#at least its ...done in... n... november. ......

[itslilacokay]

heres the cg in different halloween outfits because drawing only one is BORING!!!!!!!!!! and i want to throw all the costume thoughts in all at once

seperate vers

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3            

p.s. if you liked this work i’d really appreciate if you go and read more of my works in my masterlist and give it your opinion. i’m very proud of my latest work ‘muse’ and hope you’ll like it just as much as ‘obviously blind’                   

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[shuafiles]

lie to girls [l.jn] preview

SUMMARY | it was hard watching jeno struggle with his relationship, but it was even harder when he ran to you for comfort every time. especially when you, his long-time best friend, have been in love with him for the longest time. but when jeno starts lying about where he’s going and who he’s with, you realize the biggest lie might be the one you’re telling yourself—that he’ll ever choose you. or girls will cry, and girls will lie, and girls will lose their goddamn minds for you.

PAIRING | nonidol!jeno x afab!reader

CONTENT | university au, angst, best friends to ?, aespa members included, cheating, swearing, drinking, smut (not everything is included in the teaser yet but just so you know whats in store)

WORDS | 855 (just this teaser)

A/N | sneak peek of what im working on! im planning on making this a looong one but i was too excited so i decided to share without spoiling too much. let me know if you like it! total wc is still unknown and the release date will hopefully be before november ends. also its my birthday today so heres my gift to you :D

“hey.” jeno greeted you, standing at your front door, which only meant one thing. they fought again.

you pushed the door wider, letting him inside. he looked like a mess, his shoulders slumped, dark bags around his eyes, hair disheveled. even from afar, you could tell he was going through something. his phone was in his hand, checking for notifications, but he let out a huge sigh when the home screen was empty.

“do i even want to know?” you prodded, eyes watching him as he plopped down on the couch. his head tilting back on the headrest, head filled with thoughts.

“you know how she is.” jeno mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “said she needed some space.”

unfortunately, i do know how she is. jeno’s girlfriend, karina. they’ve been together since first year of college when jeno met her at some random party. they were the kind of couple on campus that, at first glance, seemed perfect, but you knew all too well what kind of chaos haunted them in private. you were too familiar with how she behaved with jeno; most of the time, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

jeno didn’t even have to say anything when you saw him at your front door. you have grown accustomed to this pattern: the same heartache, apologies, and cycle of hope and disappointment. and every time it occurred, jeno ended up here—at your door, at your couch, sulking.

you wanted nothing more than to scold jeno for letting himself get run over by her, but you kept your lips sealed. deciding that giving him comfort and support was probably what he needed right now.

“again, huh?” you sat down on the opposite side of him, tucking your legs beneath you.

“i don’t even know what that means, y/n.” jeno sighed, running his hand through his hair. he lifted his head to face you, gaze soft as he held eye contact with you. “one minute, everything’s perfect, and we’re fine, but suddenly, i’ve apparently done something wrong, and she won't even tell me.” his voice cracked, hopelessness evident in his tone. it pained you to see him like this. how many times is he going to let her do this to him?

“well, did you do something wrong?” you asked, but you knew jeno too well, he wouldn’t do anything to sabotage his relationship. sure, he has made mistakes in the past, but he was a good person, a good friend, and a good lover, you suppose.

jeno stayed silent for a moment, recalling if he had done something to make his girlfriend upset. “i–no, at least i don’t think so.” he shook his head, “i’ve just been busy with classes, but i always make time for her. and everything we’re together, i always try to make it special. you know?”

you nodded along to his words, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. you have heard this story countless times, so you could probably recite it to him. it wasn’t unusual for karina to act like this; she’d get upset over something vague, and then jeno would beat himself up for it, but he’d still bend over backward to get her back.

“maybe she’s just going through something?” you said, trying to think of what to say to ease his mind.

you and karina were acquaintances at best. it’s not like you didn’t try to be her friend, but something about her attitude just seems so off-putting to you. you weren’t entirely sure if karina was fond of you either. of course, you never told jeno any of these. you knew he wouldn’t listen, not when it comes to her. he loves her. he’d return to her every time, like a moth to a flame. and you’d be there, picking up the pieces when he got burned.

“i wish she’d just tell me what’s on her mind instead of leaving me wondering what i did wrong.” his face twisted into frustration with a mix of confusion.

“jen, you know i can’t help you if you don’t tell her what you’re feeling.” this time, you couldn’t hold back. “you’re supposed to tell her these, not me.”

jeno flinched at your words, somehow unsatisfied with your advice. “yeah… you’re right.”

you watched his expression, his eyebrows furrowed while he was deep in thought. “i’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted to hear.” you hesitated, knowing you were treading dangerous waters. “i just think… you deserve someone who actually appreciates you.”

jeno stayed silent, processing your words as if he hadn’t told himself that a million times. but for some stupid reason, he couldn’t keep it in his head. he looked down at his phone, tapping the screen once more, but to his disappointment, there was still nothing. “i know you’re just looking out for me, y/n. but… i just can’t give up on her. not yet.”

and just like that, you could feel him slipping away, back into her orbit, leaving you alone with all the things you couldn’t say, wondering when he would run back to you again.

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

Is this the end? (part I)

Katya is new at SHIELD. When she messes up during her probation, she thinks Fury will send her away. To ease the pain, she distances herself from Nat.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 2.6k • Warnings: angst, mentions of self-harm (not detailed) •A/N: I couldn't fit everything into one post, so there will be a part two in a few day's time :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

2007

The Triskelion slowly emerged in the distance. Tall, massive, impressive. A building fit for a strong organization like SHIELD. A statement to scare off their enemies.

It used to intimidate Katya too, back when she worked for that enemy. All Hydra agents were warned to stay far away from SHIELD HQ, unless they wanted to die. 

But in the past few months, it had amazingly become her safe space. A place where she could breathe for the first time in her life. A place she eagerly returned to.

Not right now, though. 

On this sunny, late afternoon in cold November, Katya dreaded landing the Quinjet on the flight deck and getting out. Her hands shook as she pressed the buttons and flipped the switches, forcing her breathing to stay normal so the SHIELD agent in the co-pilot seat wasn't alerted of her anxiety. 

She failed her mission. She messed up. Badly. She let Fury down. 

And she was still on probation. 

Her boss was very clear; make one mistake and she's out. And Fury always meant what he said. Always.

Katya didn't think she could keep going if she was kicked out of the one place that showed her kindness. If she was forced to say goodbye to the love of her life once more. 

That was the worst of it all; her failure would come back on Natasha. Natasha who was responsible for her. Natasha who promised Fury that Katya was fit for duty. Natasha who had faith in her to become a better person.

Not only had Katya let herself, the safety of the world, and her boss down, she had disappointed the woman she loved. And that stung more than anything.

The Quinjet barely wobbled as it touched the ground—at least she could do one thing right—and Katya helped her co-pilot with the shutdown procedure before lifting her heavy body out of the pilot seat. 

She didn't want to go out there. As long as she was in the jet, she was safe from being fired. Or she could pretend that she was safe, at least. So Katya took her sweet time collecting her things, triple checking that the Quinjet was ready for its next use before reluctantly making her way outside. 

Her anxiety was miles high as she crossed the flight deck. She felt like a pig being led to the slaughter. Every step of her booted feet took more effort than the last. Katya kept her gaze ahead and avoided the scared agents that jumped out of her way, refusing to let them see the fear in her eyes. 

She thought about running. It was her first instinct after she managed to escape her mission earlier today. It shouldn't have taken her fifteen minutes to decide to call in a SHIELD pickup, but it did, and she felt so ashamed about it. 

That part of her life was supposed to be over. Done. But it tempted her like a line of coke tempted a drug addict. 

Being on the run, being alone, it was so much easier. The only responsibilities she had were to herself. The only person she could disappoint was herself. If she messed up on a shady deal, they would be hunting her for a while, but only her. 

Having people who counted on her was harder than she thought it would be. Emotions were harder than she thought they would be. Her default setting was to isolate and be alone. To run when things were bad.

But she wouldn't take the easy way out this time. She refused to. With a deep inhale, Katya stepped inside the building.

To her surprise, nothing happened. She expected some agent to materialize and take her to Fury, or for people to stare and gossip about her failure. She had even imagined Natasha standing there, a disappointed frown on her face. But life inside SHIELD HQ went on as usual. They barely spared her a glance.

Without further hesitation, Katya mixed with the group heading for the elevators. Maybe if she blended in, she could hide and avoid having her soul broken for a little longer. Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could make it to her room and hide from Natasha as long as possible. 

The agents around her should know how hard her heart pounded as they shuffled away from her. How scared she was. It could be the last time they saw her face. It could be her last day in this building. Her last time riding this elevator. 

Katya's throat closed up. The tiny room suddenly felt extremely crowded. Panic pressed on her lungs. When she arrived at her floor, she bumped some shoulders in her rush to get out. As soon as she crashed through her apartment door, she sank to the floor, shaking.

The silence inside her apartment was terrible. The thoughts in her head sounded ten times as loud in the silence. They were overwhelming. The angry voices screamed at her, calling her a failure, a loser, that she would be better off dead.

She wrapped her arms around her knees in search of comfort. Comfort that she didn't deserve from anyone else.

How did she manage to mess up this badly? The mission Fury gave her was so simple, nothing she hadn't done before. Infiltrate a Hydra building—one Katya had marked as one—and steal some information. In and out. 

But somehow, they spotted her. Katya still didn't know how. She knew nobody could have heard her, or seen her. But the alarms went off and all the exits were blocked. She was trapped with no way out.

It took her locking herself into a room and hotwiring one of the alarm boxes on the walls, to lift the blockades and escape. She ran for five miles through the hills and hid before calling a SHIELD jet to pick her up. 

Now they had seen her face, knew she worked for SHIELD, knew their facility was compromised, and knew what information they were after.

It was the worst thing she could have ever done. She might as well have sent them an email. Fury would not be taking this lightly. 

Katya only noticed she was hyperventilating when someone slammed a door shut down the hall that made her jump. 

She felt ridiculous, rocking back and forth like a baby on the floor of her apartment, but it was her apartment, her safe space. She felt in her bones that she started to belong here, that this was where she should be. So it hurt a million times more, knowing she herself was the reason she would lose it all.

Katya sat on the floor for hours, digging her nails into her arms until welts started to form. Only when dusk set in did she pick herself off the floor, exhausted and covered in cold sweat. Nobody had come to check on her. 

She did her coming-home routine on autopilot. Shower, unpack, turn on her phone that she couldn't take with her on the mission, eat something—even though her stomach was in knots and she felt nauseous.

She had four missed texts from Natasha, each more worried than the last.

Nat (3:44 PM): Welcome back. Hope the mission went according to plan :)

Nat (3:46 PM): Are you okay?

Nat (4:18 PM): Can't get out of this meeting, so I can't check in. Can you let me know if you're alright?

Nat (5:52 PM): I hope you fell asleep. Dinner later? My last meeting ends at 7. If I don't hear anything from you, I'm taking it as a yes.

Guilt started to pile up on Katya's shoulders. She couldn't tell Natasha what happened. She couldn't handle letting her down. She couldn't handle breaking her heart. She couldn't handle having her own heart broken again.

Katya left the messages unanswered. Maybe Natasha would take that as a sign to not come and find her later. 

She didn't. When she showed up at 7 PM and knocked on the door, Katya pretended to be asleep. She stayed "asleep" for the rest of the night and never answered the texts in the morning.

This streak of avoidance continued throughout the week. Katya woke up earlier on purpose, so she finished breakfast right when Natasha walked into the cafeteria. She changed her workout schedule from early mornings to the late evenings to avoid Natasha, who trained in the morning. She walked the other way when she saw Natasha in the hallway. She didn't answer texts, or answered very late. 

When Natasha did manage to talk to her long enough to make plans, Katya canceled them last minute with some lame excuse. 

It stung. It hurt every fiber of Katya's being to ignore Natasha like that. The woman didn't deserve it. She should be getting angry with her, but instead Katya triggered her insecurities too.

When she asked if Katya didn't want her around anymore, the blonde swore she heard her heart shatter.

But this was necessary. Even though Fury still hadn't called her in, Katya knew her exit from SHIELD was close. She needed to create a distance between herself and Natasha beforehand, so it would hurt less when that time came.

"Stop avoiding me."

It was lunchtime, Tuesday, and Natasha had finally managed to corner Katya. Literally. She'd grabbed her wrist in passing and forced her into a random supply closet in the hallway. Her body pressed Katya's against the wall, a fire in her green eyes.

"I'm not. I'm busy," Katya answered with a hint of annoyance, impatiently eyeing the door. She had places to be, people to avoid. 

"Don't lie to me," Natasha bit back, vulnerability in the back of her voice. "We're beyond that."

"Nat." Katya tried, avoiding her gaze at any cost. She didn't want to do this.

"What is going on? You better tell me right now," Natasha demanded.

Katya scowled. "Nothing. Let me go."

"Kat—"

"I said, let me go."

Slowly, Natasha stepped back, giving Katya enough space to escape. The brunette eagerly took advantage of that and slipped back into the hallway. They may not be in a good place, but they always respected each other's boundaries.

Natasha was at a complete loss. The only thing she knew was that everything changed after that mission. If she wanted to know why Katya was avoiding her, the key lay at that mission.

The problem was; her clearance wasn't high enough to get any information. She'd tried to get into the system, but it blocked her. The only thing left to try was going to the person who knew it all.

"I need to know what happened. And no confidentiality bullshit." 

Natasha stood in front of Fury's desk, her arms crossed over her chest. She was angry. At Katya, at herself, at the secrets. She was tired of the emotional rollercoaster, of being left in the dark. She wanted answers, now.

Fury lazily gazed up at her, unimpressed and calm. "It's simple. Petrova failed her mission."

A wave of nausea hit Natasha. Deep down, she wasn't surprised to hear this. She suspected something like this. But actually having it confirmed was something else. She, too, knew what it meant if Katya failed.

"Lots of us fail our missions."

"Correct. But we've also never had a Hydra deserter join us before," Fury said casually, reorganizing some folders on his desk.

Something clicked for Natasha. She didn't know the magnitude of the mission, or Katya's failure. But if Fury was this calm about it, and if Katya was still here, a week later, something else must be going on. As always, the Director of SHIELD had ulterior motives.

"You set her up," she realized with disgust. "You set her up to fail."

Fury didn't blink an eye at her accusation, only proving that she was right. "Only when they face death do people show their true faces."

Natasha boiled with anger, clenching her fists to keep herself contained. He really sent the woman she loved into a building full of hostiles just to prove her loyalty. "She could have died!"

"I knew she could get herself out of that situation."

Natasha had never felt as protective over someone as she did right now. "Katya doesn't deserve your mistrust. She's been loyal since she set foot inside this building. She hasn't lied about anything."

"Loyalty runs deep. We shouldn't underestimate her ties to her former employer."

Natasha swallowed back some nasty words. To call the Director of SHIELD an asshole was risky, even for her. Maybe especially for her.

"If your goal was to make her terrified of losing everything good she found, then you succeeded."

Fury sharply glanced up at her with his one good eye. "We are not a charity, Agent Romanoff. Petrova needs to understand that her stay here isn't guaranteed."

Natasha clenched her teeth together. What an outrageous way to prove a point. "If she has to go, I'm going with her. Just so you understand that too."

"Message received," Fury said dryly, returning his gaze to the desk. "Loud and clear."

A mess of emotions raged in her body as Natasha left his office and legged towards Katya's apartment. It was false hope that sent her there. Hope that her small, meaningless conversation with Fury would calm Katya down enough to talk to her. 

She was still furious at him. Furious for sending Katya into a trap, for mistrusting her, and for being the perfect director. She was angry because she couldn't be angry at him. In his position, it was a logical move to test Katya's loyalty.

But Natasha's love for the woman clouded her judgment. Funnily enough. 

"Open up." Her knocks were fast and impatient on Katya's door. "It's me, and I'm not leaving until you hear me out." She was determined this time, willing to kick the door in, now that she knew why Katya acted so strangely.

To her surprise, Katya opened the door. Her body shielded Natasha's wandering eyes from seeing her apartment. She had dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, and a slow way of moving about her. "What is it?"

