, shoving the thought aside. As is, in this new role, he’ll see her even less, and he tries to ignore the tiny pang at the thought. He’s never known how to keep friends, and when Momo found a goal all those decades ago, they’d drifted apart. Now that they each have a goal, it won’t surprise him if they drift even further.

_________________________________________

“Hasukappu grows here?”

Toshiro says nothing as Momo fawns over the vegetation. They’d been walking on the path through the undergrowth for a few minutes when she spotted the hasukappu plants. It’s the happiest he’s seen her since they got back to the Seireitei, and he fears speaking up will break it.

“For some reason, I always thought it was just in the south and north districts. I could make a jam out of these!” Momo goes to pick one of the dark blue fruits but stops. “Ah, maybe not, actually. The locals probably come to harvest these, right? Like we used to in the Junrinan.”

He gestures to the several shrubs chock full of the fruit. “Likely, but it won’t hurt if you pick some, there will be plenty left. Besides, these look they’ve just been growing in the wild, and the animals probably eat them too.”

Momo looks up and down the uneven line of shrubbery. Eventually, she plucks one off a stem. “Maybe just fifteen of them. It probably won’t be enough to make jam, but maybe some candies.”

He watches her pick the fruit off the shrubs and piles them into cloth bag she kept in her uniform, and it occurs to him that with the exception of the rustling of the branches and leaves from the occasional gust wind, it’s quiet. Life is vibrant here, from the lush green grass lined on either side of the dirt path to the small animals that scurry or fly away when they hear them coming. The greenery around them hadn’t been touched by the war, as if frozen in time.

However, it’s in quiet moments like this – mostly before he’s about to go to sleep - that his mind buzzes with everything he hasn’t yet done. Did he truly have the right to be here in the peaceful quiet while the souls in the Rukongai were waiting for their homes to be rebuilt?

“There, that should do it.” Momo tucks the cloth bag back into her uniform. She starts walking again without looking back at him. “The Junrinan is twenty minutes from here, right?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Toshiro follows her. “Yes.”

He stays behind her as they head up an incline. Her gait is not what it used to be; in the months after her recovery at Fourth Division, she’s had a more subdued walk, the weight of everything weighing her down. In the few months before the Quincy invasion, she walked as if lighter than air, like how she used to before Aizen’s betrayal. Now, there’s a heaviness in each step, but her shoulders are high, determined.

It begs him to ask, “How have you been?”

Momo looks over at him. “As well as I can be. It’s been busy, of course. We’ve completed assessment for half of the districts under our jurisdiction. We’ve been lucky most have more injured than dead, but even so…” She sighs. “The truth is I haven’t had moments rest myself until now.”

“Dummy!”

“I could say the same for you, couldn’t I?” It’s not an accusation, but an almost resigned fact she knew all too well about him. At his rueful silence, she gives him an uneasy smile. “We have to do so much right now, but we haven’t had the time to do it all. Captain Hirako makes sure everyone has something to do, that we all carry the load of everything. I’m sure you’re the same, but you…you also tend to take on too much, Hitsugaya-kun.”

“It’s because I can.”

The corners of her lips fall. “I think everyone’s struggling to rest right now. We need to put these repairs first, of course, but we also need to take time to rest.” She turns to look ahead “Hopefully things will quiet down soon.”

They both know that is a pipedream. It’s already been estimated the reconstruction of the Rukongai will take over three years to complete, and the Seireitei’s even longer.

This was a bad idea. She did this to him, made him lower whatever walls he builds and rethink what his priorities should be. What should he focus on first? The living or the dead? The survivors or the officers who gave their lives? He’d almost lost count of how many had been cremated or buried, but he has that number clear in his mind every time he gets ready for the day.

There’s a low swaying branch in their way. She holds it aside for Toshiro as she asks, “What about you, Hitsugaya-kun? Have you not been sleeping well?”

He almost touches the bags under his eyes. “I’ve been sleeping enough. Something just woke me up last night.”

“What was it?”

“A dream.”

“Do remember what it was about?”

“…Not really.”

It only comes to him in bits and pieces, but his dreams of when he wasn’t in control of his body shake him to the core every time. Glimpses of Yumichika and Ikkaku come, and the voice of the Quincy who had forced her blood into him echoes in each. He needn’t burden Momo or anyone else with those dreams, everyone has enough on their minds as is.

Realising he isn’t going to elaborate; Momo drops the subject. “What about progress with damage assessment?”

“We have five districts left to assess, then reconstruction will begin next week.”

“So you are ahead of schedule!”

“Only by a day.”

“It’s still amazing progress.”

They trek down a short incline, which flattens out to the banks for a creek. The path continues on the other side.

“Is there a way across?” Momo asks, taking a wary step towards the stream.

“It’s normally okay to jump over it, the water is running quicker than I remember.”

“It might be because of the rain from yesterday. There was a lot, more than Twelfth predicted.” She says something under her breath, but Toshiro can make out, “You could’ve probably gauged it better.”

Rather than shown he heard her, Toshiro assesses, looking from one end of the creek to the other. “There.” He points to a section several feet away, the two sides closer than any other party near them.

“When was the last time you were here?” she asks as they make their way.

It takes him a moment to recall. “When I’d been promoted to seventh seat.”

“For a mission, I’m guessing?”

“Investigating Hollow activity in the region.”

Those seem like simpler times now, quaint even. He’d known Hollows attacks, had seen a few fellow Shinigami die to them. For some reason, he didn’t think he’d go on to see much more death or destruction in his life.

“That would’ve been about thirty years ago,” Momo muses. “It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. Time really flew by, huh?”

When they reach the edge of the creek, Toshiro holds up a hand before Momo can make a move. “I’ll go first.”

She gives a bemused chuckle. At his deepening frown, she explains, “This reminds me of what you used to do when we were children. Whenever we’d have to cross a gap, you always insisted on going first.”

He lets out a wordless grumble as he recalls those moments. “I was always the better jumper, and you always got nervous about making big jumps. In case you fell, someone had to be on the other side.”

She gives him a mock offended 'humph'. “And you think that’ll be the case here too?”

Toshiro goes to argue back, but an idea comes to him. Without warning, he whips away from her and runs for the creek before leaping over the water. When he lands in a crouch on the other side, he smirks at her while he rises. “Prove otherwise.”

Momo’s surprise gives way to a haughty smirk. Playfully, she sets up to run, stretching one leg behind her and raising her arms to her sides. His smirk widens, and an amused chuckle almost makes it to his lips. More than that though, he can’t help his protective instincts. He’s ready to dash forward and catch her in case she slips. Without thinking, he moves closer to his side’s edge and even raises his hand for her to grab on to.

She shakes her head. “No need.”

And with that, she runs to the creek. With a small cry of exertion, she leaps over the water. Her arms cartwheel through the air, and her hair flies behind her. She goes higher than he did, her feet well and truly avoiding the water, even the small droplets that splash up from hitting any rocks in the water’s way.

He stumbles back, almost losing his footing as he tries to give her space. She lands on her feet with a loud ‘thump’, half crouched and hands raised in front of her. She doesn’t move from her exaggerated pose, looking as if she were about to sit back into a chair.

They snort at the same time. They look at each other, surprised that the other reacted. Then, as if a flood gate opened, they laugh. Momo almost doubles over, straightening enough to rest her hands on her knees, while Toshiro smacks a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to cover up his laughter.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I don’t know!” she chortles. “I think I got competitive and tried to jump higher than you!”

“That wasn’t the point!”

“But I did it! Both landing and getting higher than you!”

By the time their laughter dies down, his stomach aches. When was the last time he’d laughed so hard, and why over something so silly and small? Maybe he was losing his mind, but if that were the case, at least he isn’t the only one.

They smile at each other while they try to catch their breath. Aside from the one she gave him before they started their trek, it’s the most genuine smiles he’s seen from her in a while, and for a moment he allows himself to be deluded with the idea that just as she can lower his internal walls, he can do the same for her too. In this moment she isn’t the dutiful, hard-working lieutenant, but the girl who always dragged him out on adventures and got easily riled up.

But that silence creeps back in, making his smile fall. What was he doing? He couldn’t be like this, not when he had houses and the Seireitei to rebuild, the dead to bury and mourn for. At her faltering smile, he knows she thinks the same, and he wishes it wasn’t the case. After everything she went through, guilt should be the last thing she suffers from.

He takes a few tentative strides back towards where the path resumes. “Let’s keep going, it’ll be dark soon.”

When he doesn’t hear her follow, he looks over his shoulder. Her head bowed, it’s clear she’s lost in thought. With a bit more authority in his voice, he says, “Come on, Hinamori.”

She flinches and raises her head. “Sorry, it’s just…” His heart aches at her sad smile. “I think this and before with the hasukappu, they’re both the first time in a while that I haven’t discussed or thought about the reconstruction efforts. I know it was my idea to go visit Obaa-san and the others, but I just wanted to check on them. I didn’t think I’d get distracted from everything that’s happening.”

She’s on the edge of an unnecessary apology, and he chooses to nip it in the bud. “I know. We’re only fifteen minutes away, so let’s keep going.”

She gives a shallow nod and joins him.

This really had been a bad idea.

_________________________________________

“I figured you’d be somewhere like here.”

Toshiro almost drops his denreishikai and whips his head over his shoulder.