Natasha pushed past her before Katya could stop her. It had been a while since she had been in the apartment, and what she saw broke her heart. "Why do you have everything packed?" Katya didn't answer. All her personal belongings were in bags. "You don't have to leave. It was a test. And I think you passed it."

Katya snapped her head up, her eyes suddenly wide awake. "How do you— Ты говорил с ним (You went and talked to him)?"

Natasha was taken aback by her sharp tone. "I—"

"мне не нужна няня (I don't need a babysitter)!" The brunette raised her voice. "I made a mistake during probation. He has every right to send me off, test or not!"

"But it's not a fair test if he set you up to fail!"

"That doesn't matter! Failing still isn't an option! Test or not!"

Natasha thought she would be easing Katya's mind. But the woman only saw failure, clouded by fear. Katya was too terrified to lose everything to think rationally. "You're being too hard on yourself," Natasha continued gently. "You're an amazing agent. All your other missions went perfectly."

Katya huffed, raising her arm to scratch her head. "You can save 20 people, but we both know you only remember the one you killed."

Natasha barely heard her words. When Katya lifted her arm, her short sleeve lifted enough to show red welts on her arms in the form of nails. Clearly self-inflicted. Pointedly, Natasha looked at that arm, the spots now carefully covered. "Nothing is worth doing that to yourself."

Katya watched her go with a broken look in her eyes.

[deadlynavigation]

Season’s Greetings

Warnings: swearing. reader has straight hair in this one.

Author’s note: yall when i tell you school has been kicking my ass. like i expected a challenge but this is just straight evil. anyways, so so sorry for literally no writing these past three months. i’m going to work on stuff i swear.

(Addams Family Masterlist)

(Full Masterlist)

“Cara mia, it’s barely November.”

No response.

“Amore mio?”

Still nothing.

“Y/n.”

A muffled “here!” comes from the pile of christmas decorations scattered on the floor. Wednesday slowly walks over to where the little voice emerged, taking in the garlands and ornaments that spring from half-opened, dusty boxes. He carefully sidesteps the multiple throw blankets and pillows strewn about, admiring your eye for such things whilst also trying to recall where he hid the matches and gas. Vinyls, unlike the decorations, are placed neatly on the sofa, one already removed from its case and sitting on the record player waiting to be played. Finally, Wednesday reaches the small bump in the mountain of holiday cheer.

Your head pops out. “Need anything, baby?”

Wednesday has to place a hand over his mouth to contain his smile. You do this every year, and it somehow becomes even more endearing to him. “Halloween was yesterday, cara mia.”

“...Ok?” You fail to grasp his point, blinking up at him as innocently as possible.

“We have months to do all of this, Y/n.”

“Time is ticking, baby. We gotta get a head start on this.”

He sighs, dropping onto his knees and accepting his fate. “Then you must need help, if we’re running on such a tight schedule.”

Your eyes dart from the dried flowers you’d been fiddling with to his face, which, although rare, held no signs of deception or teasing. “You’d really help? You’re not just fucking with me?”

Wednesday chuckles, reaching up to brush back a piece of your hair that had fallen loose in the chaos. “Of course, cara mia. It’s important to you, is it not?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Then I shall help.”

Hours later, Wednesday isn’t regretting that promise in the slightest. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself. He’s sorted through pounds of decorations, had dozens of arguments over what to trash or keep, and gone back down to the basement at least a dozen times to grab even more boxes. It’s now past midnight, and he can clearly see your eyes drooping.

“Amore mio, perhaps it’s time to put this away for the night,” He murmurs, reaching for the ornament you hold and gently pulling it away. It’s placed right back in its box, set on top of the pile for tomorrow.

You try to conceal a yawn, reaching for the ornament. “But we’re so close, baby. Just a couple more minutes, we could finish.”

“See, normally, I would agree with you,” Wednesday smirks, memories of last night running through his head, “but you’re exhausted, cara mia. What type of partner would I be if I didn’t chase you up to bed right now?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, pushing at his arm with no real intent. He snatches the opportunity, grasping your arm and bringing it up to his lips. Kiss upon kiss is imprinted on your skin as Wednesday moves from your wrist to your shoulder and back down again. He takes his time, holding eye contact with you as he kisses every individual vein of your arm, appreciating each little indent and bump, even burying himself into the warmth of your shoulder once he draws close enough.

“M’still not tired. Your tricks don’t work on me, baby.”

He snorts, face still tucked safely into your shoulder. “Of course not, my love.”

You almost let your eyes flutter shut at his voice, but remembering all the work that must be done, you shoot awake almost instantly. “No, baby, I mean it–we gotta finish this.”

“And we will–tomorrow. Let me take care of you, Y/n. Let yourself rest.”

You stare at the back of his head for a moment, narrowing your eyes as you run through your options. One: stay here, fall asleep on the floor, wake up with a broken back. Two: let Wednesday take you to bed, where you’ll then end up sleeping for at least fourteen hours. Three: refuse through yawning fits and insist that you’re perfectly fine to handle breakable decorations at one in the morning.

Only one of those options will end up working. You’re still in denial about which one it may be.

Wednesday can practically feel the gears turning in your mind and eventually tires of it, rising from your neck and standing. “Come on, amore mio. Time for bed. I will hear no more of it.”

“Okay,” you grumble, because as much as you’d like to stand your ground, you can feel the exhaustion creeping through your body. It becomes much more apparent as you step forward, legs half-asleep and shaking from the hours spent crouching in uncomfortable positions. “Carry me?”

Wednesday looks down at you, shaking his head. “As if I would allow anything else, Y/n.” With that, he scoops you up, adjusting for a second before maneuvering around the scattered decor and into the foyer. You bury your face in his neck, all too eager to be surrounded by warmth after the sunset brought frigid temperatures into your home. Wednesday plants a short kiss on your hairline before climbing the stairs, steadily guiding you both into the master bedroom.

He stops, and you realize it’s an indication that you’ve reached the bed and have to get down. You cling to him, refusing to jump down.

“Cara mia,” Wednesday cooes, pressing another peck onto your head. “How are we supposed to get ready for bed if I’m carrying you the whole time?”

“You’ll figure it out. I have confidence in you.” Your words are barely there, fading with your sleepiness. Your grip on his clothes slackens, and that’s the final straw for your partner. He gently lowers you onto the pillows, quickly spreading a blanket over your form.

“As much as I appreciate your reliance on my strength, I cannot live up to those expectations,” Wednesday laughs, strolling into the adjoined bathroom to quickly brush his teeth and rinse his face. The splashes of water reach your ears, spurring you to blearily rise and join him over the sink.

“M’tired,” you mumble, grabbing your toothbrush. You run it over your teeth for a time most dentists would consider unacceptable, rinsing and flossing afterwards to make up for your rush. Wednesday smiles softly, handing you your cleanser after you’re done.

“You coat your face in chemicals, I’ll worry about your hair.” He leans down, laying a cold kiss on your collarbone before getting to work. The brush glides through your hair as you rinse your cleanser off, reaching for a serum as Wednesday reaches for the soft little elastics you seem to prefer for nighttime. He combs his fingers through your hair, watching in fascination as the color catches the soft copper lights of the lamps in the bedroom. Over and over again, he watches it fall from his fingers and envisions a future where he combs through your graying hair with weathered hands. Yes, he’ll sleep well tonight with that in his mind.

He’s knocked from his train of thought as you plop your moisturizer back onto the counter, finished with your routine and now just waiting on the braids you were promised. Wednesday smiles sheepishly, kissing the back of your head as an apology before getting started. He manipulates the strands with expert fingers, years of practice on his sisters and mother proving useful.

“M’sorry I yelled at you about the mistletoe. You wouldn’t have known where exactly I wanted it, that was my fault.” You lean back into his chest as he works diligently, the motions lulling you to sleep.

“Amore, I would hang the moon and stars for you if you asked. The mistletoe will go exactly where you need it tomorrow.” He holds back a laugh as he recalls the argument, a five-minute long discussion involving door frames, rulers, and a silly little piece of the plant.

“I’m also sorry for the wreaths. I didn’t even know we had that many.”

“It’s ok, Y/n,” Wednesday whispers as he ties off on a braid, moving to the next one without jostling you from where you practically lie on him. “We all have passions. You support mine. These next two months, I will support yours.”

It’s quiet for a minute, both of you too content to break the silence. He finishes the second braid quickly, trying to get you both into bed before you end up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

“There we go, amore. All done, you did so well for me.” Wednesday rubs your arms up and down, trying to rouse you from your almost meditative state.

“Bed?” You whisper, rubbing an eye while trying to stay attached to him.

“Yes, come on.”

“What time is it?”

“Late,” Wednesday whispers back, checking the clock on your nightstand. He’s right–it’s almost 1:30 in the morning, an hour that he isn’t sure qualifies as late or just incredibly, wickedly early.

You fall into bed, rearranging the pillows until you can comfortably lie on them. Once Wednesday climbs in next to you, you forsake them, instead nuzzling right against his chest as he pulls you into him. It’s so warm and familiar that you fall asleep almost immediately, all the caffeine, disagreements, and upcoming holidays forgotten.

Wednesday almost laughs at how quickly you managed to fall asleep, proving him right that the decorations were a matter for another day. He’ll have to rub it in your face tomorrow, but for now, he envelops you with his arms pressed tightly against your back and dreams of many more holiday seasons to come.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 15 - The Safety Dance

[Also Available on AO3]

Shadow Dance Masterlist

Summary: With the mission over, its time for the 141 to relax and take a load off before dealing with another threat

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, swearing, drinking, smoking, character with trauma, established relationship, military inaccuracies, medical inaccuracies, author's stupid humor

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC - 3rd person POV (Rory Sinclair)

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: the further continuation of Rory's story, this follows and expands upon the COD: MW2 reboot canon. Told from Rory's POV.

This was just a fun little chapter for me to write some TF141 squad banter, mostly just some silly comedy for the author to enjoy by turning my oc into a meme

Next chapter is smut FYI

tagging: @taciturntraveller

November 4, 2022 0255 - Chicago, USA

There were no police, no ambulances, no sirens or swirling lights of red and blue on the streets below to mark the end of the mission like the closing credits of some cheesy eighties action flick where the villain met a fitting end, and the heroes saved the day. Instead, just a few unmarked vehicles slowly drove around the perimeter, the hidden hand of the agencies that kept an eye on the security of the nation held at a distance as soldiers filtered back up to the roof they had descended from. Black birds settled sleekly, tucked away in shadow, away from the prying eyes of civilians while marines and special forces operatives climbed inside. The smooth blades, spinning and slicing, cut through the night as clean up began on Laswell's end. Stories spun, a comforting tale to put the herd at ease — they didn't need to know that they had been minutes away from strife that would have upheaved the entire nation, and the rest of the world. A blackout. A simple enough diversion. The only reason that needed to be given. The simplest lies were often the easiest to get away with.

In one such helicopter the members of Task Force 141 found a moment to catch their breath. A quiet reprieve where one long collective sigh was exhaled in unison. Another job well done, pats on the back all around — though if anyone had tried that on Rory it would have resulted in a proper bollocking considering she'd have been bloody livid with the way her back was feeling.

Ice pack pressed to her lumbar while a penlight was shone back and forth in her eyes by one of the medics checking her for a concussion, the burning, bright light pricked at her pupils and she squinted, mashing up her face at the intrusion of her vision that she was all too glad to have back at near full strength. Her body ached, locked up and tight, limbs like leaden weights. A pounding headache and sore sinuses were an uncomfortable leftover from the explosion and the cherry on top of a body that felt like it was ready to fall apart at the seams.Ruffling her fingers through sweat dampened waves, Rory sat hunched forward in her seat and brought a palm of pain pills to her mouth to pop. Well, she thought, at least it wasn't the shoulder this time. She chuckled quietly to herself, worn out, but at least she could keep a smile on her face — How else was she going to handle it after all?

Across from her, John sat back in his seat, cigar chomped between his teeth, looking more cantankerous than ever. The red low-lights in the cabin, ones that painted him in shades of horror and added to the monstrous effect of the glowing cherry that burned in the reflection of his irises, switched to a warm incandescent yellow at the medic's request but did nothing to soften the sight of John scowling daggers throughout his in-flight surgery. Stitches were slipped through the tough hide of the Captain's shoulder while another medic worked on removing the bullet from his thigh, both professionals resigning themselves to a fate of having to wave away the thick plumes of smoke dampening their vision, neither daring to say a word considering the hard, unforgiving stare of the man being patched up.

"A right bloody pair you two make," Gaz said, nodding towards Price before grinning at Rory, the boyish glint in his eye returning.

"Shut it, sergeant," Price muttered from around his cigar, exhaling smoke from his nostrils in a stream.

"Now is that anyway to thank the man who pulled you both from danger?" The younger man's smirk was devilish, pushing his luck with the surly bear sat across from him, seeing just how far he could push before the inevitable snap and snarl of the Captain occurred at his ribbing.

Rolling her eyes, Rory sucked her teeth. "Not going to let us forget that one anytime soon, are you?" she said dryly.

"Definitely not."

She couldn't fight back the laugh that rose up through her or the smile the curled her lips. Glancing over at Price, Villa Clara in hand, the earthy scent of tobacco smoke filling the small space and wafting over towards her, Rory casually tried to coax the medic to let her partake in her vice of choice, "Sure I can't just light up a ciggy?" Hoping to get a little leeway, she was only met by a shake of the head. "Bloody bullshit preferential treatment, that is…"

"It's only cause Price 'll tear their balls off if someone says otherwise," Ghost remarked, his usual coarse, grating laugh following after, amused by his own joke.

"Speakin' o' pullin' someone' from danger, shoulda seen LT and 'ow he handled Hassan. Steamin' bloody Jesus! What a fuckin' shot," Soap said, pushing a hand back through his mohawk as he dragged the wet wipe over his face removing the sweat and splattered drops of the Iranian major's blood from his brow.

"Are we really so surprised?" Rory tipped her head in Ghost's directed. "Expert marksman here hardly ever misses a shot, eh?"

"Hardly ever?" Ghost let out a scoff, rankled by her assessment even as he sat stiff as a board in his seat. "Think y' mean 'never', Sinclair."

"We'll see about that, yeah?" Pointing towards Ghost, her arm outstretched from behind Gaz's shoulders. With narrowed eyes she threw the playful challenge down. "We get leave after this? I'm testing that theory with a game of darts."

"Payin' f' my rounds as well?" The emotionless skull mask swiveled to face her, and the way the lights hit the sockets made them look dark, empty. "Then you're on."

"Bloody cheapskate," Rory shot back.

"Oi, Missus! You're the one with golden coffers."

"Rest of us in our bleedin' hovels, and this one has Jeeves at the fuckin' door," Soap added.

"Oh, on your bike!" Her mouth curled into a sour pout, arms crossed over her chest. "I don't have a butler," she muttered under her breath.

"Aye, got Price f' that instead." Soap's shit-eating grin overwhelmed his face, proud as a peacock as he stripped off his vest and grabbed his own ice pack from the med kits on the floor, pressing it to the blooming bruise where his plates had protected him earlier.

"Knock it off, the lot o' ya," Price rumbled hoarsely. A ragged hiss tore from between gritted teeth as forceps twisted to retrieve the bit of buried metal within the meaty thigh. The chime of metal on metal as the bullet tinged against the bottom of the tray it was placed in cutting like a knife through the silence created by John's bark.

Gaz leaned into Rory, his voice lowering to a murmur so as not to be overheard. "Boss' angry. Good luck with that one later."

Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated hum, pressing the half-frozen bag of ice tighter to her back. "I've no doubt I'll need it."

Leaning back in her seat, head pressed to the wall, Rory took a breath, listening to the hum of the helicopter engines, of the clockwork of the mechanical body, and the scrawl of pen on the medical forms being filled out beside her. And then the medics words from across the cabin hit her —

"You'll need to rest…"

Rory's eyes lifted to meet John's, exchanging a knowing look. Good fucking luck with that one, mate. This was the man who even when he was on leave was still following up with upcoming missions, and if not that, kept himself busy around the house, refusing to become indolent for even a moment. His was a mind constantly at work. It was no surprise that even when he finally laid his head down to rest he snored like he was a sawmill working overtime. Hell, their last vacation together had him carrying his work phone with him, promising it was just in case of emergency if Kate needed to get a hold of him — she called bullshit on that all too quickly. No, John just simply wasn't capable of shutting himself down, not unless he decided it was the time and place for it, which he rarely ever did. A hypocrite through and through when he was often the one telling her she didn't make enough time for herself. "Work too hard, gonna burn yourself out" — his usual go-to appeal that he never followed himself.

Her brow lifted, an "are you actually going to listen to that advice" said with just a small shift of her face. His piercing stare narrowing in return. A "probably not" that led her to rub at the lines between her brows. She wasn't surprised in the slightest, shaking her head at the thought of him still brute-forcing his way around while limping through an injured leg. Admittedly, this was the man who had survived a helicopter crash only a day or so before, and Rory could trace the origins of the recent scar tissue on his body back through the missions he had taken part in for the last five years, but there was still that part of her, the one who envisioned a future of growing old together that shuddered at the thought of that not necessarily coming true in their line of work. A thought she never enjoyed lingering on, but had found a little corner in her anxiety-addled brain to settle nonetheless.

The polished glass doors to the lobby of the Chicago Marriott Downtown hotel opened and five sets of heavy footsteps struck the marble floors that reflected the warm, inviting lighting sparkling from the ceiling, echoing throughout the open floor design filled with comfortable seating all wrapped in a bland shade of oatmeal. The walls — just as devoid of life — painted a slightly warmer sandy beige, were adorned by framed acrylic abstract paintings. The type of art that was neither memorable nor offensive, with no discernible subject nor color story, one step removed from something created by a computer with the parameters that it could in no way be challenging. The added layer on top of it all was the quiet jazz that played over the speaker system, clarinet and flute meandering in a tune that was meant to instill calm in the weary travelers who would pass through the luxurious hotel halls.

A procession of bulk dressed in drab, dark colors moved through the otherwise silent lobby towards the front desk. There wasn't another soul in sight except for the night desk clerk who had his face buried in his phone, thumbs dragging over the screen as he scrolled, never bothering to lift his eyes or grant his attention to the guests coming to check-in — his first mistake, and a terrible first impression. Tired, stiff bodies moved with large duffel bags slung over their shoulders like a caravan of knackered pack mules. All dragging feet and slumped shoulders, shambling towards their oasis for the night. Deep set, darkened under eyes were visible on all of them as the group of soldiers crowded the desk and John rested an arm on the counter, leaning his weight against it.

The rough clearing of a throat run ragged from bellowing out orders only hours before shattered the peace, and John tapped his thumb in a steady, frustrated beat. Trying to shift his stance, he winced with a slight hiss when his weight was put momentarily on his bad leg. "'Scuse me. Checkin' in."

"Check in isn't until 11 AM," the desk clerk mumbled, rubbing at his eyes being burned by the screen's blue light as he yawned and tugged at his black button down before the sound of a retweet emitted from his phone.

"Think you'll find we've been given special considerations…" Price leaned in, eyes narrowing, sniffling slightly as a low grumble built in his throat. "Brandon."

The young desk clerk's focus was finally forced from his phone at the low, gravelly, baritone voice bothering to read his name tag aloud. Glancing up and looking between the four shit-brick houses and the petite female among them, his brow lifted and he shifted in his seat, the springs of the desk chair squeaking like a mouse. Clearing his throat, his hands moved to the keyboard. "Name of the reservation?" His voice broke with a crack of a pubescent teenager at the end, a clear sign that John's intimidation had worked.

"Laswell."

Fingers flew across the keyboard; the backspace key being given extra attention as sweaty hands made typing more difficult while under the scrutiny of those who didn't exactly fit the usual image of boomers on vacation or businessmen looking for a somewhat discreet hookup spot with their secretaries.

A nervous chuckle followed in short order. "Found it. And you, uh, yeah. You are correct. Special considerations as you said, Mister…"

"Price."

"Right." The kid ducked his head down and then peeked back over at the others — a strange, motley crew. And then there was the matter of the bags that looked like they were loaded with gear of some sort, he assumed. The odd facial hair on the leader, beefy guys who looked like they spent hours at the gym, and a pretty doe-eyed lady who was already hobbling as she moved led him to a singular conclusion. Clearing his throat once more, his esophagus feeling altogether too parched, the desk clerk worked up his courage. "Listen, I don't judge, but, well, it's uh, company policy that we aren't supposed to let people in with major camera equipment." Brandon rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged. "Aren't there sets for that sorta thing?" he asked the mutton chopped leader with a smirk.

John's brows furrowed, his mouth scrunching into the tight-lipped curl of annoyance, his mustache twitching at the corners as he stared down at the kid with a complete lack of amusement. The silence became pregnant, palpable as the visible state of the desk clerk became progressively more uncomfortable with each second that ticked by.

Birthed from the audible quiet, Soap started to snicker, his face near beet red as he tried to hold it in. The awkward tension breaking, an eggshell cracked and runny yolk spilled forth. Rory glanced over at the sergeant who had pulled out his phone and was showing something to Gaz, who desperately tried to bite his lower lip to stifle his own laughter.

"Cameras?" Rory's tired brain, not so quick on the uptake and still suffering from a holdover of a headache, tried to piece things together.

And then it hit.

Eyes that had been hooded and sore with the dire requirement for sleep rounded, wide and alert, and she dropped her bag on the floor. Storming up to the counter, she shoved John out of the way and nearly dove over the count to get to the clerk, her hands slamming down on the granite counter. "Oi! You cheek! Do I look like I'm some tart? A slapper? You think we're going to make a bloody porno up there?"

"Aye, well t' be fair, ye are walkin' about like ye've just had yer back blown out."

"Cause I bloody have!" Rory snapped, turning to face Soap, only to shoot a look back over at the desk clerk with a scowl and jutting her pointed finger at him. " — Not like that!"

Brandon's hands shot up in a sign of surrender. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. Please don't complain to my boss, I took this job to pay for college."

"Bloody bullshit," Rory mouthed, brushing past John to snatch up her bag and move towards the lifts if only to better ignore the sounds of Soap guffawing out loud at the turn of events. Though the sound of him slapping his knees still carried over to her and only served to ruffle her feathers more.

"It's not that funny, you prick."

"It is," Soap confirmed as he moved to join her after Price had settled things at the desk and carried the key card in his hand.

Seconds felt like hours as they waited for the called lift, and Rory tapped her foot. The semi-circle of floor numbers ticked down with a blinking light. Ding. Ding. Ding. She refused to look over at Soap as he eyed her from his periphery, a giant smirk on his face. It was one thing when she made herself the butt of the joke, transferring her issues, making light of them. It was completely another when through no fault of her own she was made into a living meme.

"Dinna fash over this, Lamb. Besides, you cannae blame the lad."

Lifting his phone for her to see the screen, Rory's eyes darted to it and her tongue instantly found its way into her cheek to burrow its way into the flesh. An exasperated sigh left her at the image of her and the rest of the task force's heads poorly super imposed on top of a picture of a girl sitting on a white couch surrounded by men.

"When the hell did you have time to make that, Soap?"

"You do know there are meme generators online, aye?"

"Delete that, or I toss your mobile out the bloody window when we get to our rooms." Her stare bit with the same malice as one she gave to an enemy that she was about to use her brass knuckles on.

"It's gone. Scout's honour, LT."

The lift doors opened and the five squad members clambered inside, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the confined box that played the same gently serenading jazz music as the lobby.

"What floor are we on?" Gaz's finger floated above the panel of buttons, glancing back at Price who leaned a shoulder against the wall, taking the weight off his injury.

"Top."

"Top?"

"Penthouse," Price confirmed.

"The fucking penthouse?" Rory's brow shot upwards as her head swung to look over at the captain. "What's Laswell playing at?"

"Still on Shepherd's dime, aren't we?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hips with a slight growl. "Might as well burn a hole in his wallet f' the night."

"Well… thank God for the US military-industrial complex then, I suppose."

Floor to ceiling windows showed off the city skyline, the lights reflecting off the mirrored surface of the Chicago river that flowed below. There was a full-blown lounge designed with leather couches set around an enormous widescreen television hung upon the wall. A kitchenette tucked into the corner with granite counter tops and bar stools, and down the hall was a proper bathroom facility with full amenities. This wasn't any simple hotel room with a few beds set up beside one another, this was a proper suite with three separate rooms.

With a keycard tap, the double doors to the penthouse suite opened and five pairs of eyes scanned the room. Normally unfazed by the things they witnessed, tonight however, their mouths fell open with surprise at the spacious interior miles away from any army barracks or safehouse any of them had ever had to call "home" for a night. With sparkling crystal chandeliers and marble floors so polished they could see their own reflections — it was even more decadent and lavish than how Rory had decorated her own home.

"Fuckin' 'ell," Simon drawled, tugging off his balaclava as the door clicked shut behind them. His dark glare scanned over the area as if still assessing the surroundings for danger.

"Bloody plush, this is." Gaz pulled off his cap and rubbed his hand through his hair.

"A tad opulent…" Rory muttered, tipping her head to the side with a little sneer.

"Mini bar!" Soap hollered as he stepped down into the kitchen and opened the door to the fridge that looked even more lilliputian in comparison to him as he hunched beside it. "Don't mind if I do, General," he said as he unscrewed the cap on several tiny bottles of tequila and poured them into one of the glasses waiting on the counter, newly unwrapped from its sanitary paper cocoon.

Lifting his drink, the liquid contents sloshing up to the rim, Soap grinned, toothy and wide. "To another successful mission, and one less crazy bastard t' deal with." He wasted no time in taking a deep draught and swallowed it with a shudder that visibly shook his body right to his mohawk. "Time for a wee celebration, Cap'n?" His bright blue eyes twinkled as he looked over at Price who rubbed at the heavy lines sunk into the brow at his nose bridge.

"Have at it. I'm bloody knackered."

"Suppose you and the missus are takin' the master, eh?" Gaz smirked, giving just a hint of cheek only to be met by the stern glare of the boss.

"Gotta let the ol' man 'ave 'is rest," Ghost added as he made his way to the kitchen to make his own drink, a half grin curling his thin lips.

"Come on, you," Rory said, tugging on John's arm. "Let's get us to bed, yeah? Leave this lot to their own devices."

"We'll be good as gold, boss," Gaz promised.

Looking between his group of soldiers, John didn't seem entirely convinced. But, with a grunt of approval, he let Rory lead him away, down the hall, towards the room with the biggest bed.

They all needed the night to unwind, the next day would bring the inevitable debriefings, having to rewind and go over the mission, and then deal with the new intel that had landed in their laps. Konni, Makarov — they were a looming threat on the horizon, one that would need to be dealt with swiftly, one that had proven to be willing to kick a hornet's nest to stir up trouble. A threat they would need to be ready for. In the meantime, however, they had a day to rest, to restore. A small window where they didn't have to think about the next fight, at least on the surface.

[cloveroctobers]

DECEMBER PROMPTS 🧊 — 3. MICHAEL “MIKEY” BERZATTO

A/N: I want to attempt to make this a bit lighter but with the way the bear is set up? Happiness is a process. 🥂 Also this takes place BEFORE 7 fishes? Maybe a year or two prior, so thats probably six or seven years ago from now? The timeline isn’t overly important with this show so whatever your brain feels is cool with me! Also decided to do this in headcanon/note form this time around because things are definitely about to get hectic for me. Merry Christmas Eve or Happy Holidays to you all! 🫶🏽 hope its filled with nothing but greatness + all things that are lovely and not chaos.

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + I’m using: SCENARIO — 4.) Decorating the tree + DIALOGUE — 2.) “You know what they say, don’t eat yellow snow.”

<- read my previous December anthology prompt here.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊

Michael Berzatto always loved cold weather and sure his birthday happened to always fall on a brutal cold day… he always put more effort into everyone else’s.

It’s something he’s always done and maybe it had to do with his childhood where most birthdays his own parents forgot about it, treating it as any other day because that’s simply how they viewed their own and wouldn’t even get him a card at least.

He grew up fast and pushed those terrible feelings as far down as they could go and focused on caring for everyone else.

Lucky for him, he had his younger siblings that always managed to put a smile on his face, showing him that they wouldn’t ever forget

and a shit eating grin would also appear thanks to his best friend Richie who always showed up with packs of beer and encouragement to head out to a strip joint but somehow Tiffany always figured out that plan!

a gallon of warmth poured into his chest when you would call him at midnight or the break of dawn, wanting to be the first to send him well wishes for another year.

You were always something special to Michael.

Which is why on the morning of November 15th, he showed up to your place, just to tell you later that you were going tree hunting while he went down to Chicagoland to get the rest of his hours in.

He heard how bummed out you were about your boyfriend not being in town (yet again) to go get a tree for the place you moved into back in July.

Michael didn’t particularly hate the guy but he also felt like he didnt care enough as much as he should with someone like you.

He was always elsewhere and Michael was just praying that he didn’t ask you to marry him and call it selfish but he didn’t see a glimmer in your eyes when you looked at the guy.

Michael felt like you two were just dating out of convenience—until you both found better, which YOU would but you didn’t seem to see that.

Which of course sparked arguments and the guy walked in on that argument, demanding to know what was going on and you didn’t want to escalate the situation so you sent a warning glance for Michael not to take it there.

He never listened.

A ban from the house was laughable to Michael because who tf did this guy think he was to tell him to stay away from his best friend’s house? He maybe “the man,” of the house but he wasn’t man enough to love you. You have to show you care in a relationship and put in the work and this guy wasn’t it. You were an after thought and that pissed Michael off.

and he didn’t give a shit if the guy was 6’6 and built like a linebacker, it was fair game in mike’s eyes! Michael would say what he felt and he was super protective over you—which you appreciated but not in that moment.

Before hands could ever go flying and out of the respect he has for you, he said his peace and left the home—since thats what you wanted…with the both of you not speaking for a week—which was painful.

And also painful to Richie’s ears because Mikey wouldn’t shut up about it!

You as a topic? Was never on the low.

“Are you finally gonna admit to the audience that you’re sweet on them, Mikey Boy!?” The amusement was clear in Richie’s piercing blues and Michael was tempted to smack it right off.

“Shut your mouth and get back to work, ya bastard!”

Michael knew the guy talked shit about him behind his back but regardless Michael was in your life WAAAY before this guy was even a factor! He wasn’t going anywhere,, unless you told him to but he hoped that never happened.

Your boyfriend didn’t like how you kept Michael around but he knew how to put on a mask too, being a FBI agent and all that, which means he was hardly around anyway so…that gave Michael more time with you in the end, which definitely made your boyfriend more irritated when he bothered to check in from work!

Michael found it funny that your boyfriend thought he was doing something by flying back to Indiana with you to spend (the controversial holiday) thanksgiving with your dad, step-mother, and half-siblings just to disappear again into his work as soon as the both of you returned to chicago.

While he was off on a case, Michael was there taking on the failed promises, which included: tree shopping.

Having a hybrid schedule, working as a publisher and just starting a meeting with a client, you were caught off guard the morning Michael greeted you on your front steps on HIS birthday.

He was all grins and barely in the appropriate wear for the approaching winter but fr! a hoe never gets cold you know? “You asked what i feel like doing for my birthday, right sweetheart? Spending it with you doll face and gettin’ us a tree, how’s that sound?”

You can can barely get any words out due to being on a call but a sweet smile that actually matched your eyes was enough confirmation—although it was on the tip of your tongue to argue, Michael took that to his advantage that you couldn’t in that moment.

Which didn’t mean you wouldn’t hammer him with texts a little later—but Michael sucked at texting so your attempts would probably go unseen anyway.

It was around six, you just got off thirty minutes ago and went to freshen up, ready to text Michael when he’s already at your door, keys in hand, shining teeth of a smile, your favorite sandwich in hand: a wrapped Porchetta, chicken parm, or a caprese sandwich (if you don’t eat meat) ready for you to eat on the go, since the farm closes at eight-thirty and the drives about thirty to forty-five minutes depending on the traffic…

Michael’s got terrible road rage and hates traffic but you’re not the best driver when the sky falls so you have no choice this evening but…he’s at ease with you on the passenger side.

He’s telling you entertaining stories as you eat and when you’re done, he’s asking for your review—although it’s your favorite sandwich so of course it’s going to be highly rated! but he just likes to hear you talk about the things you enjoy

he’s interested in your day since your work days are completely different and he’s not afraid to give his opinions if the author you’re working with sounds like an asshole.