Isshin stands only a few meters away, his hands in his pockets. Mercifully, if he noticed Toshiro’s near fumble, he doesn’t show it. At the same time however, he half wishes he could punch the smirk off his former captain’s face. However, he’s rendered speechless, and none of the many questions he had always wanted to ask him come to mind now. He suddenly understands what humans meant when they see ‘a ghost from the past’.

“Matsumoto said you were in the area,” Isshin explains. “I bumped into her this morning.”

It might explain why she and Orihime hadn’t returned before Toshiro decided to take a walk an hour ago. He calms with a low exhale. “What the heck are you doing here?”

Isshin’s smirk drops a fraction, and he walks over to him. Toshiro can imagine the question could be taken in more than one way, but Isshin chooses to go for the most obvious one. “I wasn’t out looking for you, just decided to go for a walk.” He steps over the road guard, but keeps a meter distance between them. “I forgot to ask Matsumoto how long you’ve been here.”

Toshiro glares at his denreishinkai. “Is that really any of your concern anymore?”

What’s left of Isshin’s smirk vanishes. “I may not be a captain anymore, but can I can still sense Hollows. There’s been a bit more than usual since Aizen’s defeat from what I can tell. Kuchiki Rukia’s replacement can only do so much, I guess.”

It was strange to hear Isshin discuss Shinigami business when he no longer is one. It’s even stranger to see him up close after all these decades. Toshiro closes his phone. “We’re only here for today, and leaving tonight.”

In the silence, Isshin does nothing except shift his gaze ahead, while Toshiro can’t lift his own from the ground. It’s not the first time he and Rangiku have seen their old captain; during their first time in Karakura Town, they’d spotted him from afar as he walked out of his clinic, but neither of them chose to interact. He and Rangiku reasoned this new life of his had been his choice, but it didn't stop the question he wanted to ask itching to get answered. Perhaps, though, it had also been in part because neither wanted to confront him in a situation like this. What’s he supposed to do?

A part of him wants to run away, to pretend this encounter never happened. But he stays, paralyzed by…obligation. A fragment of his days as a third seat while serving under the man next to him.

Isshin leans against the road guard. “It’s a nice view, huh?”

The view in question was of the west of Karakura Town, bathed in the orange light of the sunset. On the street below, cars and people are still out and about, and the streetlights are starting to flicker on. In a small way, it reminds Toshiro of his days watching the Junrinan from up in the trees.

“You always had a knack for finding good views from high places,” Isshin continues. “I remember you used to climb on the barracks’ roofs. Never understood why, until I got up there and saw what you were looking at.”

Toshiro clenches his jaw as memories of those times flash in his mind. Isshin lecturing him from the ground, then usually ending up on the roof with him, continuing to lecture him until he saw the view. Somehow, it’d end up with Toshiro eventually chastising his captain for skipping out on his duties and trying to get him to climb down.

What resolve he had to stop things from bubbling over erodes. “You’ve always been reckless. You left without warning. You left the division to me.” Then, more icily. “Why?”

Isshin is silent as he turns his gaze back to him. He’s solemn but there’s a resolve there, one Toshiro knew all too well. When Isshin committed to something, he did so with all of his heart, with every ounce of determination within him; Toshiro couldn’t help but be reminded of it when he saw the same in Ichigo sometimes. It’s that determination that made them both reckless, fearless even.

“I had every intention of returning to the Soul Society, but it wasn’t that simple,” Isshin explains. “Masaki, my wife, needed my help. She risked her life to save mine when I was attacked in Naruki City. I owed her my life and I wouldn’t turn my back on her. To save her from death, I had to give up my Shinigami abilities.”

Of all the explanations and theories Toshiro had come up with in the past decade, a scenario like that had never come to mind. Now, it seems like the most obvious reason, because at his core, his captain was always committed saving lives, especially those he owed a debt to. Regardless,to think someone could sway his former captain in such a way, to make him give up everything he ever knew. He’d abandoned his Shinigami status and old life to be with her, to start a family with her. Anger and sympathy war within Toshiro, but he, frustratingly, can’t decide which emotion should win out.

Isshin smiles and the fire in his eyes softens. “It seems foolish, I know, but it wasn’t long after I started living as a human that I realized Masaki was my center. Even if I hadn’t lost my powers, it’d be hard to pull out of orbit of someone I'd come to care about as much as her and try to return to who I was before I met her.”

Toshiro barely manages to hold back a snide snort. “Since when did you become poetic?”

Isshin chuckles. “You’ll get it when you find someone you feel the same way about. They’ll become your sun, the center of your universe.” He sighs through his nose. “Although, I think you can understand it already, on some level.”

Toshiro watches the sun touch the horizon and says nothing, afraid of indulging whatever musing Isshin has.

His mind wonders to Momo, to their days in the Junrinan. It always did when he came to this spot at this time. How many sunsets had he watched with her? When had they stopped doing that? Not long after she left for the Academy, he remembers. The last time was on her break during her third year. It wasn't something he missed until she had been in denial about Aizen's true self.

How is she right now? Was her new captain treating her well? He'd had reservations about coming on a day trip because of the latter, but they'd agreed to speak once he returned. It'll be the first time he's seen her since his failure at the fake Karakura Town. He still can't let go of the guilt from that event, has wondered if he's worthy enough yet to face her again. Another part of him, the one that pushed him to finally see her again, knew he couldn't keep going without seeing her.

He imagines the Isshin he knew, risking his life for a human who risked her life to save his, and he knew that foolhardy determination, that feeling of owing one he had a debt to, would’ve guided him to who he is today. He can’t say he doesn’t relate on some level. Hadn’t he almost done the same for Momo? More than once over the last two years, he’d abandoned his principles when she was in danger, and knew without a second thought he would risk his life for hers.

With some agitation, he inwardly admits his old captain still knows him too well.

“It sounds like the division is doing well.”

“…What did Matsumoto tell you?”

“That you two are handling everything, that there’s no need for me to come back even if I wanted to. I’m not surprised, though. I knew regardless of whether you became captain or not, or if Matsumoto would stay on as lieutenant, the division was in good hands with you two being a part of it.”

Toshiro wants to shove away the sentimental ache in his chest. There was a time where he was ready to round on his former captain and interrogate him, believing no matter his reasons he would never forgive him. Now…he’s just tired. He has no energy left to hate the man for abandoning them, and his reasoning he can, frustratingly or thankfully, relate to.

So instead, he remarks, “I’m surprised Matsumoto didn’t knock you over.”

Isshin grins. “She almost did, but Inoue-san stopped her.”

_______________________________________

The sky is dyed various shades of yellow and orange, and the shadows of trees fall away as they reach highest point of the path. Below, beyond the foliage and five minutes away is the Junrinan, alive with lights and souls, just small dots, wondering the streets. Momo now trails a few feet behind him; neither have spoken a word in the last ten minutes.

A wind blows through, and without thinking, Toshiro follows its direction and looks to his left. The sun is gradually descending to the horizon, but below it…

He stops mid step. Something in him falls, making him go slack in the shoulders and the air freeze in his lungs.

In his peripheral, Momo makes a confused sound before she too follows his gaze. “Oh…” She raises a hand to her chest.

Districts one through to twenty-five for the north and west are sprawled out beneath them. The ones affected by the war are obvious: buildings completely leveled or almost gone, nature upturned and ground scarred, ruins of the palace standing out like a sore thumb. Unlike the districts around them, their lights are fewer and far between, small fires meant to keep groups of souls warm in their temporary shelters. Smoke trails twirls up into the sky, toward where the Palace wreckage had come from and ruined their homes.

Seeing it all together, it makes him grit his teeth against the growing tightness around his heart. Is he failing them? The souls in the Rukongai and the officer who gave their lives. He knows how the former think of him, but the latter, he dreads to wonder how they would view him right now.

He’s startled by a sob. Peering over to Momo, she smacks a hand over mouth, eyes wide in alarm and rimmed with tears.

“Hi--Hinamori?” he says, unknowingly taking a step towards her.

She’s quick to wipe away the tears that escape. “I-I…I’m sorry. Now’s not the time for any of this. It’s one thing to hear about how many districts were affected, but seeing it all t-together, just seeing it all, it’s…” She bites her lip, but it doesn’t stop another tear from falling. “I know we can make it through this and help everyone in the Rukongai, but it’s still…it’s hard to go through all of it to get there. But I have no right to cry now, not when they’re suffering more than us. I’ll cry when I can finally bury those who gave their lives, but until then, I have to focus on restoring everything, right?”

For a brief moment, the world blurs around him, and she is the only thing in focus. With almost stumbling steps, he goes to her, as if being drawn to her by an invisible force; even if he wanted break away, he couldn’t.

There’s hardly any gap between them, their faces close enough that he came make out the faint, small scar on the side of her forehead; from an injury she got while up at the Palace. He’s almost lost her more than once, and he recalls the worry in the back of his mind during the war that she could perish to the Quincy. A small part of him still chastises himself for not being able to prevent her from being injured, but that was the reality of war and combat, and he thanks whatever forces drive this world that it hadn’t been worse.

He surprises both of them when he cups her cheeks and wipes away a tear with his thumb. In the stunned silence his thoughts race, but not with work or guilt.