Shopping with you can sometimes take forever but Michael doesn’t seem to mind. If you’re looking for the perfect tree, even if it’s ugly as hell, you’re gonna get the damn tree.

He’s used to artificial trees because the real one his family had after he just turned fifteen, his ma threw a lit cigarette at once, unbeknownst to the rest of the berzatto family, almost burning it to a crisp as she whipped around to yell at a seven year old Sugar about something, so his dad swore off “spending his hard earned money for Donna to ruin,” leaving Michael to stop looking forward to Christmas trees

Yet he was here on his birthday with you, happy to be here and help you find whatever you needed.

“What about that one?” You pointed at what would probably be the eighth one, if Michael thought to keep count.

He can’t help it—

He glances over his shoulders and scowls, “looks like uncle Lee, fucking balding in the middle.”

“Michael!”

“Wha? Am I wrong?! I’m just sayin, sweetheart…if you love that one, I’ll like it.” Michael raised his hands in surrender while you huffed, rolled your eyes and spun on your flats, diving in between a row of fully stocked trees.

Eventually you find a wide white spruce tree that the both you felt strongly about to bring back home

and the man is willing to throw his back out for you, getting it up your steep front steps, not allowing you to help him one bit, which is frustrating for you ofc.

Once positioned in your living room, just the way you want it, Michael wipes the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically.

“What would you like to drink?”

“I’m fine. Just gonna get some air, then when I get back we’ll discuss when you want to decorate it, yeah?”

You shake your head at Michael while he heads back to the front of the house through the screened in entrance before entering November’s air.

When he’s taking longer than expected, you go hunting for him just to flail around on some black ice after stepping down from the last step but manage to somewhat catch yourself on the railing.

Thankful for a bruise rather than a broken tailbone, you curse to yourself as the throbbing pain shoots down your femur.

And surely, Michael fucking berzatto appears from the shadows to assist you, “hey! whatcha doin’ down there?”

“I slipped on some stupid black ice…where were you?”

“You sure it wasn’t the yellow snow?”

“The what?” You exasperate as Michael guides you to your feet.

Michael points at the spot to the right of your front lawn and you scowl as he says, “you know what they say, don’t eat yellow snow!”

He laughs but stops short as you cut your eyes at him, “did you come out here to piss on my lawn when there’s two bathroom’s inside?”

Michael scoffs, “don’t go pointin’ fingers at me because you busted your ass. That ain’t my fault babe and you know I wouldn’t do that! I told you that was Richie’s drunk ass.”

Sighing you rub at your sore thigh, “I still owe him a kick in the ass for that.”

“Yeah you do,” Michael smirks as the both of you move to head back inside, “despite that, it was good house warming.”

You nod as you’re back inside the warmth of your new home and rest against the couch while Michael’s back to analyzing the tree you picked. “Hey, I’ve got you something.”

Michael shakes his head although a twitch of a grin is there,“I told you that you didn’t need to get me anything.”

“Shush,” you held up your hand at the man who raised his brows at you, “it’s nothing crazy but it’s in the fridge.”

He sighs at you but goes to your bright yellow kitchen nonetheless. Michael always gets caught up standing in your kitchen, just imagining all the meals he could get up to in here since it seems so bright and welcoming yet empty.

You were more of a breakfast person which is why he was always down to go to diners because of you, whereas he was more a lunch person because of his old man, hence why Chicagoland was a deli spot but Michael was okay with shifting his ways for you.

When he opens your fridge, he scans through it, easily picking up on what items belongs to your macho boyfriend and scoffs to himself before spotting a medium sized box tucked in the back of the fridge.

“Did you find it, Mikey?” You call out to your friend who latches onto the box, kneeing the fridge closed before making his way back into the living room.

He plops down on the couch next to you, eyeing you while you smile over at him patiently waiting.

“Here goes nothing,” Michael quietly says before pulling the top back to eye the mold of the zuccotto, “…you fucking didn’t.”

“I did,” you nod before explaining, “I thought about making one but I also didn’t want to disappoint you and then I remembered you’ve been wanting to try that bakery that’s here on my side of town, so I made a call and hope you like it.”

Michael swallows the lump in his throat at the gesture. He can’t remember the last time someone’s got him a cake but this wasn’t just some simple task. This was important because this means you listened.

You listened to how he told you that his nonna used to call him, “pumpkin bear,” because he was chunky and the shade of a Orange left in the sunlight fresh out the womb and that she made the best zuccotto he’s ever had and never tried anyone else’s since she’s passed.

Not even his ma could touch his nonna’s but he would never tell the woman that!

“The bakery’s a combined Italian-French place which they don’t really advertise until you’re actually inside but the little elderly lady who made it was the cutest thing and I thought you’d probably trust her.”

“I wanna kiss you on the mouth, you’re so good to me, you have no idea!” Michael pointed at you, voice thick with emotion.

This may seem small to any other but it really meant a lot and you could sense that as Michael gripped your hand to squeeze and press kisses to. “Happy birthday, Mikey.” You whisper.

Michael groans as he pinched the corners of his wet eyes for a moment, “I love you, you know?”

“I love you back,” you smile, “now can we try!?”

“Hell yeah we can but I get first bite this time.”

“I guess…it is your birthday after all.” You wink.

The taste test was so worth it, to the point Michael made it his mission to go meet the elderly woman down at her bakery during one of his breaks from the restaurant.

He shared kind words and got to know Giuseppina or “Josy,” up until the point they actually became friendly with Josy sending her husband Charles over to try what Chicagoland had to offer as well.

He had you to thank for that, reminding him of the good in his life, even what once was.

It isnt until the first week of December when Michael comes around again to decorate your tree.

“What the hell happened?” Michael quizzes you when he spots you with a brace taking up a huge portion of your thigh.

Guess that makes sense why you took so long to get the door.

You sigh, “hello to you too, Mike. Care to come in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hi.” Michael greets, gripping your hip and pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping into the too warm house.

You tell him you slipped again and that resulted into a bruised bone, which is less severe than a fracture and something you can heal at home with ice, and meds you wouldn’t be taking—so you’re just taking it easy.

“Why hasn’t inspector gadget put down any salt yet?” Michael commented as he shoved his thin jacket into the small closet tucked in the corner of the living room.

You have your oddly placed fireplace lit and boxes everywhere to dig through.

Sighing you plop back on the couch, “He’s busy but he brought up the decorations from the basement and I can do the salt myself.”

“Oh yeah? Why haven’t you?”

“…it’s cold.”

Michael fans his hands at you, “newsflash babe, we’re in Chicago not Kansas or wherever the hell he’s from and after we’re done tackling this tree, I’m gonna fix it.”

“Mikey—

“Did you hear what I said?”

The look he sent you with his dark eyes made you mold your lips together and cross your arms before you pushed off the couch to head over to a few of the boxes.

Michael does the honors of playing some Motown Christmas music on your tv to fill the tension, but he wouldn’t apologize for looking out for you.

The bare minimum when it comes to your boyfriend doesn’t impress him, not one bit and although you didn’t like and told Michael that you didn’t like him dragging your man, you couldn’t change Michael’s mind about him at all!

He was gonna hurt you and Michael was waiting for the asshole to just rip the band aid off or when you woke up and dumped him yourself.

Michael knew you had it in you and knew you deserved better than to just settle for what looks good on paper.

The smooth deep growl of Marvin Gaye singing, “I want to come home for Christmas,” (I heavily stand on the fact that Marvin Gaye is one of Michael’s favorite singers!) filled your home as the both of you went through the boxes, picking out your decor that brought all sorts of feelings to your frame.

You reminisced about what your life was and if your dad still had any of your old ornaments you made as a child, knowing your mother would have and what your life could be as you took your side of the tree, placing ornaments up as Michael hummed to the music.

The both of you worked in silence which wasn’t the usual although Michael was much louder than you, being quiet wasn’t the norm of your friendship.

And it wasn’t because of what Michael said to you, you weren’t that sensitive—it was you getting in your head about the holidays.

About your dad, step-mom, and siblings deciding not to speed Christmas with you like originally planned because they were going on a cruise and the possibility of your boyfriend traveling to freaking Europe around that time for work made you think about the upcoming loneliness

Yes you had another friend outside of Michael but it was just this odd feeling that you didn’t particularly want to define or gave much thought about until now…

“Hey, stop thinkin’ so hard and just be here with me, huh? Your favorite person on the planet.” Michael calls over the music, after catching you staring up at the length of the tree with one ornament still in your hand.

When your eyes meet his and that famous grin stretched over his features, you roll your eyes once you realized what he said, bringing you back into the spirit and moved around the living room in search of your stool.

Michael holds the stool until your comfortably on it before moving one hand to the small of your back to keep you stable.

When you glance back at him you state, “how do you know?”

“Know what?”

“You’re my favorite person when there’s a billion people in this place?”

“Ah, It’s all over your face! You know how they say heart on your sleeve? Well in your case, it’s on your face.” Michael comments as he holds your stare before you slowly get down to be face to face with him, “and don’t you worry, you’re mine too.” 🥹🥹🥹

You pat his jaw, “damn straight, baby. And don’t you forget it.”

“Never will,” Michael chuckles, “do I get to do the honors of putting up the star?”

You plop down on the couch, digging through what’s left in the box you were working on, “we don’t have a star.”

“…Run that by me again?” Michael turns to you.

You nod, “we wanted to do something…less traditional and it was between either a bow or what he went for…a stag.”

Michael eyes the topper and scowls as he reaches for the cream deer head, “im gonna keep my mouth shut on this one.”

“Thank you.”

“welcome.”

after awhile, Michael finds his way collapsed next to you eyeing the tree as the both of you sip at some cranberry punch you made the other day, eyeing some rosemary you had floating through it.

“It actually turned out pretty, no?” You ask, shoulder to shoulder with the bearded man.

Michael sips from the mason jar and savors the earthy tangy flavor, “best lookin’ tree I’ve ever seen!”

Resting your head against Michael’s shoulder you take in the scenery, feeling a little less alone as Michael’s lips peck your brow, reminding you that it’s best to hold onto what you have, rather than what you don’t. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊

read my final ~5 days of Xmas~ anthology prompt here.

[privateanxieties]

to the shadows, we return

Summary: When Frank goes to the woods of Kentucky in search of Gunner Henderson, you come along for the ride. And when the man you're looking for shoots an arrow at him, well— it isn't Frank that gets hit. Feelings ensue in the aftermath.

Words: 4.4K

Pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader (no y/n); hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, blood and injury, near death experiences, whumptober 2023

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You can tell the place is liable to be booby trapped all to hell before you've even gotten out of the van.

In a way, that's good. It means you're going to be of use and Frank didn't bring you here for nothing. In another, it's annoying, because you're going to be advancing at a snail's pace the whole way and the November sun is quick in its descent.

What you're here to provide is a one-woman navigation system, courtesy of your tactical training at Quantico. It's not that Frank didn't go through similar procedures; but he doesn't specialize in this type of operation, and he most definitely isn't used to extracting his way out of a predicament delicately. When it comes to these scenarios, he's the blunt object to your scalpel.

Gunner isn't someone you look forward to seeing again, but if you're to survive this whole ordeal, Frank needs to find answers. It sucks that this is what you're doing the first time you've left the bunker in weeks, but at this point you'll take a bear trap over listening to David Lieberman detailing any more Greek legends. Frank orders him to stay put— not that he'd have come with, anyway. Three's a crowd and all that. He seems content with his current level of involvement and you can't blame him for being reluctant to (very likely) get shot at. You're not very keen on it yourself, and knowing Gunner even as little as you do, it's something you worry about more than the traps themselves.

"Let's go before it gets any darker," you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. Frank nods, throwing another warning look at David.

The forest is barren this time of year, and an untrained eye might give into a false sense of security. Not a lot of places to hide traps, or at least not very well, a novice might think. Not the case. Gunner, from what you were able to intuit back in Kandahar, is the survivalist type. He's guaranteed to know his way around more than a few… creative snares.

It's not long into your trek inside the forest before you spot the black wire, but its placement is so obvious and exposed that it can't be more than an early-warning system for non-threats. No one looking for traps would trigger this one. It means you're getting close, but not quite close enough that you'd pose any real danger to his territory. Which means anything you encounter from now on will definitely try to take a finger with it. Though, if you're being honest— it's more like a limb or two.

Frank is quiet and cautious behind you, never closer than a three-step interval: the ideal distance for only one of you to get snared if you both happen upon a trap. It's a wonder he's letting you have the lead. If you've known Frank Castle to be anything, then that's a stubborn mule with absolutely no respect for safety. He'll take a bullet both out of stubbornness and sheer disregard for his life. He's old-fashioned like that. The fact that you're somewhat in charge in this particular instance means that he's laser-focused on getting to the bottom of Operation Cerberus. You know he wants the truth more than anything else. It's not just justice for what was done to his family, but for what he himself has done while on the covert task force.

Personally, your only goal is to avoid dying in the name of loose ends. It was somewhat of a miracle that you even survived the hit that made yours and Frank's paths cross again. Distantly, you think you can still feel the tingle in your knuckles from the right hook you served Carson Wolf. You appreciate Frank letting you have that after the fucker blew up your apartment.

Shaking off the chill of the biting November wind, you grit your teeth against the mounting stress of not having found any traps thus far. The place should be crawling with them, which means that if you don't see them, either you're not on the right path or Gunner's contraptions have been detected by others and swiftly removed. He could very well be dead out here and you'd have no idea. It's a grim thought; if that's the case, any information will have died with him.

"Over there," Frank calls in a hushed tone, stopping you in your tracks.

You follow his line of sight to a small shape in the middle distance, and even shielded by trees as it is, you can clearly distinguish the outline of a tiny cabin. Your first thought? You're uncomfortably close to it for no aggression to veer its head. You almost expect something to drop on both your heads from the clear skies, a cartoonish outcome if there ever was one. Before you can open your mouth and voice any of these concerns, however, Frank steps away from you.

"Hey—" you warn, tone sharp, but he only holds up a hand and motions for you to follow him.

You're forced to do so against your sharper instincts. Frank knows Gunner much better than you do. They were on the ground together in Afghanistan, while you did pre-mission recon under Cerberus. The only reason you ever talked to the guy was because you stuck your nose where it didn't belong. You looked for trouble and it found you, at the same time that you found unidentified crates of smuggled weapons, which was decidedly not how the military armed its personnel. Gunner was there. He'd already been onto something, and who knows what else he'd seen. Your piece of the puzzle might be nothing compared to his, and you desperately need it if you want your life back.

Frank, you've gathered, doesn't care much for his own. He moves through the woods carefully, though with an air of nonchalance that worries given the territory. Or maybe it's trust, you figure, because it doesn't take long for him to call out Gunner's name.

"Brother, I just wanna talk!"

The backpack is deposited on a pile of dry leaves, and you watch curiously as Frank also removes his weapon, placing it atop the bag. He motions for you to do the same, and the look you throw him is one of vehement defiance.

"No."

"He needs to see we don't want to hurt him," Frank argues.

"Then I'll wait over here," you return, a grim smile scrunching up your features.

It's not that you want to hurt Gunner, but you are not opposed to it whatsoever if that's the direction this will go.

"He'll think it's an ambush. C'mon, we—" he pauses, looking away and back at you with his mouth turned down. "We came this far. We need to talk to him. Leave the goddamn gun. He's got the advantage anyway," he pleads, though you sense an amount of command in that tone.

He's right that you're out here, exposed, while Gunner could shoot you both through the rickety door or one of the windows of the cabin. You're not comfortable being unarmed, though— you haven't been in years. Although, you suppose, some things are too great to get away from with just the use of a pistol. It sure as shit didn't help when you almost got blown all the way to hell four months ago. A deep sigh from Frank rattles your hesitation. The question in his eyes is tinged with desperation, and for a brief moment, he looks younger than you know he feels. He's not accustomed to asking people for anything, and the slightest doubt on the part of those he asks for help is enough to make him regret ever thinking of it in the first place.

You don't want him to doubt you. You also don't want to make him think you don't trust him, because you do. You woudn't have gotten this far with him and David if you didn't. Sure, you didn't seek them out; they found you and in the process saved your life. Back in the war, your unit relied on you before anyone else. The purpose of reconnaissance is simple: gather intel. Make sure that when you go in, you have a way out. You liked that job and you liked feeling unquestionably needed.