Perhaps because of all she had gone through in the last two years, he can’t stand to see her cry anymore. Her heart had been wounded; she had put her trust like everyone else in an illusion once. She’d been in denial, had asked him to he unthinkable in sparing a traitor’s life, but she had come to accept everything, now has clearer eyes. Gone is some of her naivety, and in it’s place is a girl who knows better, who even after all her grief and heartache, still reaches out a hand to help and guide.

As the shock wears off, he’s quick to pull away. “S-Sorry.”

“I-It’s okay” she says, still stunned.

Her tears have vanished and a faint pink colors the tops of her cheeks. Perhaps she waits for an explanation, but he has none. She had done the same for him when they were younger, wiping away his tears and leaving him shocked by the gentle gesture, but this feels different. It was to comfort her, but also for something else…

However, the image of the boy from eighth district comes to mind, and it reminds him that he doesn’t know how to comfort others. He spots the boy’s district, off to the far left. That child is a little older than he was before he went to the Academy. Toshiro wonders if he got to live the life he’d always imagined himself having, away from war and violence and grief. Now the latter had come, in the destruction of his home and his district. And what had Toshiro done? Given him a toy back and told him the same thing his officers would’ve already said. It's pathetic.

“It would have been better if you had spoken to that child.” When she says nothing, he folds his arms into his sleeves and elaborates. “Residents need hope in times like this. It is not something I inspire in others.”

“That’s not true,” she responds immediately, and with such a tenderness he’s forced to meet her gaze. She closes the gap between them again with two strides, her eyes wide and emphatic, and it takes him aback.

“I’ve learned that hope doesn’t always come in kind words,” she continues. “Sometimes it comes in an apology, or in a promise to do better, whether it’s to yourself or to someone else.” Her eyes mist again, and her smile returns. “Sometimes it’s just knowing you have a friend there. I have you, Captain Hirako, Abarai-kun, Kira-kun, Rangiku-san, Hisagi-kun, and Nanao-san. I’m incredibly lucky to have you all.”

She points to the Rukongai. “Not everyone down there has someone, I know, but I believe they can find friends and family, just like we all did. In times like this, it’s amazing the connections one can make. I’ve seen it in my districts, how they help each other and give each other hope. We can contribute to that, you contribute to that by vowing to rebuild their homes, by them shelter and food, by giving them back possessions that mean something to them.”

She rests a hand on his forearm, and he brings his hands out of his sleeves. For the first time since they reconciled, she takes his hand in hers. “You’ve been there for me for decades, and I didn’t truly realise it until Captain Ai—I mean, Aizen Sosuke – betrayed us. I’m truly grateful that you still consider me a friend, that we can still talk and share things together. You…You give me hope, Hitsugaya-kun, and I’m certain I’m not the only one.”

The sunlight has turned her eyes to amber, bright like the embers of the element she wields. Her hair shines, almost golden, as if it were made of wisps of the sun. Her skin glows, and there isn’t a single shadow in her soft smile.

It’s the first time he’s considered her beautiful.

Her appearance has never been a major concern of his, unless she was sick or injured. At times he thought she was cute when she smiled or got excited, or could admire something she had done with her hair. Why did he view her differently now? Had the sunlight been just right? Had this moment of vulnerability made him see a different side to her?

But she’s the same. She’s one of the only people he knows who even while sobbing in despair can still have hope for the future, and one of the few who can still think of others while struggling with her own demons. Others would mistake her for being weak, but he only saw strength. He wants to protect her from threats beyond her control, but she’s more than capable of taking on most things, whether it was with tears in her eyes or an angry furrow in her brow or a smile on her lips. She held out a hand to anyone, sometimes to a fault, sometimes to a benefit.

In this world of violence and war and grief, they only have each other, and he has her still. She held on, for him and for other Shinigami, because she’s strong and kind and his friend.

His heart swells, and it dawns on him.

Oh…

He lets out a shuddered breath and bows his head. The revelation crashes over him like a wave, rendering him mute and tightening his chest painfully.

He loves her.

Momo says his name, uncertain. When he doesn’t respond,she tries to search his eyes. Had he always adored her earnestness? When did her will and wish to understand him become so endearing? It’s almost too much. He prays that somehow his thoughts aren't conveyed in his gaze.

She releases his hand, and he almost reaches out to take it back. “Did I say something wrong?” she asks.

“No,” he manages to murmur, “no, you didn’t.”

He knew his feelings towards her had shifted over the decades, and when she had been on the brink of death the first time, he knew they were something deeper than he’d thought. But love? This is how it felt; it’s as light as air, freeing and special, but somehow keeping him grounded and with the power to make his heart ache or race.

Is this what Isshin spoke of when he said someone could become your center?

Why did a realisation like this have to come at this time? He had enough on his mind, and now this. It should he the most important thing to him, but the repair and the dead are foremost on his mind. But somehow, it doesn't feel like a burden or another weight on his shoulder like he expects. If anything, it's inexplicably lifted some of that weight off. He can't stay focused on this, he'll need to unpack this later.

“I’m tired.” He can sense it’s not enough of an answer for her, so with some push back from the side of him that always keeps his innermost thoughts from being voiced, he adds, “I never knew you thought of me that way.”

She gives a weak chuckle. “I must admit, I didn’t think I would say that, it’s a little embarrassing, b-but it’s true.”

“…Thank you.”

“And you too, Shiro-chan. I didn’t know you thought about me that way either.”

Ah, he had more or less admitted she inspired hope, hadn’t he? A fresh blush starts to rise up to his cheeks, but he’s quick to tread away from her and continue down the path. “We’re not going to make it back in time to Hirako or Matsumoto, but we might as well continue to the Junrinan.”

She comes up to his side, smile rueful. “I suppose so, yes.”

“…It’s as you said, though, we need to put these repairs first, but we also need to take time to rest.” Again he fights that reserved part of himself to continue. “Sometimes that can include visiting someone or laughing a little or...being a little late to something." He almost cringes, it goes against his principal of always being punctual. "Regardless, it shouldn’t feel like you don’t have the right to rest.”

Her smile widens to a grin, and she takes his hands again. Unlike last time, a pulse runs up his arm like a lighting bolt and straight to his chest. Being in love is going to take some getting used to.

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d admit that rest can include laughing,” she says. “It’s hard in time like this to feel like you deserve rest, but it’s true. It’s like Captain Hirako told me once: ‘If you don’t rest, you can’t help anyone’.”

“I don’t know about that, but it is important.”

She giggles, and it’s one of the most soothing sounds he’s heard since the war ended. “It can look like friends helping each other too.”

_______________________

The girl stands beneath a bare tree, clad in her multiple layers, her back to him, and staring at the silhouette of the Seiretei through the mist. Just in front of her is the only alleyway that leads back to his house. Toshiro curses himself for not having turned off the main path sooner, but he hadn’t noticed the girl until he got this close.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he treads soundlessly to the other side of the path, into the cover of shadows. However, in his way all along the path’s side is snow, and the crunch of his footsteps will surely alert the girl of his presence. Perhaps she will be too caught up in her mind though, she hadn’t even noticed the ring of a chime from the house behind her or the budged when the wind grew stronger.

Needing to get home, he risks it, walking on the snow to the alleyway and keeping his head low. Something makes him tilt his head a fraction back to her as he moves along. Now closer, he can tell she’s around his age. Only a few souls were ever out in this cold, and all of them had been adults. She’s an oddity in that regard, and in coming out at this time. It’s the third time he’s seen her, and not once had he spotted her in the Junrinan at any other hour – then again, the district is packed with souls, he’d be lucky sometimes if he sees the same shopkeeper three behind the counter more than three times in the same month.

The wind catches on his scarf, causing the end to fly out of the shadows. He looks away from her and hurries his footsteps while trying to catch his scarf.

“Oh!”

Toshiro cringes at being caught. Despite his mind telling him to make a run for it, he’s stuck, as if the cold had frozen him on the spot. Without thinking, he looks back to the girl. Her wide eyes are brown, almost the same colour as her hair.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” she asks, her words muffled slightly by the scarf covering her mouth. "What’re you doing out?"

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts without thinking.

She blinks, taken aback by his answer. After a moment, she shrugs. “I get up early.”

“And go outside?”

“Yeah, there isn’t much to do inside when everyone’s asleep.” She turns on her heel back to the silhouette of the Seireitei. "It's also the only time I get to see this clearly too, even with all the mist and snow."

With her attention diverted, he can make a getaway. He goes to, but she speaks up again.

"Have you ever been in there?" she asks.

The question is so preposterous he can't help but snark back, "As if they'd ever let any of us wonder in there."

"Oh, so it's just Shinigami then?"

He raises a brow. "You're new around here or something?"

She nods. "I arrived two weeks ago. I'm still learning everything." She tugs the scarf over her mouth down, showing her bright red cheeks and a wide smile. He's bewildered by the latter; aside from Granny, no one had ever smiled at him before.

"I'm Hinamori Momo by the way," she says.

She waits for him to reciprocate, but he wonders further into the shadows. Perhaps she was only being friendly to him because didn't know who he was or because, more likely, she can't make out his from over there.

Her smile dims at his reaction. "Ah, sorry. I guess I just came out and spoke to you without warning. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

The light of the sunrise faintly pierces through the clouds, shining through the alleyways and making the snow dully glimmer. She'll surely see him more clearly now

"Your hair is so white!"

He scowls and rubs a hand through his spikes without realising. "What about it?"

"Ah, sorry! It's just that I've never seen hair like your before. It's like the snow."

It's about the nicest thing anyone has ever said about his appearance and he isn't sure how to take it. Furthermore, it seems no one hadn't told her about him. It would only be a matter of time before she finds out, but maybe, for even a day, for even just this hour, he could talk with another who didn't judge him for his appearance or the apparent coldness he gave off.

He steps out from the shadows and on to the main street. In half a grumble, he introduces himself. "Hitsugaya Toshiro."

She tilts her head, but then it hits her. "Oh, that's your name." Her smile returns anew. "It's nice to meet you."

With introductions out of the way, he isn't sure where to take this.

He looks to the Seireitei, feeling nothing towards it, but right now, the world only has the two of them looking at the horizon, and it makes him feel something that's as light and boundless as snow.

_______________________

Toshiro comes to a stop before he ascends the stairs to Granny’s house. He takes in the structure of it, from the roof to the ground, thankful it remains standing. He knocks on the front door, and when she doesn’t answer, he wonders to the back.

She sits on the veranda, cup of tea in hand and a bowl at her side. It’s a peaceful image, one he almost doesn’t want to disturb. She doesn’t notice him at first, too lost in thought, but she perks up as he nears.

She abandons her tea, nearly stumbles trying to meet him halfway. He rushes forward, fearing she’ll fall. “Wait, Baa-chan!”

Her voice is weak when she finally speaks. “Toshiro…you’re…” She raises her hands, cupping his face between them. Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and her lips keep twitching between a frown and a relieved smile.

“I’m okay,” he reassures, voice raspy. “Hinamori is here too, she’s just visiting Ayumi and Tatsukichi.”

She brings him into a hug. “Welcome home.”

And that does it. Biting back a sob, he hugs her back. Relief floods through him, and the weight of his duties momentarily lifts away. He will go back and do everything he can for ever soul affected, to ensure they can have a home like this again.He will remember the dead, will ensure their families are looked after and to visit every shrine to pay his respects and his gratefulness to them.

It's a minute later when she ushers him into her house and brews a fresh pot of tea. He answers all of her worried questions, and she reassure him he is doing his best everything he had to do.

Momo joins them later, grinning as she hugs Granny and then as Granny prepares her a tea.

He can't look away from her, his heart beating faster whenever she looks to him and swelling when she laughs or smiles. To know he loves her, to finally have a name for the feelings he's had towards her, has changed him.

And maybe it had come to him now because in it’s own way, whether he ever confessed to her or not, knowing how he feels about her was hope. He can feel for her anew, could continue to live by her side with a new view of who she is.

#hitsuhina #momo hinamori #toshiro hitsugaya #shinji hirako #rangiku matsumoto #hitsuhina gift exchange #fanfiction #I'm sorry this took as long as it did #life got hectic again #I sincerely hope you enjoy it #also I'm pretty sure this is the mushiest I've ever written Toshiro as #take it as you will #also felt right to include a gif for this one #now off to finally read everyone else's fics!!

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linasofia · 1 year

Text

Petite Voleuse

Epilogue

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC

A/N: The epilogue to Petite Voleuse. You can find all chapters here.

I look into his expressive steel blue eyes. His dark hair is unruly and a smile spreads over his face as he takes my hand. He knows so well how to get what he wants and my love for him makes my resilience falter when he sticks his hand in mine and squeezes it. I wish for him to be happy, to never doubt that he is loved and even if I have very little, I want him to have everything.

”Can I go and play in the woods?” Ciaran repeats his question and this time I nod and his smile explodes in a warm contagious giggle.

”Be home before the sun sets,” I remind him and he nods.

”I promise.”

Then he is gone, with the speed of lightning, and I return to my evening duties. He is a good boy, and the farmer is kind to him, letting him only do less heavy work so he still has energy left to play with the farmer’s son.

I am not proud of the things I had to do to survive, to get here, but when I finally found a farm who took me in, there was no point in trying to hide my state.

When the trees surrounding the farm appeared to be on fire, I gave birth to my son with the help of the farmer’s wife, and I will forever be grateful that she was by my side that night. We bonded during the late hours and I do not think I would have made it, if it was not for her.

Ciaran is so full of life and he seems happy, but sometimes I can tell that his thoughts travel far, despite his young age. When he asks about his father, I always repeat the same made up story about a loving husband, who was a brave soldier, but died by the sword of an enemy. He loves to hear how brave his father was and I suppose that part of the story is true. The real story, he must never know. It is with a small pain in my chest I think of how much my son resembles Raymond. The color of his eyes and their shape are identical to Raymond’s. His hair is the same dark shade and Ciaran is already taller than most boys his age. The day he becomes a grown man, I hope he does not break a young woman’s heart.

Deep inside, I still fear that Raymond will somehow find me, even if I am far away from him now. He sometimes visits me in my sleep and my vivid dreams make it harder to forget, but time has made the wounds less sore. During early mornings, when the sun rises and paints the sky pink, I even allow myself to think fondly of him. The kiss he gave me and the gentle caress that followed was the last time he touched me. I still have not figured out what feelings he hid in the depth of his eyes that morning and maybe I never will. I cannot help wondering what happened to him. Did he search for me when he discovered I was gone? Did he stay in the area or was he sent out on yet another mission by his father? It feels strange to not know if he is dead or alive, but for every autumn that passes, its significance decreases. I am free.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

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#richard armitage #fanfiction #raymond de merville fanfic #raymond fanfic #raymond fic #raymond de merville x oc #raymond de merville fic #raymond de merville #pilgrimage (2017)#pilgrimage #Petite Voleuse

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lgcjino · 1 month

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GOODBYE BIRDIE

⤷ genre: sports, drama, comedy.

a story about pride, friendship, redemption and above all, never giving up on your dreams.

in 2024, hong wooseok stands tall at the paris olympics. he hears the roar of applause, the heat of the last event is evident on his brow. his eyes take in the glimmer of a prize to be won and just when he’s about to take it —

the scene fades to 2011. a newly-turned seventeen year old wooseok skyrockets out of his home; his frantic mother running after him as they run down the hill of their countryside village, amidst shouts and refusing exclamations. the hong family is set to move to the big city of seoul due to their family’s recent change of social circumstance: his father hit it big with a promotion. but with a move to seoul, it means goodbye to their home full of memories, his dear friends, and his beloved badminton team that was just about to go to nationals that upcoming spring.

the move brings a bout of resentment in wooseok as he watches the hills and fields of wheat turn into tall, tall skyscrapers and the chatter of millions moving a mile a minute. goodbye to the quiet countryside, hello to the bustle of a concrete jungle.

moving into his new home, he puts his things away, hanging up a poster of a famous badminton player, lin dan, when he won the 2008 summer olympics. through his peppy father’s blinding optimism and his overbearing mother’s confidence, he begins at a new school.

soon to find out that they don’t have a badminton team. instilled with the determination of a tiger, wooseok pulls together a team of misfits (all of whom share their talents somewhere, but somehow, someway — they fit).

their ragtag team bolsters an energy that puts them apart from the others; slated as the underdogs. only to come together to reach the pinnacle of what used to be wooseok’s small world of badminton: reaching nationals had been but a pipe-dream but with his new team, it’s only a month away.

as the month withers away, wooseok’s attentions are divided when he receives an invitation to begin training for the 2012 summer olympics that was to be held in london, in the next year. an opportunity of a lifetime, wooseok is conflicted but is urged by his coach and his teammates to take the offer, even if it meant that he might not be able to make the national championship game.

wooseok’s absence at nationals is felt, pushing the boys’ nerves to the edge as they struggle with their singles matches. in a pinch, wooseok arrives with cheer from his teammates before their final games.

the final game is a face off between wooseok’s old teammates — their resentment over wooseok leaving them is palpable as they hit blow after blow in hope of undermining wooseok and his teams’ confidence. and just when he’s about to hit the winning blow, shuttlecock thrown right against his racket, he falls to the ground, a crack silences the roar of the crowd. an agonizing scream piercing the darkness as the scene fades once more to black.

back in 2024, the scene from the beginning is shown again, with much more detail — the jacket now shows on the back in large, black printed lettering ‘COACH’. and through wooseok's eyes, we're shown of his student, whom he's trained for the past few years since his accident — learning that he never recovered fully from it — as they take the first podium at the 2024 paris olympics. as the cheers from the crowd dies, wooseok is confronted by his student, and in the last minutes, we watch as the student takes off his medal and places it on wooseok's shoulders:

"this is for you, coach."

in a post-credits scene, we see wooseok reuniting with his seoul high school badminton club members in the middle of drinks, all of whom cheer when he comes in holding up the olympic medal.

#lgc:actingmission #v racket boys inspired #also pls watch racket boys its a good easy watch #지노★ ₊ solo

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little-annie · 10 months

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All I Want | Ch7

Steddie | Little_Annie | Ao3

Ch.6 ⤵️

---

Wayne's POV

It was a rare thing; the evening he got to spend with Eddie. It'd been a long while since the last time they actually had time to spend together, what with Wayne taking up more shifts at the plant and Eddie spending a good deal of time resting, running errands or jamming with his band.

But tonight had been nice, sharing the monotonous stories of their day over a beer before Wayne had to go help Mrs. Kelly with her car, only to come back and catch the last few minutes of Eddie's horror fic.