Despite recent revelations, the sting of what happened before you were abruptly sent home is still fresh somehow. It lingers on the surface of your days, waking or slumbering. For almost three years, you lived with the belief that you sent your unit into a death trap, and it took nearly dying for the record to be set straight. What happened in Kandahar, that last mission that killed more than half of the Cerberus unit— it wasn't on you. It wasn't on you, and yet guilt isn't easy to do away with.

It's the same kind of guilt you're witnessing in Frank right now, with his brows pulled so tight that a deep ridge has formed between them. He's restless and full of regret, and that's what makes your decision barrel into you. You simply don't want to add the fact of your company to that list for him. If you're going to be here, you might as well be the support he needs.

Nodding somewhat unconvincingly — because you're still dreading this — you copy his actions and discard your backpack and weapon next to his own, at once feeling more uneasy than you have in a long time. The gratitude you can sense in his relaxing posture is a little too much to bear, so you settle for diffusing the tension with a warning.

"If he shoots you, I will leave your ass here."

Frank bites back a reply you can guess almost word for word, but his face tells the story his lips won't: yeah, sure you will. It's comforting to know that he at least trusts you not to abandon him, at the same time that the thought feels heavy considering your history. You owe him in more than one regard, but that's not truly why you wouldn't leave him, even to save yourself. Frank is pretty much the only family you've got left. You didn't have many people in your life to begin with, and he's lost the most important ones to rogue government dealings. The only way you'll be removed from his side is if either he is dead or you are. It's funny, the way you grow attached to someone while living in a shithole bunker and hiding from men who want to kill you.

The sun inches lower as you approach the cabin, gaze firmly set on the windows. It's instinctive to watch them, though you aren't neglecting your surroundings either. Frank calls out towards the house again, taking cautious steps to close the distance. You follow in a mirror of your previous formation, no more than three steps behind him.

The place appears desolate, but the trail of smoke from a minuscule chimney is all the sign of life you need to confirm someone else's recent presence. You're now less than ten feet away from the door, and all of a sudden your muscles go stiff. You scan the trees around you for anything you might have missed, but they are free of threats and as barren as the furnishings you can glimpse inside the cabin when you turn to look over Frank's shoulder. The wet crunch of the leaves beneath your boots is dampened by Frank calling out again.

"C'mon Gunner, it's Frank!"

Once close enough, he takes a peek inside one of the smaller windows to the right, and you take your place at his side so that you both line the wall in the least vulnerable positions. Frank, however, is taking more chances than you think he ought to by looking so unabashedly through the windows on the left side.

"Gunner!"

"Hey—" you whisper, realizing immediately how stupid that is. It's not like you haven't announced your presence plenty. "Frank, get away from the goddamn windows."

"He's a good man. He's not going to shoot me. Right, Gunner?" he says in the same tone and volume, making you turn away so you can roll your eyes in privacy, knowing Frank has a bit of a sore spot for that. It's all you have time to do, anyway, because once you've widened your field of vision, you spot a shape that wasn't there just a minute ago.

It's funny how the body can respond to stimuli before the brain has even processed them, and it's even funnier how it chooses to do things without any input whatsoever from logic or reason. Self-preservation has no business here, is what your body seems to have decided is the working philosophy for today.

Consequently, you're pushing Frank down and out of the way before you even realize you've moved. The pain, for its part, is not without delay either. Your scream echoes through the woods and you register it as if it's not your own, but some distant sound — and then you're looking down at your shoulder and realizing exactly what hit you. It makes sense that it's a carbon arrow, you think, because anything else would've been snapped in two by the force of the compound bow now aimed at you both.

You cry out when Frank's arm winds around you and hauls you to your feet, dragging you behind the nearest wall and out of the line of fire, but not before another arrow embeds itself in the window frame next to his head. He sets you down with more care this time, and though you're a bit out of it, you don't miss the sheer emotion in his face. It goes hand in hand with the lightning-sharp pain filtering through your veins and making reason depart swiftly. It's why your fingers begin to grasp at the arrow's shaft, ready and willing to expel it from your body without hesitation. They're only stopped by Frank's own hand, gently but firmly guiding yours back down to rest on your stomach.

"Gunner, goddamn it—" Frank shouts, so close to you that you can feel the vibration of his rough tone. "You proud of yourself, huh? You just shot an unarmed woman!"

This time, the eye roll is in full view and you want him to see it.

And why is it that I'm unarmed, Frank?

You don't say that, though you want to. There's something in Frank's eyes that tells you his mental state right now is veering towards self-blame, and he's not the one responsible for this outcome. The guns, however— those are his fault.

You're both defenseless.

And just like that, you're suddenly scared. It doesn't creep up on you like usual, where you wait and wait until the signs are clear that the future will hold unpleasant things. This fear is cold and dense like the woods around you. The woods you might die in. A whimper flows past your lips as your eyes go wide.

Frank takes notice in an instant.

"Shh, hey— Look at me, right at me."

His palm has cupped the side of your face, warming it up against the surging chill of the forest and giving you something to fixate on to stave off the ensuing panic. It's too bad you close your eyes so you can fully focus on the texture of his skin, because the jolt that comes in response is none too gentle. Frank is shaking you awake.

"Hey! Don't you do that. You hear? Don't close your eyes. Keep 'em on me. Just focus on me, sweetheart."

You try for reassurance through touch, but this is a mistake, you soon realize. When your hand comes up to brush along Frank's cheek, it's with distant horror that you notice it's your right hand. You are moving your right hand, because that is the only one that you can move without blinding pain.

Which means the arrow has found a home in your left shoulder. Your left shoulder, not far above your heart.

"Frank—"

He can see you looking. He can probably see how terrified you've become.

And he, in turn, becomes terrifying.

The next time he calls out Gunner's name, you don't hear Frank Castle. You only witness his shadow being left behind as the Punisher comes forward. And then you get swallowed by your own shadows.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It's a silly little dream— of that, you're certain. But it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the brush of the soft blanket under you or the gentle carding of fingers through your hair.

The warmth of the air borders on unpleasant, and you might be sweating a little more than you'd want in this scenario, but overall you wouldn't trade it for the world, being here with him. Calm. Unhurried. Ignorant of all discomfort, even as your arm has gone numb from lying on your side, gazing at the fire. Well, maybe occasionally at the fire. Mostly, you're just looking at him.

Tracing the contours of his face with your eyes and wishing your fingers could follow, you take everything in as a light euphoria settles over you. His skin is lit up by the wash of warmth from the fire, each imperfection softened— or perhaps that's your eyes' doing, wistfully hooded and completely unashamed in their observation. It feels like gazing upon him for the first and last time, like you're only truly seeing him now that he might disappear. There's a weight in your chest, neither pleasant nor concerning.

Then, his lips are on your cheek and reality slips away. You forget that this is just a dream the moment his mouth trails over your jaw and down the column of your neck, and your eyes fall blissfully closed. He's touching you everywhere, the reassuring press of his body to yours further melting every muscle and easing every current of something like pain travelling through your chest and down your arm. Absent any willpower, you lose grasp of words that aren't his name and thoughts not curved around this moment. You're as relaxed as you can be.

That's when the screaming begins.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Curtis should really make some kind of declaration soon, or he's going to lose his goddamn mind.

He hasn't said anything the entire time he's been working and— Frank trusts him. He trusts Curt with his life. But it isn't his life on the line right now, and worst of all, it should've been. It should've been him taking that arrow to the chest and bearing it only an inch away from his heart. It should've been him, delirious with sepsis and burning from a killer fever. It always should've been just him in those woods. Only him.

It's his fault. It always is. People always die at his side or because of shit he's done. He always drags them to hell with him, and they never make the journey back together. Only he ever emerges from that blackened pit, crawling out on a bruised soul to fight another day, and the carnage left behind is made up of enemies and loved ones alike.

He's a fucking plague. He's—

"Frank. I need you to focus, brother."

His eyes are wide and gaze distant; he notices that immediately upon Curt's warning, but it's hard to bring his expression under control. It's equally hard to keep his eyes focused, because they will fix themselves upon the only thing in the room that matters and his thoughts will spiral soon thereafter.

Frank's never seen anyone look so frail. He's had comrades die out in the field. He's held onto Curt while the corpsman was in the worst pain of his life — his fucking fault, again — and he's witnessed the worst crimes of humanity against one another. He's perpetrated some of those crimes. Yet everything always happened in the blink of an eye. Everyone he's ever lost, he's lost quickly. In each of the worst moments he's ever lived through, there was none of this waiting, and the hands of the clock didn't spit and curse at him for daring to have hope.

She's been looking worse by the hour. Ever since Curt got here, the medic has had to restrain him from doing something stupid like calling an ambulance. It's a wonder Lieberman managed to make the tough decision and drive them all back here, instead of going to a hospital like Frank demanded. Threatened. Gently asked with his finger on the trigger.

But David was right— it would've been over for them all if they went to an ER. The people that want to kill them would encounter no problems taking out one of their targets while she's unconscious and defenseless in a hospital bed. Frank would be arrested, if not shot on sight. And David would soon follow after them both. So, they're here.

And Frank is still losing his mind as time drags forward and the blood keeps dripping. He keeps an eye on the line between her arm and Lieberman's, delivering the life-saving substance at a pace controlled by Curtis. David's a universal donor, a fact that almost makes Frank believe in some higher power. With odds this stacked against him, it's a miracle he gets this one kindness.

Don't let her die.

The thought startles him briefly, since he meant not to ask. The words manifested from seemingly nowhere, a little echo of them bouncing around his mind. Frank doesn't have any illusions of a higher power granting him leniency, even if one exited. If anything, his mere involvement here, the fact that he cares— might be enough to entice whoever's out there to just deal him another blow, no matter who gets swallowed up in the process.

Either God doesn't exist, or he does and is an asshole. No third way around it, in Frank's view.

An hour passes, then another. Lieberman is recovering on the cot at the edge of the bunker, now with almost a fifth less blood running through his veins. Frank says nothing about how if it was necessary, it could've been more than a fifth. Substantially more— all of it, even. He's not sure Curt would approve of this perspective… murdering a man with a family just so he doesn't lose his again. He'd do it. He would. He'd do anything, he decides on a quiet exhale.

When exactly his heart made the decision to latch on this tightly — both hands, it recalls — he isn't sure and he doesn't care. What's done is done, and boy was it done without his fucking approval. It terrifies more than comforts him, the fact that he is still able to feel like this after everything he's been through. It also frustrates him, despite his best efforts, because he can't seem to let it go. Part of him knows it's because he can't escape it or her, since they're in this together. There's nowhere for him to run, no place to crawl to and wait out these feelings; they're both stuck on the other side of lives they used to have, leaning on each other for support they never ever asked for.

And why in the goddamn hell did she—

A groan. Quiet, almost inaudible to anyone whose ears aren't listening for any sign of pain. His heart jumps, and he's on his feet in less than a second. On the other side of the room, Curt startles.

"Frank—"

He blinks down at her form, eyes flitting over the bandages and blood and fragile skin.

"Frank, come on—"

"Did you give her something?" he grunts, almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. It's rougher than even he is used to.

"What?" Curt asks, taking a few steps closer.

"For the pain. Did you give her anything for it?"

Curt's hesitation is all he needs to see red.

"Her body's working through a lot right now. Painkillers would get swallowed up by everything else running through her system, and we don't have morphine—"

Frank isn't too proud of the look he throws his friend.

"You should've told me. I would've gone—"

"I need you to calm down," Curtis tries, keeping calm for the both of them. Frank, however, isn't having it. He steps into the corpsman's space, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His voice bellows.

"And what does she need? Huh, Curt? If she needs drugs, you tell me. If she needs surgery, you tell me. If I have to take her to a real goddamn doctor, I'll do that! So what is it? What do I gotta do?!"

Frank's rage only ever takes on two forms: the destructive, when he's capable of leveling an entire enemy squadron by himself, and the stifling, when he feels as helpless as humanly possible and will try anything he can to take back control.

Curtis, for his part, doesn't give in to Frank's rage. He holds himself in that same dignified way, eyes too knowing and too kind for the words that were just thrown at him. He's seen Frank in worse states, but back then there was a war raging all around them. This bunker, though dark and decrepit and reeking of blood, is not a war zone; but Curt knows it makes little difference in his friend's mind. He understands. For hours now, Frank has been too close to reliving his worst fear, and his worst fear has always been losing those he loves. A sigh blows past Curt's lips, and then he takes a deep breath.

"Listen—"

"…s'ole."

Both their heads turn to look at the source of the faint sound, though only one of the men crosses the room in two seconds flat, argument completely forgotten. Frank leans over the makeshift bed, shoulders tense as she displays early signs of consciousness. It's like he's restless and rigid at the same time, his body a taut wire about to snap. Curt sighs again. Watching Frank like this isn't easy, but it's also not the worst thing in the world. If only it would get him to realize what everyone else is seeing, but Curt knows his friend is too stubborn for that.

"What is it?" Frank whispers, lightly caressing her cheek with a trembling finger.

Curt sees her lips move, but no sound comes out.

"C'mon sweetheart, what's wrong?"

It's almost sweet, in a way. If her state weren't so delicate, it would be almost endearing — the small touches, his protective stance over her form. The way Frank leans closer, making sure she doesn't have to strain in order to get her message across.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"… Asshole."

It's only quiet for a moment.

And then David laughs until Curtis is sure he hears something pop in the man's neck.

.

.

A/N: This was supposed to be a short and sweet oneshot. It was, of course, never going to be that. I felt bad abandoning it, though, so here you go. Not my best work, but I do love this idea. Let me know if you'd like an update from her perspective regarding what happens after! Thank you for reading and please know that I always love to read your comments.

[magicshopaholic]

Other People (Seokjin x OC)

Summary: You learn a new trick, while Seokjin discovers something unexpected at Big Hit.

Pairing: Seokjin x OC

Genre: Best friends; angst

Word count: 8.5 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, mention of diets, mentions of brain surgery, mentions of a car accident (again, Nari is a surgeon, so)

A/N: This got unnecessarily long; I would apologise for it, but I couldn't find a single thing I wanted to delete. It's also two am so I've made an executive decision to not proofread this. I wish I could predict the reaction to this fic but I honestly have no idea. Takes place approximately three months after The Test.

Tagging:  @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @purpleseoul7 @kflixnet (italics could not be tagged; drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: "don't know why" by norah jones

seokjin masterlist | main masterlist

It’s cold and rainy in Seoul, even when it shouldn’t be. 

The day had started off as a nice sunny winter morning in November, the sun a soft golden, a welcome respite from the low temperature. As noon arrived, so did the clouds. By late afternoon, they were grey and ample, sealing the city in a coffin.

Now, the evening doesn’t look at all like it’s continued from the same morning. The rain comes down in torrents, creating a constant din, loud enough for people to have to speak in slightly raised voices to be heard properly. 

Nari stands outside the ER with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. The coffee is losing its heat with every passing second and she tries to gulp it down as fast as she can without burning her tongue in the process.

“What do we have?” Daeun appears from behind her, tying her hair into a ponytail, trauma gown already on.

“Two cars crashed into each other outside the mall,” supplies Nari. “Five victims, multiple contusions, broken bones and at least one head trauma. Coffee?”

Daeun accepts the cup with a nod and takes a noisy sip. “Ah, that’s good stuff. Shit, the rain is bad. I don’t think this will be our only car accident today.”

“Not even close,” mutters Nari, as two more fellow doctors join them. “I just hope we have the room.”

“We don’t,” says Jason, shifting from one foot to another. “Two of the trauma rooms are still unusable from the pipe leakage and the most of the X-ray machines are done after the Wednesday Soccer Team Incident. We have exactly one CT machine in working condition. The hospital is going to have to scrape money off the sidewalk to pay for all those repairs,” he adds, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Good thing they’re hosting a fundraiser then,” says Daeun dryly, just as the ambulance pulls in and the paramedics spill out. “A bunch of rich donors with their cheque books hanging out of their pockets - if that doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.”

Two patients, strapped to a gurney each are then lowered out of the ambulance. All four of them dash forward and tag themselves to a patient, hurrying inside as they listen to the paramedics rattle off their initial assessment and vitals on the field. Nari finds herself next to a woman, possibly in her thirties, with fresh cuts on her face and arms. Her t-shirt is drenched and her jacket has been ripped off, most likely by the paramedics themselves.