Just the fact of existing in a space together warmed Wayne's heart. Especially after so many days of worrying the boy would never wake up. It'd been tough sitting there alongside Steve Harrington, consoling the young man while they sat watching Eddie breathe through a tube.

Since Eddie had gotten home -aside from the first week- they'd communicated purely through sticky notes left around the trailer and the odd graphic mug left with coffee on the countertop.

He'd noticed some things about the boy since his return. The longing look in his eyes, the points throughout the day when he'd catch himself doing something that just didn't quite make sense, a furrowed brow and inquisitive look on his face while he tried to process his intentions.

There'd been a few times Wayne had caught Eddie preparing breakfast for two, albeit when he knew Wayne was leaving and was nearly already out the door. It was Steve's favourite. The smell of peppers and onions that carried through the trailer was enough to go by. It made Wayne's heart pinch with a weird sort of grief.

He himself hadn't lost much, he still had Eddie and generally the boy was the same kid he was a few months ago, though maybe that's because he didn't realise what he was missing quite yet.

When Steve Harrington and his gaggle of children came into Eddie's life, they'd brought a sort of light with them. A happiness Eddie had yet to experience until the moments Dustin Henderson was yelling something down the phone line or the Harrington boy was sharing what he thought to be a private smile. And well, now that light was gone.

It'd show in what Wayne could only hope were glimmers of recognition in his nephew's eyes; the times Steve's favourite song would come on the radio and Eddie's lip would twitch with a smile before he'd switch stations. Or moments like today when Wayne came back from Mrs. Kelly's to find Eddie on the couch in Steve's yellow sweater, burrowed comfortably into the couch with a beer in hand.

It was moments like these when he'd feel that a piece of hope spark in his own chest.

Maybe Eddie remembered.

But upon further interrogation, he'd found the boy just liked the thing. Though Wayne couldn't help but think something deep inside the boy knew better and connected the garment to the love he once shared with its previous owner.

It was when he'd gone to bed, the late night moon hanging high in the sky that the evening got interesting. He was asleep, happily curled into the couch when the phone rang and he couldn't help but pray Eddie would answer the damn thing. He was a breath away from yelling for the boy when he heard a groggy 'hello.'

Wayne huffed to himself, rolling over to shove his face into his pillow, drowning out Eddie's conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line.

He dozed off only to hear the phone ring minutes later, Eddie answering on the last ring with a growl.

It was then that Wayne pulled himself from the couch, stomping to the phone in the dark to demand the phone from Eddie, the poor boy looking exhausted with his rat's nest askew and yellow sweater bunched around his torso.

Only a minute or so later did he find himself sat on the steps of the trailer, Eddie's leather jacket pulled tight around his shoulders with a smoke stuck between his lips as he helped to ease Steve Harrington off the ledge of another breakdown.

His heart broke with every shuddered breath that rang into his ear, sudden and sharp and erratic. The boy was damn near suffocating.

This unfortunately wasn't a foreign thing, waking at odd hours to a grieving, panicking man on the other end of the line. It'd happened enough times that Wayne knew what to do in the situation, easing Steve back into reality by guided breaths, reassurance and redirected attention.

At one point he even considered going over to the Harrington house to be with the boy in his time of need, but thought against it thinking his presence may possibly worsen the situation.

Eventually he'd gotten the young man calmed down to the point of steady breaths and un-stuttered words, only to feel his heart break as Steve asked to wish Eddie a good night.

With a hand holding the phone into the darkness of Eddie's room, Wayne's sure around the rasp of Eddie's snores that he could hear the whispers of a faint, 'I love you Eds' coming from the phone. He'd hung up not much later and made his way back to the couch, settling with his decision then to call into work tomorrow and check in on Steve in the morning.

Steve's POV

Things weren't always like this.

Waking up on the kitchen floor, phone still clutched in hand with a foggy vision of last night's events burned into his very being. Blurs of distant, contorted memories, flashes of gore and loss that washed over him like a sudden wave; having snuck up on him with a crash, knocking him off kilter and leaving him to drown. Feeling like he'd done as much with the ache in his chest and burn in his lungs. Having gasped for breath, choking on oxygen like it's water flooding his lungs.

His body a canvas of blues and purples and reds, welts on his palms and bruises on his arms, scratches laid by his own nails intersecting the still healing wound on his neck.

No.

Things weren't always like this.

But, now they were.

Now Steve peels himself from the floor with a groan, stretching his limbs and rubbing the crescent moons he'd pierced into his palms. Now, he dusts himself off and tries to carry on with his day, the late morning sun blinding as he rounds into the living room, making his way to the stairs and eventually up to his bedroom.

The plaid monstrosity he's called home over the last twenty years, a bitter reminder of last night's events. Blankets a heap on the floor, once the delirious feeling of vines around his legs. The pulse of pain from his neck, currently doing much the same. He raises a palm to the sensation, feeling the raised scars and still healing wounds, the crust of dried blood from last night's frantic clawing at his skin.

It isn't much of a thought when he steps into his ensuite and cleans the freshly opened wounds, an unfortunate re-occurrence since his most recent time in the Upside Down. Though, well, it's not like he had someone to ease him out of the self abuse during those times anymore. Eddie, having been there for the times he'd wake up pulling at his own hair and skin, babbling nonsensically about Russians and Demogorgans. Or Eddie being there to help bandage him up when things got a little too intense.

But Steve was alone this time as he applied the alcohol to the gash on his neck, hissing in pain but savouring the ability to feel anything at all.

He'd like to think he was getting better, coping with his past traumas and the loss of a man who he loved so deeply, but, by last night's events, that'd be a rather blatant lie.

It'd been nearly a week since he'd last seen Eddie, rosy cheeked in the aisle of the grocery store, chatting animatedly with Dustin over D&D. At the time he'd thought it was enough to hold him over until the Hellfire meeting he and the kids were supposed to attend -well the kids, but he was going too goddammit- but it definitely was not. The ache for the man he held in his chest was raw and gaping, only so subtly soothed by the sound of Eddie's voice he'd heard through the phone late last night.

Steve sighs, long and winded, leaning back into the wall of his bathroom, taking in the image in front of him. He looks exhausted, hair dishevelled and flat, dark bags blooming under his eyes and a now painful reminder of last night's memories bloodied and throbbing over the pulse on his neck.

He could shower, could wash the painful memories down the drain along with the tears and sweat that clung to his skin, but what's the use? The pain wouldn't truly be gone and the physical evidence of his grief would only reappear.

Yeah, he definitely wasn't getting better. No matter how much he tried to tell himself so.

Time passed in a blur after that, at some point he'd made his way onto his bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling, fiddling with one of Eddie's many hair ties that'd made its home on the carpet.

It could have been fifteen minutes or three hours, seconds being lost to once valuable time. No less than a few months ago, at the very least this time would have been spent with Eddie at his side, quiet and whispering words of endearment, sneaking kisses and not so subtle touches. Or the man would be lost in a story, joyvally retelling tales of fantastical creatures and other worlds. Steve, in either scenario would be sat with a dopey love struck smile on his face, his fingers laced with Eddie's and the intensity of love burning in his chest.

But it was now as those memories began to pull tears to the surface that there was a knock at the door, loud, deliberate, coming in an unsteady rhythm.

Steve cursed under his breath, heaving himself from the floor and wiping the back of his fist across his teary eyes. His vision still blurry, he stooped down the stairs.

The knocking had ceased but Steve could see a weathered ball cap through the small window near the top of the door. One that he'd grown quite familiar with over the last several months.

He tried to feign composure, straightening his back, squaring his jaw, sucking back any of the remaining emotions that'd been bleeding from him for the last several weeks.

It was with a shaky hand that he opened the door to find Wayne Munson standing there on the porch, a lopsided grin, equal parts endearing and concerned creasing the lines of his face. It wasn't often that the man dropped in unannounced, especially since Eddie had been home. It kind of struck Steve with a pang of concern.

Before he could even process the moment his shoulders fell and he asked with a worried breath, "Is he okay?" His immediate thoughts going to Eddie, thinking something had to be wrong for Wayne to just show up out of the blue, but the old man simply huffed a laugh and shouldered his way into the house.

Steve watched as Wayne surveyed the living room, its contents untouched, blankets still folded and dust collecting on every surface. It'd remained the same since the days leading up to Vecna and Eddie's murder allegations. Nowadays he couldn't bring himself to spend time anywhere else other than his room.

Paying no mind to Steve still standing in the doorway, Wayne continued to make his way through the house, yelling back to Steve as he passed into the kitchen, "Ed's fine kid! Go wash up, I'm taking you out for lunch!"

Steve's brow furrowed at the statement, he was happy Eddie was fine, but why would Wayne want to take him out for lunch? He didn't really want to go anywhere, last night's events still weighing heavily on his shoulders, grief and loss and trauma still thick and flowing like a cancer through his veins. He didn't feel like going anywhere and he didn't feel like seeing people or having to deal with the stares folks sent his way upon seeing the damage done to his body.

He'd hardly left the house in recent weeks and when he did, it was a constant thing. The stares, the judgement, the whispers. The few times he'd managed to drag himself to the grocery store and the rare occasions he'd made it into work, it was a repeating occurrence to find someone's eyes locked onto the still healing scar on his neck.

It wasn't hard to figure out how people saw it, he'd heard the whispers soon enough, most of them seemed to settle on the fact that it was from a failed suicide attempt. Unfortunately it's not a far off thing to say he's considered it, though he'd never admit it to anyone, let alone ever actually go through with it. But the temptation of the hurt and trauma and grief leaving his body didn't sound like such an awful thing. The pain would be gone, the emptiness and soullessness that crept through his veins would cease to exist.

Though so would he.

But there was Eddie and the sliver of possibility that his memories would return and Steve could have his old life back. The joy, the happiness, the love.

That wasn't something he'd chance leaving behind.

He was still standing there, staring off in the direction Wayne had gone, a pang of grief eating away at his chest and a sense of dread creeping into his lungs. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have to endure the public and their whispers and their stares, but before he could even begin to protest, Wayne hollered back, "You're not getting the option. Now go bathe, you fuckin' stink."

Steve huffed to himself, he didn't want to do this but he supposed it'd be better than sitting at home and reliving the horrors of last night's memories.

Maybe it'd be a good distraction from the haunting darkness that surrounded him in his own home.

He glared in Wayne's general direction, raising an arm to smell his underarms, grumbling a hardly audible, "I don't fuckin' stink," but he was proved wrong, grimacing at the truth of Wayne's statement.

He didn't know where Wayne was or what he was doing, let alone the man's plan for the approaching afternoon. But with the promise of something to keep his mind busy for the next few hours, Steve pulled himself up the stairs.

Showering longer than he probably should have, it was nearly an hour by the time Steve returned downstairs to Wayne. He found the man in the kitchen, tea towel over his shoulder and the once mountain of dishes that flooded the sink, dry and stashed away.

At least he still had Wayne, Steve told himself as he let his shoulders sag with a fraction of relief.

He sucked in a grounding breath before thanking Wayne and following the man out the front door and to his pick-up truck.

He assumed they were going to Benny's, though he wasn't quite sure what for or why. In the last weeks this had grown to be something familiar, not Wayne showing up out of the blue, but sitting in the comfortable silence with the old man at his side. Their gatherings had been cut short lately with Eddie being home again, which wasn't bad, but Steve had been lonely without the company. The time he'd normally spend with Eddie had recently been in Wayne's company, but lately it had been spent with himself and his thoughts, and well, that wasn't the best company to have.

—

It was quiet in the truck, the hum of the radio hardly audible, the occasional tick of the motor struggling to keep up; a faint noise in the cab. Then there was Wayne releasing a shaky breath to Steve's left before he spoke, "You doin' alright kid?"

Steve's automatic thought was a straight up 'No,' followed by a, 'No Wayne, I'm fucking miserable, what do you think?' But it's not like he could say as much, he respected the man, loved him even and he knew Wayne didn't deserve the attitude that was clawing its way up his throat. Steve sighed to himself, weighing his options knowing if anyone, he could tell Wayne everything, talk to him about anything.

The fact was though, he wasn't fine. He was nearly the furthest thing from it but a pinch in his gut reminded him that things could be worse. Other people had much more difficult struggles in life than being unloved and lonely. In the grand scheme of the world, the struggles of Steve Harrington didn't matter. Plus he didn't want to complain or bitch or whine, Wayne heard enough of that last night anyway.

All he could manage was a hardly visible shake of his head.

Wayne hummed next to him, not sounding very satisfied with his provided response. At the moment Steve couldn't bear to look at the man. Keeping his gaze set on the flashes of trees and houses passing in the distance, his forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window, his body sore and slumping against the door.

That's how the drive remained, quiet, the air riddled with unspoken words and heavy emotions. Wayne didn't pry, didn't send Steve any sideways glances, only focused on the road ahead and let the quietness envelope them. It was one of the things Steve loved about the man. He didn't push, he didn't pry, but he was there for you when you were ready.

Though Steve didn't know if he'd ever truly be ready. Everything flowing through him was so overwhelming, a whirling mess of emotions that swelled like a disease in his chest.

The heaviest of it being his loss of Eddie.

—

Ten minutes later they found themselves sat in a booth at Benny's, the general public sending them odd stares and the waitress taking a second glance. Everyone seemed to be enamoured with the idea of seeing Steve Harrington and 'The Freak's' uncle sitting together in a booth.

Steve supposed he and Wayne were an odd pairing to the public eye, but to the two of them it wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. In fact it was quite a regular thing in the last several weeks.

They'd spent hours in each other's company, albeit most of it in silence but still, it was the presence of another Steve wouldn't have had otherwise. Maybe it was a little awkward at the start without Eddie there as a buffer, but they soon fell into a rhythm and it was comfortable.

Sitting in the booth it'd taken a while for Steve to loosen up, the numbness that riddled his bones slowly fading by the minute. Something about being with Wayne took the edge off, lessened the hurt in a way. Maybe it was the fact that he was his only connection to Eddie or maybe it had something to do with the father son bond they'd forged. Either way, Steve appreciated Wayne's presence in his life.

They'd sat silently for quite some time, skimming the menus and eventually ordering food. It wasn't until their meals arrived that Wayne spoke again, words mumbled around the straw of his chocolate shake, "You going to the Hellfire thing tonight?"

Shit

Steve's gut twists at the reminder. He wasn't entirely sure if he was excited or down right terrified. He hadn't seen Eddie or the kids for a week. Hadn't seen the guys from Hellfire since before Vecna. He wasn't entirely sure how it would all go. If he'd be welcome. If Gareth and Jeff and the guys would even remember him.

Through the whirlwind that was last night's emotions and general freak out, he'd forgotten about his plan to take the kids to Hellfire today. Christ, Dustin's probably already waiting on the front porch, pouting and ready to go.

God, kids are gonna be unbearable.

And then there's the whole Eddie of it all.

Sour and aching, anxiety twists in his gut, endless possibilities threaten to run through his head. But he sucks in a breath, counts to three and shoves it the fuck down.

He can do this.

—

Not more than a few hours later and Steve finds himself on the verge of a headache.

There's music blaring, voices screeching, he's sure Dustin just spilt his slushie on the floor and there's a letter from Robin burning a hole in his pocket.

He hadn't seen any of the kids post Vecna, not really anyways. Maybe in passing or throughout the hospital, but other than that, their attempted visits and that day at the grocery store with Dustin, this is really the first time he's seen them in a while. First time he's had to endure them in a while. He'd forgotten how loud they were, how obnoxious, how fucking annoying. But goddammit, he forgot how much he loved them. Loved this.

The ache in his chest is a little less tense, even as Dustin wailes next to him and Mike complains to his rear. It's utter chaos, but now as tension pounds in his skull and red syrup stains the carpet of his front floorboards, he remembers why he loved this so much.

The feeling of being needed.

The feeling of the swell in his chest and the warmth in his heart.

The feeling of his ear drums shattering and his nerves wearing thin.

The feeling of family and warmth and the loneliness in his heart feeling a little less expansive.

They pull up to the school, parking in the empty lot and suddenly it's so quiet. Dustin's looking at him from the passenger seat, Mike and Lucas stare at him through the rear view mirror.

"So, what's the plan?"

It's Lucas asking this time, he and Mike now included into this scheme of theirs to win Eddie over once again.

Steve shrugs, looking to Dustin for guidance only to be met with a mirror of his own actions.

"I dunno," Steve says, looking back to the boys in the back seat, "Just pretend it's your first time at Hellfire, pretend you've never met him before."

"What about the other guys?" Mike asks, not an ounce of his regular attitude in his tone

"I guess Wayne talked to Gareth. They know Eddie has memory loss, but that's about it."

"Well there's not much more to know anyways, is there?" Lucas asks, eyeing Steve with something suspicious

Steve stutters then, he forgets the kids don't know about his and Eddie's relationship sometimes. He supposes to them anyways there's not much more to know.

He shakes his head, eyes darting away to stare into the distance. He can feel the kids staring at him, but he ignores it.

Dustin's watch beeps next to him, a high pitched, shrieking thing and like it's reactionary the kids pile out of the car and stride towards the school.

Steve takes a moment to collect himself, sucking in a grounding breath and counting down from three, his grip on the steering wheel growing painful as his anxiety begins to creep back in.

This isn't just another random bump in at the grocery store, this is hours confined to one room with the love of his life. The love of his life who has no idea who the hell he is.

The love of his life that Steve notices isn't here yet.

He scans the parking lot, watching as the kids enter the school and the sun slowly begins to fade, he can't help but notice the absence of Eddie's van.

It's not a normal thing for Eddie to be late, at least not to Hellfire. Everything else in his life? Absolutely. Strolling in ten, twenty minutes late, a whirlwind of wild hair and manic energy. But he's always at least ten minutes early for his campaigns, setting up the table, taking time to unpack his bags and decompress before flipping the switch to Dungeon Master mode.

But seeing the empty spot where Eddie's van is normally parked makes something akin to dread swell in Steve's gut. This isn't like him.

Maybe Gareth knows something.

When he opens the doors to the drama room, he's met with several sets of eyes. The kids looking at him expectantly and the guys from Corroded Coffin sitting with their arms crossed over their chests, their brows furrowed.

"You got any idea where Ed's at?" Jeff asks, eyeing Steve as he moves through the room to settle on a chair in the corner, out of the way.

"No," Steve says as he settles in, "I was hoping one of you guys would know. "

The three metalheads look at him with a raised brow or some expression of confusion, his skin prickles under their scrutiny, "What?"