“Abdomen is tender so there might be internal bleeding,” says one of the paramedics. “There was no fire but there’s indication that she might have a swollen airway because of the fumes.”

“Alright, we need to get a CT,” says Nari, scanning the ER for an empty trauma room but finding none. “Damn it,” she mutters. “Okay, we’re going to have to keep her here - maybe we can use an ultrasound for now until we can move her.”

“Empty bed over here.” Jason steers the gurney over and immediately hooks the patient up to an IV. “I’ll get the portable ultrasound.”

“I’ll check her airway.” Nari gets to work immediately, trying to intubate the patient, who seems to have passed out entirely. She’s almost done when Jason returns, a nurse and the portable ultrasound machine in tow.

“This better work,” he mutters to her as the nurse begins positioning the patient correctly. “If we can’t find the bleed on this, we’re going to have to get in line for CT, which will take… hours.”

“Here’s hoping,” she agrees, standing back and observing the screen as he moves the transducer over the patient’s abdomen. She sighs and bites her lip when the image comes up clean. “Nothing. Move it to the left?”

Jason obliges, clicking his tongue. “I can’t believe the hospital doesn’t have a budget set aside to fix this stuff. This is a hospital,” he repeats, sounding appropriately frustrated. “Damn it, this bleed is really small. It’s barely showing up on the scan.”

“It has to be there. Here, let me try,” she offers, taking the transducer from him and moving it slower along the woman’s torso. “Do we all have to actually go to this fundraising thing, though? Can’t we skip?”

Jason scoffs. “It’s either dress up and smile at a bunch of rich people or stay here in the ER all night because all the attendings will be at the event. We’re not going to get a night off. The best we can do is make sure we’re all there so we at least have someone to talk to.”

It takes a second to click. “Shit, that’s it.” 

“What is? Did you find the bleed?”

“What? No. Sorry,” she mutters, going back to the ultrasound, feeling an encouraging flutter in her stomach. I didn’t find the bleed, she thinks apologetically. I found a segue.

—

It’s hours later when Nari finally gets a moment alone. Sitting at a table in the residents’ locker room, a sandwich in one hand and her phone in the other, she stares at her last chat with Seokjin. It’s a depressing series of heys and what’s ups and not muches, which is all it’s been for months now, ever since they’d last seen each other in August.

It started with superficial questions and forced conversation, half-hearted plans to meet before he had to leave for Europe again, until they dwindled down to monosyllabic answers that Nari found herself too humiliated to keep going, for more than one reason.

For one, it didn’t help her newfound insecurity of being a clingy friend, especially to a man who had made perfectly clear that he didn’t see her as anything but a friend. On top of that, she had no way of knowing what he was thinking. He wasn’t angry; she knew what Seokjin was like when he was angry and if he truly was, she would know. 

No, he wasn’t angry. He was… distant. Part of it could’ve been that he was busy, completing an entire promotional activity across Europe. But now that he’s back from their last stop in Japan, Nari knows that they have to get back on track. Being her date to a fundraiser isn’t her top pick, but it might just be the right balance between an organized event where he can’t ignore her and a public enough place that they won’t have to be alone at any point. Besides, if it doesn’t happen now, between his stint in Europe and his tour beginning early next year, she has a sinking feeling that their relationship will stagnate right here.  

She swallows, her heart racing slightly. It’s the middle of the night; Seokjin is most likely asleep, which gives her a great excuse to text and not call. 

Nari [01:11]

Hey.

She sends it before she loses her nerve, the soft whoosh sounding awfully final. Her stomach tugs uncomfortably with anxiety that she’s only recently started to associate with Seokjin, a strange and new feeling of not being able to expect what’s coming. 

She continues staring dementedly at the phone, its screen dark, until she finishes the entire sandwich. 

“It’s the middle of the fucking night, Nari,” she mutters to herself, standing up with a groan and stretching. There’s no point wasting her night worrying when she’s probably not going to get a response until tomorrow. She changes out of her scrubs and runs a hand through her unwashed hair, counting herself lucky that she can get a good six hours of sleep before she has to return in the morning.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle now; despite the cold, Nari tilts her head to the sky slightly, welcoming the fresh air. She runs her hands through her hair again, feeling the droplets cooling her scalp as her hair falls around her shoulders in clumpy strands. She doesn’t even make it past the entrance when she feels the unmistakable vibration of her phone in her bag, touching her hip. 

Nari freezes. This is unprecedented; Seokjin is never awake this late. Fishing out her phone, she lets out a low breath when she sees a message from him. She can ignore it, to be sure, and deal with it tomorrow morning - but then she would come off as a coward. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s ridiculously late, maybe it’s the fact that she just spent a better part of the evening fixing a bleed in a person’s abdomen - but the inner voice in her head simply sighs tiredly and goes it’s just Seokjin, prompting her to shake her head and open his message.

Kimbap [01:35]

Hey.

It’s anticlimactic, for sure, but still unexpected. Nari takes a seat on a bench near the parking lot and wipes the droplets off her screen with the sleeve of her jacket, hoping this isn’t going to be another one of their pointless conversations.

But he replied, didn’t he?

He did. Even though it’s the middle of the night. Encouraged, she responds.

Nari [01:39]

Didn’t expect you to be awake.

Kimbap [01:40]

We’re watching a movie at the dorm.

Nari [01:40]

Oh. Which one?

Kimbap [01:41]

Hereditary. I hate it.

Nari [01:41]

Jesus. Then why are you still watching it?

Kimbap [01:41]

There’s a bet and Jungkook is involved. It’s a long story.

Nari’s immediate response of I have time gets backspaced instantly. The honest truth is that she doesn’t have time and he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. She can’t be sure how well a joke will land right now but she also knows that she needs to respond fast or this is doomed to be another one of their hopeless attempts at a conversation.

All of a sudden, her phone rings and Nari almost drops it. It’s Seokjin, his name blinking bright on the screen. Now fully panicking - because this was not part of the plan - Nari looks around wildly around the empty parking lot, as though hoping for someone to spring out of the bushes and tell her what to do.

The phone is still ringing. Before she realises what’s happening, her thumb does an awkward sort of spasm and lands on the screen, answering the call.

Here goes nothing, she thinks. “Um, h-hello?” she stutters.

“Hey.” 

It’s like a football being kicked into her ribcage from the inside. Nari winces, wondering when her anxiety got this severe, to the point where her best friend’s voice is starting to cause her physical comfort. She leans back on the bench and tries to breathe slowly.

“Aren’t you, um, watching a movie?”

“Yeah. But if I’m on the phone, I have a decent excuse to get out of it.”

Oh. Nari feels her shoulders deflate. “Glad to be of help,” she murmurs, chuckling awkwardly. “How - how are you? Are you in Seoul?”

“Yeah, I am. Busy, though,” he adds quickly. “The album’s coming out in a week, so there’s a lot of work going on for it.”

“Right. Of course. How’s that going?”

“It’s fine. Hectic, as per usual. What about you?” he asks after a moment. “How’s the hospital, and the… surgeries and stuff?”

“Same. I mean, hectic. As usual.” Nari closes her eyes and feels her heart sink at the sheer effort this conversation is taking. She can’t begin to think about how they got here and it seems way too exhausting to even try.

“You sound tired.” Seokjin pauses, the sentence sounding incomplete. “Have you - I mean, are you still at the hospital?”

“Going home now. I just got a sandwich at the cafeteria,” she adds, hoping she’s guessed his half-question right. 

“Now? I thought you hated the night cafeteria.”

“I do, but it beats the vending machine crap. Have to make do when the jajjangmyeon isn’t an option,” she jokes, bracing herself for his response.

But all he does is chuckle half-heartedly. “Yeah. What’s up? You texted?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Nari had barely worked up the nerve to text him about the fundraiser; asking him over the phone was a whole different ball game. “I was just thinking…” She trails off, her eyes widening as her vocal chords stay unwilling to go further.

“M-hm?”

Pull yourself together, woman.

“I was thinking that… we haven’t hung out in a while,” she ventures bravely, her knee jerking up and down. “And there’s a - there’s a thing later this week, so… that could be… you know.” She swallows, wishing Jason hadn’t put this stupid idea in her head in the first place. “... If you want,” she finishes lamely.

Seokjin is silent for a few seconds, during which Nari goes from anticipation to full-blown horror. “I’m sorry, are you - are you inviting me to something?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Um, kind of?”

“Like a party?”

“Well, no. Not a fun one,” she says wryly. “It’s a - there’s a fundraiser. And I have to go and… yeah, I was wondering if maybe you do, too. Since we haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Fundraiser, huh?” He doesn’t sound enthused at all. “Like, for charity? Wait, who’s the charity?”

“We are the charity,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “The hospital. Which means it’s just going to be all board members and senior doctors and other board members - and us. The residents.”

“Huh. Way to make it sound appealing, Nari.”

“It’s not appealing, at all. But it’s free food and booze and I get a chance to get out of my scrubs,” she points out. “Nice dress, straightened hair. And you’ll have to wear a suit,” she adds apologetically. 

“Right.” There’s a soft sound and Nari realises a moment later that he’s laughing quietly. It makes her stomach feel uncomfortably heavy. 

“What?” she asks, a bit defensively.

“Nothing,” he says, still chuckling. “We haven’t hung out in a while, so your idea was to do so at a… boring work event?”

Nari is quiet for a moment. The fact that he laughed is still prickling. “Well, I’d be open to other suggestions but you haven’t really had the time,” she can’t resist saying. “I work long hours; I don’t really get a lot of other opportunities to go out.”

“Yeah, Nari, I work long hours, too,” he reminds her, sounding irritatingly calm. “But if it’s either that or a hospital charity fundraising event filled with doctors… I think I’ll pick the long hours.” He chuckles again.

You’re a fucking idiot, Nari.

“Got it. See you around, Seokjin.”

“Nari, come on, I was joking -”

His words get cut off when she hangs up, fuming. She puts her phone on silent then, for good measure, and begins storming home in the cold. She won’t respond to any of his calls or messages tonight, the arse, she thinks. But fate must be on her side, for even after she gets home, changes and gets into bed, Seokjin doesn’t call or message.

—

Seokjin reaches the Big Hit building earlier than required. There’s no one in the rehearsal room yet, not even Hoseok, so he decides to get a much needed shot of caffeine from the cafeteria on the fourteenth floor. As he waits in line, he scans the food menu, each item like a gourmet creation.

Have to make do when the jajjangmyeon isn’t an option.

Seokjin sighs and tries not to think about what Nari had for dinner last night, but by the time his coffee is handed to him, he knows he’s a goner. It had taken him every ounce of restraint to not reach out to her again last night, knowing that no good would come of it. But now, in the light of day, he knows he can’t avoid it any longer. 

He calls her before he can talk himself out of it. Looking out at the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows and sipping his coffee, he hears her phone ring continuously until it goes to voicemail. He tries not to read too much into it; she’s probably already at work and she rarely answers unless she’s taking a break. It’s better than the other option; the feeling of Nari being angry with him is too foreign for him to consider right now.

He dials her number again to be certain and when it once again goes to voicemail, he clears his throat and takes another sip of coffee for liquid courage.

“Hey, Nari,” he begins, then sighs. “Look, I’m sorry if I was a bit of a dick last night. You just caught me off guard. Honestly, I… I didn’t think you really wanted to hang out with me so when you said you did, it just kind of threw me. And your event does sound boring,” he adds, hoping she hears the teasing in his voice, “but I’ll be there anyway. Suit and everything. I want to hang out with you, too,” he says after a moment, knowing the words don’t even begin to explain the magnitude of how much he wants to see her again, how hard it’s been to distance himself since the last time he saw her. “So… yeah. Text me the details.”

He should be saying something more but he can’t think what. As he looks around, hoping the words will come to him, he spots a figure just outside the cafeteria doors and does a double take. His mind runs through a myriad of memories to zero in on the right one, when he remembers he’s still on the phone.

“Anyway, I have to go. Bye.” Locking his phone and heading out towards the figure, Seokjin pushes his shoulders back and hopes he isn’t wrong. She’s in a slim navy blazer, skinny jeans and very high heels, a sleek laptop tucked under one arm and her fingers flying across the keypad of a Blackberry.

He taps her shoulder with a feather-light touch. “Um, hi? I think I have something that belongs to you?”

When she turns around, face carefully blank, Seokjin is momentarily sure of two things: one, that she is exactly who he thought she was, and two, that her lack of expression can only mean that she doesn’t remember him.

“You do?” A moment later, her perfectly lined lips tilt upwards slightly. “That’s right. What was it again?”

“Um…” Seokjin licks his lips, glad that he didn’t just go up to a random stranger and interrupt her in the middle of what seems to be a very long email. “I think it was a collectible of some kind? Very glamorous. Had a name on the inside?”

Her smile widens. “Do you remember what it was?”

Seokjin gulps but keeps his face still. “Of course. It was… Seulgi.” The relief at her nod is unexpected. “You think I’d forget the person that saved my hand that night? How would I ever hold a mic otherwise? My career might have been over!”

Seulgi laugh, a nice, low laugh. Her teeth are perfectly lined and perfectly white, shining against light bronze skin without a single pore. Her hair is long, straight and black, not a strand out of place. She looks like she belongs on a pamphlet for corporate employees.

Which reminds him.

“Do you - do you actually work here?” he asks. “In Big Hit?”

“Yeah,” she answers, looking only very slightly apologetic. “I thought I recognised you that night as well but I couldn’t be sure. I only just moved to the Marketing team. Sorry.”

“Uh, no, don’t be.” Seokjiin shakes his head. “It’s good to see you. And now I can return the wrist brace to you, too! This is great.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. I told you, I have a bunch of them,” she reminds him, raising her left hand slightly. From under the sleeve of her blazer, a navy blue brace, just like the purple one she’d lent him, peaks out. 

“No, no, I should,” he says anyway, shaking his head and glancing at the clock on his phone. There’s a message on his notification tray… “It’s back in my…” He wracks his brain, “... uh, flight. Which I took. The day after you lent me the brace.” He drops his face in his hands when she laughs again, low and husky.

“It’s really okay,” she says, touching his arm before taking a step back. “I actually do have a lot of them. And maybe they’ll help out some other poor soul who’s hurt his wrist.”

“That’s the hope,” he agrees, knowing his ears are reddening. “Man, I really wish I’d known you worked here. I would’ve… I don’t know. Broken the news about losing your brace sooner, for starters.”

“The loss would’ve been easier,” she agrees.

Seokjin bites his lip, preparing to let the awkwardness wash over him but it doesn’t. Seulgi’s warm, despite her appearance suggesting she’s about to walk into a room and fire a dozen people. 

“I feel really guilty, though,” he repeats after a moment. “Can I - I don’t know… buy you a coffee? It’s no collector’s edition wrist brace, but still?”

“Oh, that actually sounds good,” she replies, and for a moment his heart skips a beat of relief, “but the line seems long and I have a meeting.” She holds her Blackberry up apologetically. 

For the first time, Seokjin notices a Galaxy in her other hand – a personal cell and a work cell. She’s core corporate, he realises, possibly senior management. He doesn’t know why, but it’s slightly intimidating.

“Oh. Oh, okay. Sure.” He nods as she moves past him. “It was good to see you, though.”

“Yeah, you, too. Glad your wrist is better.” With a quick wave, she heads down the corridor and disappears from view.

Seokjin watches her leave, still cringing somewhat over the wrist brace he hasn’t thought about in months. She’d been the only person that night he’d had a normal conversation with - somehow, this doesn’t seem like the best way to show his gratitude.

It’s time to head for practice, anyway. As he steps into the elevator, he opens his messages and breathes a sigh of relief. 

Nari [09:14]

[Location]

Nari [09:14]

Friday, 7 pm

—

It’s hours later when they’re finally done with practice. All seven of them, a choreographer and a couple camerapersons are the only ones left. Jimin and Jungkook are still standing, going over their portion of the choreography as Hoseok watches, even though they look like they might collapse any second. Taehyung is spread-eagled on the floor, his bowl hat on his face. Yoongi is sitting in one corner of the room, staring into nothing.

Seokjin feels too tired to move, every single muscle aching. He leans back against the mirror and tries to catch his breath. Next to him, Namjoon is lying on the floor and texting. Seokjin catches a couple of words and immediately looks away; It seems to be in English, so it’s a fairly easy guess who the other person is.