"Why you sitting over there?"

Steve grits his teeth, steeling himself while he speaks, "He doesn't remember me. Remember?"

The guys nod, Gareth sending him a saddened glance before he turns to say something to Jeff, the other man mimicking Gareth's reaction only a second later.

They sit there for what feels like forever, waiting for Eddie. Each passing moment only makes the nerves in Steve's chest tighten.

But just as he's thinking of turning in for the night and taking the kids home, there's a loud crash and the door flies open with Eddie falling in behind. His hair's a mess, his cheeks are red and there's a tear in his shirt. The guys erupt with sarcastic jibs before they fall silent and watch Eddie stumble into the room.

Through the dim light above Steve can see now that the red on Eddie's cheeks isn't a flush and that the crimson that spreads across his lips is too streaked across the white of his shirt.

There's sounds, voices and movement but as Steve's on his feet and making his way to Eddie just in time to stop him from crashing to the floor, it's all background noise.

All he can think about is Eddie. All he can see is the blood smeared across his face and dripping from the cut in his lip. He's hurt and the sheer image of seeing blood on Eddie's face is a horrific reminder of the day he nearly died. He's sure Dustin's verging on a panic attack, just like he himself.

Pulse quickening, the flashing images of Eddie's lifeless body in his arms, it's nearly too much. Eddie's weak against him, trying to stay upright while he pushes away from Steve and mumbles something of reassurance. Like Steve can't see the blood dripping from his face.

Gripping solid on the leather of Eddie's jacket, Steve hears Dustin, a voice that cuts quietly through the rest, words he'd heard screamed into the darkness of the Upside Down weeks ago, "Steve, help him."

He sounds desperate, pleading.

But with a turn of his head he sees Mike with a hand on his shoulder and Lucas saying something in his ear that seems to ease the tension. He'll be okay.

Eddie jumps like a scared animal when Steve tries to pull him closer, jerking away, hiding his face in his hair, muttering something lost to the wound gaping on his lip.

It's times like these that Steve's thankful for his anxious tendencies, having stashed a first aid kit in the car after the gates of hell opened up back in 83'.

He wants to coddle, to pull Eddie close and kiss the top of his head, tell him it'll be alright. But he doesn't. He's not allowed to. Instead he tightens his grip on Eddie's arm and pulls him out of the room, down the hall and to his car. Eddie fights him for what feels like three steps, but follows easily by the time they make it outside.

Steve can hear what he says now, tone sharp, breath raspy, he leans against the hood of the Beemer, arms crossed over the tear in his shirt, eyes refusing to meet Steve's, he looks off to the side, "Gonna finish me off, huh Harrington? Finish what those fuckers started."

He tries to ignore the jab, leaving Eddie at the front of the car while he goes to dig in the back seat for his first aid kit. It hurts to think Eddie believes he's capable of that, especially now, especially after everything they've been through. But it hurts even more to know Eddie's going through this alone, probably running from the same people who hunted him after Chrissy died.

Eventually he finds the little white box with a red cross on top, pulling it from beneath the back seat with a sharp tug.

Eddie's still there when Steve comes back to the front of the car, arms still crossed, head hanging low, chipped black painted nails picking at the tear in his lip. Steve watches as Eddie's eyes find the first aid kit in his hand, those beautiful brown eyes fluttering with surprise before they meet Steve's.

All he can offer is a weak smile, tapping the hood of the car telling Eddie to jump up and sit.

For a while it's a quiet, intimate exchange, Steve can feel Eddie's eyes following him, intense and wondering and locked onto his every movement.

Standing off to the side, Steve sets the first aid kit down on the hood of the car, grabbing the alcohol wipes and a set of bandaids. He grits his teeth, knowing what he's about to do next is going to be so painfully difficult. That the feeling of Eddie's skin beneath his fingertips is going to force tears to his eyes and a sob to claw at his throat.

He counts to three, takes a breath then moves to stand in front of Eddie.

Brown eyes continue to follow his movements. They look sad, exhausted, lost, but something deep inside seems to glimmer like the sun when they lock onto Steve's.

Steve takes a guilty moment to pause, take in Eddie's features, the curve of his nose, the arch of his lips, the gold and amber and mahogany looking back at him. He takes it in, swallows it deep and stores it in his soul for those moments when he feels restless and lost and lonely.

"Harrington."

Eddie's voice pulls him back to reality, it's just short of a whisper, calm, quiet, housing none of the venom his earlier, accusatory words had.

He sounds breathless

Steve apologises with a whispered 'sorry,' scared to break whatever this is lingering between them.

Mindlessly his fingers find Eddie's chin, gentle, soft, tilting his head to better examine the damage done. It's a subtle thing, but with his motions Steve hears a shuddered breath come from in front of him. It's hardly audible, but it's there, there along with the blush creeping across Eddie's cheeks. Dusty pink beneath freckles and scars and blood.

In the sunlight he looks worse, pale skin stained pink and blooming purple beneath the hollow of his left cheek. There's the obvious mark of knuckles pressed into his flesh, a gash of split skin running along the raised bone of his jaw. His brows's bleeding and bruised and his lip looks sore where it drips wet and red.

His poor boy.

"Let me know if this hurts, okay?" Steve says in a hush

Eddie nods as much as he can with Steve's grasp on his chin, eyes never once detaching from those in front of him.

In the moments to follow Steve steps closer, standing between Eddie's thighs and wiping away the gore from the man's face. With each swipe of the alcohol wipe Steve restrains himself from pressing a kiss to Eddie's blood stained skin. He wants nothing more than to comfort and hold, to whisper words of love against the split in Eddie's lip. He wants nothing more than to pull the man close, hold him to his chest and tell him how much he misses him.

But he can't.

He can't, so he settles for what he's allowed, he settles for letting his hands linger and his touch comfort. It's a small thing but when he cups Eddie's cheek to wipe away the blood on his brow, he can feel Eddie lean into the touch. The fullness of his cheek pressing into Steve's palm, Eddie's chest rises and falls with an expanded breath like it's something he longs for.

It'd be so easy just to lean in right now.

But he can't, so in that moment when he wants nothing more than to press their lips together in a kiss, Steve brushes his thumb over torn flesh, dragging blood across Eddie's bottom lip, tinting the once clean skin red.

Eddie's breath is hot and shaky as it spills from his nose, the breeze of it falling over Steve's knuckles with a quiet shuddered gasp.

Eddie's eyes are dark and wide as they take in Steve's, searching and finding and analysing. Steve swears Eddie sees something, pinching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, he pulls back slowly from the hold Steve still has on his cheek.

They're not touching anymore and where Eddie's skin once laid beneath Steve's fingertips, it burns, hot and aching. He wants to reach out again but forces his arms to fall to his sides as he takes a step back.

"Sorry," Steve whispers again, feeling caught in something he knows he's not allowed to feel. Not right now anyways. Not for the unsuspecting man in front of him. He feels caught in his stare and his longing and the gasping, gaping something for what he misses every waking moment of the day.

He feels caught and he can't help but wonder what it was that Eddie's saw that made him pull away.

---

Ao3 ⤵️

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takadasaiko · 1 year

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Standing in the Storm (a Star Wars Rebels/Mandalorian fic)

Read it on Ao3

Summary: Alexsandr Kallus makes his way to Adelphi after Captain Teva finds the wrecked prison shuttle that confirms Moff Gideon's escape from custody, but as political storms brew in the New Republic, a tropical storm drops on the outpost just in time for Kallus' arrival.

Standing in the Storm

“You just had to go and call this outpost boring, didn’t you?” his wing woman - a tiny Human named Mika Sandstone - shouted over the building storm, drawing Zeb’s attention away just enough that the line he was using to help secure one of the Y-Wings slipped through his hand. He tightened his grasp at the last second, claws digging into his own palm as he loosed a frustrated snarl.

A clap of thunder of thunder shook the ground beneath his feet and he turned green eyes upwards towards the dark, swirling storm clouds. It wouldn’t be long now, and anyone still on the beach would get swept away. He looked back at Mika. “Get on in!”

“I’m not leaving you out here!” she yelled back, her voice nearly lost in the raging winds.

“I got it! Go! I’m right behind ya!”

She shot him a look like she was going to challenge him again, but thought better of it. He waited half a beat to make sure she was really heading into the trees, dug his toes a little deeper into the sand as an anchor, and finished securing the fighter. They’d done everything they could now and they wouldn’t know the extent of the damage until after the storm passed. Time to get inside.

Zeb’s fleet had been using the Adelphi Base as their home base in the region for nearly three standard months at this point. He’d heard stories about the storms that could rage on the island, but had started to think they were overblown until this one had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Now the caves deep in the rocky layers where they had built the barracks didn’t seem too far from the landing site as he’d originally thought. He’d complained about having to lug equipment back and forth, but they would be the only way to really weather a storm of this magnitude. Well, if he could make it back without getting hit by a flying coconut-turned-projectile, that is.

He ducked a vine that got caught in a wind gust, barely managing to avoid getting slapped in the face. He pivoted and found himself nearly stumbling over an X-Wing pilot that was part of the Adelphi Rangers. Captain Carson Teva. “Karabast, Teva!” he snarled. “Coulda run right over ya. Yer goin’ the wrong way.”

“I’ve got to make it back to the landing site. We have a craft incoming.”

Zeb stared at him, ears twitching as giant raindrops started to leak through the tree canopy above them. “Who the blazes would be stupid enough to—“

“An NRI officer,” Teva shouted over the wind. “He refused to debrief me over the holo. Said he could make it in before the storm.”

“He was wrong!” Zeb shouted back, trying to ignore the knot that was forming in his gut. There were plenty of New Republic Intelligence officers out there these days. Likely just as many that were just as reckless when it came to completing a mission. That didn’t mean… “You sure he’s landing?”

As if on cue he saw a streak between the branches overhead, a shuttle fighting for control against the strong winds to come in for a landing. Zeb and Teva took off towards the cliff’s edge where the shuttle would have the best chance of landing, the Lasat saying a silent prayer to Ashla.

They broke the edge of the trees in time to find an old, familiar shuttle skidding to a landing, smoke pouring out and one wing hanging precariously from where something had hit it hard enough to tear it partially from the body of the craft. Even between the now-sheets of rain that were pouring down, Zeb would have recognized the Glimmer of Hope anywhere. He took off towards the battered shuttle, Kallus’ name lost in the storm that raged around them.

If Teva kept up or not, Zeb didn’t notice. Instead he launched himself from the soaked sand to the back of the craft, latching on to the sealed entry and tugging as hard as he could. One pull, two, but it didn’t budge. Not until he heard the airlock release and he pried it open, swinging into the back of the craft as smoke poured out. “Kallus! Kal!” He coughed against the smoke, squinting against it until he saw movement. As it cleared, he finally saw a tall, lean figure stumbling towards the exit. He caught the former Imperial as he pitched forward, large hands holding him steady. “Hey there. Look at me. You alright?”

Brown eyes blinked owlishly at him before he was forced to squint around the blood leaking from the gash over his eyebrow. Kallus wiped at it. “Zeb?”

“You alright?” the Lasat repeated more forcefully this time.

“Yes. I’m fine. My ship may not be, but I’m —“

The confirmation stuttered to a halt as Zeb wrapped his arms around the ginger man, careful not to squeeze too tightly in his overwhelming relief. After half a beat, he felt Kallus relax into the embrace, reaching up to pat his arm reassuringly. “I’m alright, Zeb. Promise.”

“Commander?” Teva shouted from outside the craft and with some effort, Zeb released the other man.

“We gotta go. Storm that took you down will drown us if we don’t get to shelter.”

“Right,” Kallus answered in his clipped manner, following Zeb out of the back of the shuttle where Teva was waiting. There was no time for introductions as the three of them took off towards the cover of the trees, the wind threatening to knock them from their feet mid-stride. Both Humans stumbled against it and Zeb hauled them up and forward, his clawed feet fairing better against the terrain than their boots.

They crossed the tree line, and while the tall trunks helped block the wind gusts, it was clear they weren’t safe there as they bent dangerously, hard shelled coconuts being hurled in all downward directions. “There’s shelter to the east!” Teva shouted over the roar of the storm. Looked like he didn’t think they’d make it to the bunker safely and as Zeb’ s shoulder was clipped by a projectile-coconut, he had to agree. With a grunt of pain he nodded and Teva led the way.

He glanced back at Kallus, noting the way his face was crunching in pain, hand going to his right knee. Zeb took one step closer and Kallus waved him off. “I’m fine. Go.”

The argument died in his throat as the intelligence officer stubbornly followed after Teva, the limp subtle enough that Zeb decided against hauling him up and over one shoulder. For now, anyway. He’d have to keep an eye on that one.

All three were drenched by the time they ducked into what must have been one of the first inland shelters built for the base. No one was there and by the level of upkeep no one used it anymore, but even as the thin layers of permasteel creek overhead, Teva led them to the small storage cellar drilled into the rock below. Zeb gave a wary glance in all directions before he made his way down a ladder he wasn’t entirely confident would hold his weight. It did, and as his bare feet hit the dusty floor at the bottom, Teva flicked on the emergency glow rod.

“Cozy,” Kallus mumbled as the dim light filled the small room.

Teva turned to look at him. “I take it you’re Major Kallus?”

“Major?” Zeb echoed. “When’d that happen?”

Kallus shrugged his jacket off, draping it on the corner of a set of empty shelves as water dripped steadily from it. “About six months ago.”

“And what? Didn’t wanna tell me last time we were on the same planet?”

“We did have more pressing matters at hand,” Kallus answered tightly as he leaned against the far wall, arms crossed and he redirected his golden gaze on the X-Wing pilot. “Captain Teva, I understand you were the one that found the shuttle that had been transporting Moff Gideon.”

“We’re doing this here? Now?” Teva managed.

Zeb snorted. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I take it you two have worked together before?”

Green eyes met brown and in that moment Zeb felt like a coil was unwound inside his chest and a gruff burst of laughter escaped him. “Plenty o’ times,” he chuckled, “and somehow they all end up like this.”

“That’s not quite fair,” Kallus groused, though he didn’t look as put out as he sounded. “This is the first time we were nearly drowned.”

“Really? What about Cato Neimoidia?”

There was a long moment and Kallus shifted against the wall. “I don’t remember the details of that one clearly…”

“Concussion’ll do that to ya,” Zeb chuckled, receiving a glare for his efforts before Kallus turned back to Teva.

“The shuttle?”

It was everything Zeb could do not to burst out laughing again at the look Teva gave, but bit his tongue and instead slid down the wall next to Kallus to take a seat on the dusty floor. The other crinkled his nose at the action, but eased down carefully to join him a few lines into Teva’s story about stumbling across the shuttle.

The alarms had pulled him out of hyperspace and he had found the damaged shuttle in his path. The small crew and guards had been left behind, and Zeb felt for his friend as he described the scene in a carefully measured tone. Kallus waited, an occasional nod of his head or small, verbal acknowledgement the only reaction he gave, but there was something going on behind his eyes that made Zeb uneasy. This was big. He didn’t know the name Gideon, but it was clearly someone Kallus was worried about being unleashed on the galaxy. The Empire sure knew how to create its share of monsters.

“I sent the coordinates to Coruscant and next I heard you were coming to this base to meet me,” Teva finished up, all three of them seated on the dusty floor now with the storm raging overhead.

“And you're sure it was Beskar?” Kallus asked, his gaze flickering up to meet Teva’s.

“I have the full readout locked up in the bunker.”

A soft, tired sigh escaped Kallus and he glanced over to Zeb. “Do you have any contact with Sabine?”

“Sure. I can get ahold of her.”

“That’s where we start then. Captain, the families of those killed in Gideon’s escape owe you a debt of gratitude for finding them.”

Teva offered a solemn nod. “We might as well settle in. These things can last a while.”

They lapsed into silence, the X-Wing captain scooting over to lean against the far wall, somehow dozing off even as it sounded like panels of the structure above them were being ripped off.

Zeb turned to Kallus, who was jotting down notes in a pad. “We, huh?”

“If your squad can spare you. The mission could take a while.”

“I think they’ll manage,” the Lasat answered lightly.

“Good,” Kallus huffed, flipping the notepad closed and setting it aside. “I need people I trust on this.”

“Short list.”

“Shorter all the time.”

Zeb’s lips twitched downward. “Gettin’ that bad?”

The other shrugged, reaching down to massage his right knee with a small grimace. “If we’re lucky, it’s just growing pains.”

“If not?”

“We may have won the war, but the Empire isn’t dead. I served with them long enough to know that the true believers have contingencies. If they find a way to infiltrate…”

“Thought you were helpin’ them shore up the defenses?”

Kallus snorted. “They have it covered,” he answered with a sarcastic wave of his hand.

“Real reassurin’.”

“Not particularly.” He sighed, leaning back against the wall and listing to the side just enough that his shoulder was braced against Zeb’s. “Taking out Gideon will help.”

“I’m with ya, Kal. Any time an’ long as ya need me.”

There was a soft sound of acknowledgement as the Human relaxed a bit more against him, exhaustion winning out. As rebel fighters, they’d all been run ragged trying to win the war, and now, several years after the victory, they were stretched nearly as thin trying to keep it afloat. But somehow their paths always crossed, either by chance or by choice. It was the one certainty they had in a galaxy of chaos, and one Zeb wanted more of. His squad would be fine. Mika’d make sure of that. It was Kallus that needed his help now. For every worry the intelligence officer would voice, Zeb knew there were two he wouldn’t. If the problems he saw were growing pains or sabotage, the tension was building, and eventually it would break open like the storm above them. Kal would be in the center of it, fighting for the hope of something better than the Empire he’d left behind. And if Kallus was standing in the middle of the storm, Zeb would make sure he was standing right there with him.

---

Notes: After watching 3.05 of Mando I was joking with a friend that I couldn't shake the scene of Kallus showing up to debrief Teva and Zeb grabbing him in a massive bear hug, so here we are lol And just in time, too! I hear it's the amazing David Oyelowo's birthday today! So happy birthday to the man who gave our favourite ISB Agent-turned-rebel a voice :D

Depending on where they go with the Gideon story, there's the smallest of possibilities I'll continue this someday. As it stands, I really need to go work on A Flicker of Light :')

#star wars fanfiction #The Mandalorian Fanfiction #Star Wars Rebels #Alexsandr Kallus #Zeb Orrelios #Carson Teva

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