“Any plans tonight, hyung?” Yoongi trudges over and tumbles down on his other side, crossing his legs.

“Not a one,” answers Seokjin. “In fact, I don’t think I’ll be getting out of bed for a while so if you need anything, I’ll respond to you in two to five business days.”

“You need to be at the studio tomorrow morning.”

There’s a pause. “Fine, but apart from that,” he amends, wagging his finger in Yoongi’s face, “two to five business days.”

“There’s also the interview on Friday.”

“Damn it, Yoongi,” groans Seokjin, glaring at him. “Fine, but that’s the last one. I have plans to vegetate all weekend in my apartment,” he informs him, knowing that there’s no way he'll get the entire weekend off, but needing to put across the point, “so just… don’t ruin it for me.” He watches Yoongi make a motion that might be a chuckle and rolls his eyes. “And besides, the interview is on Thursday. So my weekend begins on Friday.”

“The interview is on Friday,” says Yoongi calmly.

“No, it’s not. It’s Thursday. The twenty-fourth.”

“Thursday is the twenty-third.”

“No,” repeats Seokjin, feeling his pulse start to race, “it - it was always on Thursday.”

“No, it’s Friday,” pipes up Namjoon from his other side, not looking away from his phone.

And thus, Seokjin is left to spend the rest of the day in a growing pit of guilt, knowing that he’s going to have to disappoint Nari yet again - this time, completely unintentionally.

Her hesitation last night had not gone unnoticed by him. It was hard to hear but equally hard to respond to, and Seokjin half-hoped that she would find it too hard to go through with actually inviting him somewhere and drop the idea altogether. 

But she persisted and while it made Seokjin profusely glad that she still cared, it also meant that he would have to find a way to face her after avoiding her for months.

It doesn’t feel nearly as easy as it sounds, for Seokjin has absolutely no idea what to expect when it comes to Nari now. Part of him still feels guilty for lying to her the day after the wedding; her question had taken him completely off guard and lying about his feelings was the only way he’d been able to think of to avoid the situation getting worse.

It was a mess already but somehow, twenty-four hours later, it was So Much Worse. Somehow, Nari had come to him with a problem he couldn’t ignore. Somehow, he suddenly had to reevaluate his entire life with her in it, and somehow, in less than a day, his short-lived future with Nari as the mother of his child and best friend for life had been created and shattered.

It was hard to think of, and so much harder to talk to Nari about. Seokjin had been on the verge, dozens of times, of just breaking the ice and chatting with his best friend while he sat in cold European towns and watched Taehyung get his heart broken over and over again by Dilara Komyshan.

At least we’re not that bad yet, he’d tried to tell himself. He wanted to tell her, too, that they weren’t that bad, that they were okay, that he just needed some time. But the thought of confessing his surreal daydream, of irretrievably changing their friendship felt like too much of a responsibility - especially if she didn’t respond well. Avoiding her sucked, but it beat being around her with nothing to say.

Still, saying no to her outright, when she’d asked him point blank to accompany him to something was too hard. The fundraiser thing did sound boring, but he wanted to see her, too, so badly. It felt like a missing limb, not being able to talk to her. 

Nice dress, straightened hair. And he would have to be in a suit. He shudders when he remembers what happened the last time she was in a nice dress and he was in a suit. 

“Namjoon.” Seokjin jogs over to the leader as they’re heading out of the building to their cars in the basement. “About this press conference on Friday.”

“Yeah?” 

Seokjin hesitates, already sensing a no-nonsense mood. It hasn’t been the best day for Namjoon; the choreography was a complicated one, he was having to negotiate schedules all day, and if he’s not mistaken, he and Kaya have definitely been having some disagreement all day.

“About this press conference on Thursday -”

“Friday.”

“- I was - yes, Friday -” Seokjin clears his throat. “How important would you say it is for all of us to show up, on a scale of one to… Grammys?”

Namjoon stares. “At least VMAs.”

Seokjin nods seriously, even though it doesn’t help him in the least. “Okay,” he says, changing tacks, “how long do you think it’ll go on?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Namjoon sighs, scrolling through some document on his phone. “It should be done by six, but there’s a sponsors’ dinner after that - but that won’t be filmed so maybe we can leave early… of course, we’ll need to let management know so they have an exit plan…” He shakes his head and continues muttering under his breath.

“Okay, sure,” interrupts Seokjin, sensing that Namjoon is starting to lose the plot. “But what time do you think the event will actually end? Because I have to be somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Uh… a thing. With Nari,” he adds shortly. To his relief, Namjoon simply raises his eyebrows but doesn’t probe.

“I - I don’t know, hyung,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. It’s definitely a fight with Kaya. “We won’t know until we get there. Depends on the sponsors. If it helps, it’s happening right here, in this building.”

It does help, a bit, for the location is closer to the Big Hit building than the hospital is. Still, it could be better.

“Look, I just need to tell Nari if I can make it or not,” he says, no longer beating around the bush. “I don’t want to make her a promise I can’t keep.”

Namjoon licks his lips slowly and nods. “I think you’ve been in this business long enough to know the answer to that, hyung,” he says cryptically, patting his shoulder and walking away.

“What the hell does that mean?” Seokjin demands, but Namjoon just shrugs and continues walking away. 

He does know what it means, though. But you’re a coward, Kim Seokjin, says the voice inside his head, sounding like Nari’s, as he prepares to text her later that night rather than call, knowing (and somewhat hoping) that she’ll be too busy to answer right away.

Seokjin [20:11]

I have some not so great news.

To his horror, she replies almost immediately.

Nari [20:13]

Bring it.

Seokjin [20:13]

Promise you won’t get mad?

Nari [20:14]

I’m two beers and a tequila shot down. This would be the right time to give me some not so great news.

Seokjin pauses. She’s drinking, which means she got off work at a reasonable time tonight. He should be glad about that, for her, but he can’t figure out what is also bothering him about it.

Seokjin [20:16]

Oh? No surgeries?

Nari [20:16]

Nope, I’m not on call tonight. I was going to go home and crash but the others convinced me to have a drink first.

Seokjin [20:17]

Sounds like more than a drink.

Nari [20:18]

I may have gotten carried away, but zero regrets. 

Seokjin [20:18]

Do you have a ride home?

Nari [20:19]

I live half a block away from the hospital. I’m sure most of these guys will crash at my place when they’re too trashed to get home.

Seokjin [20:19]

Are you sure?

Nari [20:20]

Yes. You don’t have to worry about me, you know.

She’s drunk; her transparency makes that clear. This may be the best or the worst time to give her the news, but Seokjin doesn’t think he can continue worrying about this for the rest of the night.

Seokjin [20:21]

Okay. Look, I need to talk to you about Friday.

Nari [20:21]

Something came up and you don’t think you can make it?

Seokjin’s heart jerks. He may not have met Nari much over the last few months, but he still knows her well enough to tell when she’s reaching the end of her tether.

Seokjin [20:22]

It’s a press thing. I can’t miss it.

Nari [20:23]

Of course. Unfortunate that you found out about it only today.

Seokjin [20:23]

No, it’s not that. I actually forgot. I thought it was on Thursday but it turns out it’s actually Friday. It’s my fault - I mixed up the days.

Nari [20:24]

Of course. Some other time, I guess.

Seokjin can picture her scoff, locking her phone and placing it on a bar table, screen down. He scrambles.

Seokjin [20:25]

I’m just saying I’ll be a little late.

Nari [20:25]

Late? Are you sure?

Seokjin [20:26]

Yeah. I don’t know how late but I’ll be there. I’ll try my best anyway.

Nari [20:26]

I’m sure you will.

This time, her status goes from “online” to “offline” and he knows she’s gone. This is a side of Nari he hasn’t seen in years: snide and sarcastic. It’s incredibly rare, requires a mix of things to be going wrong in her life, and has never, ever been directed at him.

Seokjin feels squeamish and guilty and helpless all at once - but he’s also beginning to get mildly annoyed. He’s determined to show up now, if for nothing else than to prove her wrong. 

Take that, Nari. He pictures showing up at the event, jogging up the stairs and bursting into a hall filled with white-haired individuals in conservative finery. Nari, in the same leaf-green bridesmaid’s dress with strappy high heels, would be at the end of the hall at the bar, looking victorious at the assumption that he hasn’t shown. The crowd would part then and she would turn, the satisfied smirk fading at the sight of him, late and panting - but there.

The next moment, Seokjin cringes at this ridiculous fantasy. Even the imaginary voice in his head that sounds a bit like Nari snickers. 

—

Nari fingers the strap of her dress nervously, feeling rather odd at being this dressed up around people who only ever see her in scrubs. Most of the other doctors seem to be feeling similarly, though, and she tries to coach herself to remember that they’re still the same people - just wearing make-up and cologne.

“Hey,” comes Jason’s voice from behind her, and she turns, glad to see someone she knows. “You - wow, you look amazing.”

“Really?” Nari asks quickly, smoothing down her dress. It’s long and plain black, nothing fancy, with a thin necklace and the only strappy high heels she owns. “It’s not too low cut?”

“Um -” Jason frowns and immediately looks away. “I - I don’t know. It looks - I mean, I didn’t -” He stutters in confusion, his gaze darting around in panic. “I don’t - I mean, should I look?”

“What? No, of course not.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“This,” she says, referring to nothing in particular. “The dress and the hair and the - the make-up. I don’t do it very often.” Looking up to see him still deliberately looking away, she slaps his shoulder. “Damn it, Jace, you can look at me now.”

“Oh.” He makes a big show of slowly moving his gaze towards her, grinning when she chuckles begrudgingly. “Don’t worry, dude. You look great.”

“Thanks. You, too, by the way,” she says honestly, noting the suit and the neatly brushed hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your jaw this smooth,” she remarks, turning his chin slightly.

“A last minute shave in the residents’ locker room changed the game.” Jason rubs his jaw and winces slightly. “Should I be concerned about my skills as a surgeon that I cut myself in two different places while doing it?”

Nari laughs, feeling slightly less nervous. “Not unless you’re the patient. Also, where the hell is everybody else?”

“Oh, Daeun got pulled into surgery - her motorcycle guy ruptured his spleen,” he answers, gesturing to the bartender. “She said she’d be back if it got over in time. Hyeri had to monitor her valve replacement lady to see if she’ll make it through the night. Oh, and Eunji is over there,” he adds, pointing to the other end of the hall.

Nari squints in the direction he’s pointing. “Who’s that she’s with?” 

“Her boyfriend, probably.” Jason shrugs as the bartender comes over. “A chaebol type, from what I can tell. Hey. you want a drink?”

“Uh, sure. Beer. Wait, can we have beer?” She frowns.

“I don’t know. Not fancy enough, is it?”

“We don’t have beer,” volunteers the bartender.

“Right,” says Nari. “In that case, I will have a glass of your strongest… whatever is strongest.”

Jason nods seriously. “Two of those. Thank you.”

The bartender raises an eyebrow but nods anyway, going back to mix their drinks. 

“So… it’s just you and me?” She leans back against the bar and scans the room. “Wait, do you have a date coming, too?”

“What?” Jason wrinkles his nose. “No. I’ve been on a neuro rotation all week - I haven’t had time to breathe, forget about looking for a date. You?”

“Have I had time to breathe?”

“Do you have a date.”

“Right.” Nari bites her lip. “Not exactly. I mean, I - I invited a friend. Seokjin - you met him, remember?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jason nods as their drinks arrive and they automatically pick theirs up. “Cheers. So why isn’t he a date?”

“Because he’s a friend.” As she says it, a terrifying possibility occurs to her: could Seokjin actually think this is a date? It would explain his random excuse to arrive “late” - if he does at all.

“He is? Really?” He looks mildly curious. “Because that night at Hyeri’s - I could’ve sworn he had a thing for you.”

Nari’s heart skips a beat. “You’re not the first person to think that,” she mutters into her glass, taking a stinging sip of what tastes like scotch. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

“It’s strong,” he remarks. “But I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, the painful humiliation of that moment after the wedding seeping into her body again. “Just… he doesn’t. Have a thing for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really? I mean, because it seemed like -”

“Jason,” she interrupts him, needing this conversation to end. “He doesn’t. Believe me. I’m completely sure.”

For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something else but then seems to think the better of it. Nari is thankful; reliving that moment is bad enough, but her mind is now also preoccupied with the possibility that Seokjin might be avoiding coming tonight because he thinks she’s asked him on a date - and because he’s nice and can’t reject her outright twice, he’s having to resort to half-hearted lies and work excuses.

It’s a grim thought. She and Seokjin haven’t spoken since he told her he’d try to make it - and she’d been less than gracious about it. It was the alcohol, she’d reasoned the next morning, and despite the annoyance with his flimsy attempts at avoiding her, she’d dropped him a cursory Seriously, don’t worry about it. She’d waited just long enough to get a I’ll still try my best, and tried not to think about it since.

Nari takes another sip of her disgusting drink, not sure which is worse - if he shows or if he doesn’t.

—

“There he is. Jerk.”

Seokjin’s ears perk up at Taehyung’s quiet snarl. He follows the younger member’s gaze and feels his mouth twist as well when he spots the one journalist who had pestered them relentlessly with questions, each one more backhanded than the previous one, ranging from their solo ambitions to accusations of plagiarism.

“Where’s Namjoon?” he mutters, looking around. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t run into that guy without other guests around. Or witnesses,” he adds.

“He’s over by the water,” supplies Jungkook. “I think he’s talking to one of the sponsors.”

“Let’s keep an eye on him, then,” says Yoongi dryly. “Just in case he decides to do something drastic, like get into a logically structured argument.”

Seokjin half-chuckles. He does want Namjoon to come over, partly to keep an eye on him but mostly to check when he can leave. He checks his phone; it’s almost eight. As much as Nari’s last message, days ago, hadn’t seemed at all confident that he would make it, it only made him more determined to show up.

Namjoon doesn’t come over, though. Eventually, Seokjin joins him, hoping to get a moment of his time between guests.

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggests, after another one of the sponsors leave and Namjoon’s well-practiced public smile fades. “Eat something? Or even have a drink?”

Namjoon smiles wearily. “Thanks, hyung. Maybe later.” He runs a hand over his face. “God, I can’t wait to get out of here. Zoom date with Kaya,” he adds, answering Seokjin’s silent question.

“Then we should leave now,” he says immediately, jumping at the opportunity. “Or you’ll just get even more tired and you’ll have to cancel on Kaya.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the only thing I’ve been looking forward to all day,” he replies, shaking his head. “There’s no way I’m cancelling.”

Seokjin responds to this with a grimace; while he would ordinarily find it sweet, right now, this blatant happiness is just annoying. He tries to think of another line of reasoning that could convince Namjoon to bounce, but before he can, two middle-aged people, one man and one woman, join them.

There’s some initial greeting; Seokjin gets through it robotically while Namjoon goes from tired to charming in a microsecond. The topic predictability begins with the press conference that just took place, followed by both guests praising Namjoon for his wonderful answers that he receives with respectful gratitude.

“I’m sorry you all have to stay for the dinner,” the woman says to Seokjin while the other two speak about something else. “You’re so young; I’m sure you all have other plans tonight.”

Lady, you have no idea. But he forces a smile on his face. “We’re happy to be here. Besides, if I’m lucky,” he adds hopefully after a moment, “my plans might still be there after this.”

“Oh?” The lady seems most interested. “A fancy party you need to get to?”

“Something like that. I have to meet someone at an event.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No,” he answers hastily. “Just a friend. It’s a work thing at the hospital she works. She’s a doctor,” he adds for good measure.

To his surprise, the lady nods. “Oh, I know that. It’s a fundraiser, right? Seoul National Hospital?” When Seokjin raises his eyebrows and nods, she smiles in acknowledgement. “I have a couple of friends there, too. Those doctors do such good work - pity they don’t have the money to continue their work in peace. Your friend is smart, though,” she says after a moment, patting Seokjin’s shoulder with a knowing look, “inviting a BTS member to the event.”

Seokjin doesn’t immediately understand. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, they need the money, don’t they?” She chuckles, sounding almost impressed. “Not a lot of people have the contacts to bring in someone like BTS to be a donor.”

Something drops in his stomach. “Oh, I - I think you’ve misunderstood. She’s my friend and we - we haven’t met in a long time because we’ve both been very busy. It’s not a - I mean, I’m not a - a donor.”

The lady looks confused for a moment. “Oh. My apologies. It just seemed like a smart thing to do, you know?”

Seokjin swallows. “Sure,” he says shortly. “But, uh… it’s not like that.” He nods to himself, knowing he’s right. “Nari would never do that.”

—

Nari shuffles through the crowd to where she can see Jason with Eunji and her boyfriend, taking care not to trip in her heels. She sees them turn and spot her as she gets close, but she doesn’t have time for pleasantries.

“Incoming,” she states. All of their eyes dart up and behind her; Eunji is the first one to notice.

“Damn it. Come on, babe,” she commands her partner, taking his hand and setting off. “Let’s go dance before he gets us.” In a flash of a second, they’re both gone.

“Okay, it’s our turn,” she says hurriedly to Jason, placing her drink on the bar and gathering her long dress in her hand. “If Dr Jung gets hold of us, it’s going to be a repeat of the mixer.”

Jason grimaces. “Oh, God. You mean when he tried to recruit each of us one by one by using his holiday calendar as a selling point?”

“That’s the one. Come on, he’s already seen me, but maybe we can still make a break for it!” she whispers dramatically, getting ready to go but stopping when he grabs her wrist.

“It’s too late,” he says gravely. “We’re going to need another plan. Tell me about your craniotomy today.”

“I - what?” Nari’s eyes widen. “Did you not hear me?”

“I did. Now talk to me about something medical,” he instructs. “And make it seem like there’s a problem - like, just talk urgently. Come on,” he urges, shaking her wrist.

“Um - okay, uh, the patient came in with migraines and was having seizures so we did an MRI and found an aneurysm located in the temporal lobe of the brain -”

“That’s great,” he whispers, and Nari notices his gaze slide carefully to the left to watch Dr Jung reach them, before quickly looking back at Nari. “But his vitals still aren’t stable,” he says suddenly, at a regular volume.

Nari’s jaw drops before she realises what he’s doing. “His blood pressure is what we need to observe carefully or he’s going to need another surgery tomorrow.”

“Is there any chance the aneurysm could’ve burst anyway? Even after you clipped it?”

Nari stares, a little thrown by how convincing his acting is. 

“Answer me!”

“A little over the top, don’t you think?” she mutters.

“The man is two feet behind you,” he replies, equally quietly, before tugging her closer and placing his hands dramatically on her shoulders. “What if it’s a brain bleed? What if -”

“How dare you?” She interrupts him, jabbing him in the chest. “My aneurysm was clipped perfectly, you son of a bitch!”

Jason’s eyes flicker with this unexpected turn of conversation but he plays along. “We still need to get an MRI to rule out any other complications, like a hematoma, or an air embolism or -” He pauses, craning his neck slightly, “... and he’s gone.” His shoulders relax and his hands slide off her arms.

“No way did that work,” she marvels in a low voice, turning around to check and see that he’s right.

“Of course it did. Nobody interrupts two doctors discussing a patient,” he says absently, rubbing a spot on his chest. “You may need some practice, though. I think you bruised my chest.”

“Don’t be a baby,” she tells him teasingly, asking for another drink and feeling a lot more relaxed than before. “But that was a pretty neat trick.”

“I can teach you many, young ‘un,” he says seriously, casually taking a sip of his third scotch. “But I don’t think we have the time tonight. Won’t Seokjin be here soon?”

Her drink arrives then and Nari takes it with a quiet thanks. Taking a larger sip than intended, she shakes her head. “He’s not going to make it,” she says, swallowing and wincing.

“Oh.” Jason frowns. “Did he call?”

“Nope.” Nari shakes her head, finding it a bit sad how unsurprised she is. “But he’s not going to make it.”

His frown deepens slightly and she’s sure he’s picked up on her change in tone, but she’s thankful he doesn’t mention it.

“Do you want to learn another trick then?” he offers.

Nari smiles, trying to look at the bright side: Seokjin would not have enjoyed this. He wouldn’t know anyone and he wouldn’t understand any of their conversation. A call would have been nice, but things aren’t the same anymore. 

She’s here, she has a night off, and she’s not alone. It could be a lot worse.

“Sure,” she answers. “But I’m going to need to be a lot more drunk for the next one.”

—

The ETA on the map says forty minutes. Seokjin has no idea how long hospital fundraisers last, but he needs to try. He exits the building, already tired from the negotiating he had to do to leave early. It’s starting to drizzle, so he ducks into the nearest establishment - a small cafe - as he waits for his car. The traffic outside is ridiculous, though; he hasn’t the faintest idea how long it’ll actually take him to get to the fundraiser.

Nari hasn’t called or messaged, though. Neither has he, he knows, but her last message had implied such a lack of faith in his intention to show up that it had rankled him just a bit. Over the course of the week, it had festered until it’s now more of a challenge than anything else, for he can’t think of a single other reason as to why he’s going to this thing. 

For Nari, says the voice weakly, sounding unconvinced. Nari, it seems, neither knows nor cares if he shows up, for all the interest she’s shown in his whereabouts. I’ll try me best, he’d said, meaning it completely, but she clearly didn’t believe it.

Seokjin sighs, mentally so exhausted that he can’t even muster the energy to be annoyed or hurt or confused right now. He’s just about to step back outside when he hears a voice he doesn’t expect.

“Can I get a bottle of water, please?”

He turns to see straight hair and a blazer, mint green this time, with the sleeves pushed up. “Seulgi?” he calls unsurely.

She turns and her eyes light up in recognition. “Hey, Seokjin. How are you?”

“Tired,” he admits. “You?”

“The same. Just trying to find the guiltiest pleasure on the menu to break my diet with tonight,” she says, pointing at the few items on the board. “It’s just been one of those days.”

“Tell me about it,” he murmurs, taking a few steps to stand beside her. “Anything catch your eye?”

“Not really. It’s just sandwiches,” she grumbles. “But I don’t really have a lot of options right now.”

Seokjin is quiet for a few seconds while she gets a bottle of water and takes a long swig from it. “I actually know of a ramen place close by. If you want. I break my diets there all the time,” he tells her.

“Really?” This time he isn’t imagining it; her eyes do light up. “How much?”

“Well… enough to feel like I’ve rebelled against the company for the night, but not so much that I can’t resume it the next day.”

“That’s the perfect amount.”

“Is that a yes?”

Seulgi grins tiredly, reminding him for a moment of Namjoon earlier tonight. “It is.” Her eyes flicker lower and her smile fades. “Oh, wait. You’re in a suit - are you going somewhere?”

Seokjin bites his lip. “I was at the press conference, and the dinner after that.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t look fully convinced. “And you were going… where?”

“Well, now I’m going to get ramen because it’s in my head.”

She cracks a smile. “I’m serious, though. You’re in a suit,” she repeats, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need to be somewhere?”

Question of the hour. But Seokjin knows that even if he does make it through the traffic, this will still be the easiest conversation he’s going to have all day.

“No. I don’t need to be anywhere.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[consistentlyamess]

We'll see about that ⎮Prologue

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: You just wanted a fresh start but you might get more than you bargained for when the sleepy town of Hawkins lives up to its reputation.

warnings: 18+ , MDNI, canon typical violence, eventual smut, abusive relationship, brief stancy storyline, strangers to friend to lovers, pining, slowburn

A/N: I HAVE VERY LITTLE IDEA ABOUT WHAT I'M DOING AND I'M TERRIFIED. so just please bear with me while I figure out what I wan to do here, I guess. 💜

Fic Masterlist

Next Chapter

---

Rolling into the small gloomy town didn’t have any of the mysterious bravado you were anticipating. No roaring clouds or looming men in black coats. But it wasn’t exactly comforting either. The sky was a little weird, dark smoke coming from somewhere. But people were outside, some cars running by, it wouldn’t have felt off in the slightest if it were the beginning of November. It was the end of August though. Granted you weren't counting on the same busy streets you were used to in Bloomigton but a few kids running around, school supplies here and there, something that indicated the start of a new school year would’ve been nice. But there was nothing like that. After the “Welcome to Hawkins HELL” sign it was like you entered a different dimension completely. The end of summer shouldn’t have felt like this. Filled with gray and goo and oozing with uncertainty.  

It did come in handy with the accommodation, not many people want to rent rooms in a town where teenagers and children go missing (if they’re lucky) on a regular basis, malls burn down and weird natural disasters seem to occur out of nowhere. You glanced at the map that was nearly dry now after having coffee spilled on it a few hours ago. Finding the street should be easy at least. The realtor lady gave an unnecessarily long-winded explanation to where you could find the house. Like she was worried that you might turn around and leave if it took more than five minutes to find the house. You wouldn’t have turned around of course. This was precisely what you were looking for. Somewhere no one else is looking for. 

The low prices, the ever vacating spots in the elementary school also worked in your favour. You were just out of college, nobody in their right mind would’ve given you a full-time teaching spot. Unless of course they desperately needed someone. It was elementary but still, it was a teaching job. A real teaching job. And it somehow seemed that maybe an earthquake or two is worth the fresh start. God knows you needed it. 

Unpacking wasn’t hard at all. Two boxes of belongings, journals, pens, paper, you still needed to buy a pair of scissors that was for sure. A box of kitchen supplies, although the lady did say that the former residents left in a hurry so there’ll be plenty of stuff left for you. About two suitcases filled with clothes and your pillow. That was about it. Packing in the kitchen you also made a note to buy some new kitchen towels. When you were finally done, you were exhausted. You considered for a minute that maybe you should just read a little and call it a day. You had a week to adjust and discover the town, but somehow you still felt restless. 

Picking up the car keys, setting out to get some dinner and maybe grab a movie, you were out the door again. Spending more time in the town, you started to get that mysterious bravado you were expecting. People were out on the streets, yes, but nobody would look you in the eyes and you could swear everybody was staring at your car when you stopped for gas. Maybe it’s just a small town, you thought, it takes time for people in places like this to get used to a new face, right? And after all, they were probably shaken by the recent tragedies that seemed to have a perverse fascination with the small town in Indiana. There was this tense atmosphere, really everywhere you went. The convenient store was a little empty and the cashier looked at you like she just caught you cheating on a test. A little suspicious, a little apprehensive, a little scolding. She didn’t even say a proper goodbye, just kind of hummed. Even though you made it a point to be very polite. Sometimes your black clothes and eyeliner throw older people off even if you're nowhere near a goth or metalhead vibe.  

Next stop was the grocery store. Get some dinner, get some breakfast and then get back home. Maybe discovering the town at this specific moment wasn’t that great of an idea after all. 

You were checking out the snack aisle, debating whether you should stack some stuff up or maybe buy just enough for that day and the next, so you would have to come back. Maybe if they see you more frequently they’ll get used to you faster. Lost in your thoughts and eyeing if they had Pringles you were alerted to your surroundings with a loud bang of your basket. 

“Oh, shit.” You said in tandem with the girl you bumped. “God, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking- 

“Oh, fuck, I can’t believe this, why do I have to be so clumsy all the time!” The girl with the dirty blonde bob exclaimed. 

You both scrambled to your knees and gathered your stuff, mostly helping the other person. 

“I’m so sorry, I was just thinking about what I should be wearing tomorrow because I have this date thing. Kind of. I don’t even know if it is a date. We’re going to the movies, but friends can go to the movies, right? So, where does that leave me? Do I put on mascara or is that trying too hard? Do I wear a skirt? I don’t even own a skirt! I could always borrow one from Nancy, but the mere thought of pink and ruffles makes me want to hurl and- Jesus, and now I’m rambling and you don’t wanna hear this and- I don’t know you.” 

You chuckled a little. 

‘It would be weirder if you did. I just arrived today, and you didn’t bother me at all. This is like the third place I’ve visited today and you're kind of the only person who’s not acting like I’ve already committed a crime when I wasn’t planning on doing that for at least two more weeks.’

She stares at you with a little crooked smile in the corner of her mouth and wide eyed. 

‘I’m joking of course.’ You tried to backtrack immediately when you didn’t get a reaction. ‘I’m not planning on committing any crimes! Unless you guys consider returning a library book too late a felony.’ She was still just staring and blinking at her. ‘Also a joke, sorry. God, I’m on fire today.’ You muttered to yourself. 

‘Oh, my God, I haven’t said anything in so long! Those were good jokes, just- I’m just- why are you here?’ 

You were taken aback by the question. So that’s it. This is what everyone's thinking upon seeing you here. That there must be something wrong with you. Or you have some ulterior motives for moving here. Not like they’re wrong, but jeez, they could cut a girl some slack. 

‘Wow, very straightforward.’ You chuckled again awkwardly, trying to delay your answer as much as possible. 

‘No, I mean, I’m just surprised. We don’t get a lot of new residents these days.’ 

‘Fair enough.’ You took a deep breath, contemplating what to say exactly. ‘Well- 

‘Oh, Robin. Robin Buckley.’ the girl said, giving her a little wave. 

‘Well, Robin, I just finished university and my training as a teacher. I have a fuck ton of student debts and believe it or not, not many schools are looking for a teacher with no experience. So, here I am. The children of Hawkins Elementary will have to make due with yours truly. And besides, I don’t scare that easily.’ You tried a little mischievous smile and much to your surprise and delight, it worked. The freckled girl lit up a little and gave her a good, full mouthed grin. 

‘Okay. I think you’ll fit right in.’ 

You laughed at that. 

‘Sorry, what was your name again?’ 

You reminded her that you never really told her your name, which now you did. 

‘But my friends usually just call me Peach. I used to talk a lot about peaches when we realized I’m allergic to them, and it just kinda stuck.’

‘It was very nice to meet you, Peach! If you need any advice on the coolest spots or the lamest ones, maybe in a bookstore or something, just ask.’ 

‘Actually, I might take you up on that right now. I wanted to rent some movies for tonight and I heard there’s a video store in town but I haven't found it yet.’ You haven't tried that hard either,but she doesn't have to know that. The first person who was nice to you all day. You need this.  

‘You, my friend, have come to the exact right place! Come on!’ She just headed for the cashier. 

‘Well, I guess no Pringles for me then.’ You whisper below your nose.

‘Shit, sorry, I didn’t even ask if you were done!’ Robin turned around and rushed back. 

You found her very endearing. She was younger. Not by a lot, but just enough that you could feel it in her tone, see it in her gangly limbs and hear it in her rambling. She was like a puppy dog that was still trying to find its footing in the world. 

‘You’re okay, just gonna grab some Pringles.’

‘That’s my favourite too!’ She exclaimed again and this makes her look even younger. Finding such joy in such a simple thing. Something you don’t remember doing in a long time. 

‘Great, then I’ll know who to blame when they run out’ you said jokingly.

‘God, you’re good.’ Robin grinned once more and you felt like this town might not be so gloomy after all. 

***

‘Oh, and there’s of course Lovers Lake but...’ she trails off for a second there. ‘Yeah, no one really goes there since the, well, you know the murders last year.’ 

‘Okay, so Enzo’s is a yes, Family Video is a yes and Lovers Lake is a ‘you really should know better’. Sounds about right?’ 

‘That’s exactly right!’ 

Robin has been catching you up on the town’s intricacies for the past 10 minutes as you walked towards the video store. 

‘And what kind of movie were you thinking?’ 

‘Oh, I don’t really know. I’m a little wiped from the drive, so nothing heavy. No double features. I live alone and haven’t really gotten used to the place yet, so no horror either. Just the thought of romance currently has shivers running up my spine, so a strong no to that too. I’ll have to go with some action or comedy, I think. Back to Future and Ghostbusters never disappoint.’ 

‘Bad breakup?’ 

‘Huh?’ 

‘You just said romance makes your spine tingle or whatever. Bad breakup?’ 

‘Uhm, yeah, sort of.’ You don’t wanna say anymore but you also don’t want to look like you’re hiding something. It’s not even that. You’re just trying to forget. ‘But it’s a long and not exactly happy story.’ 

‘No, I get it. Breakups are a bitch. Not that I know that much about it.’

‘I mean, how much do you really have to know? You loved someone and they loved you and it’s not like that anymore. It sucks whichever way you cut it.’

Robin hummed at that and became very quiet. You were worried that maybe you struck the wrong chord with what you just said. 

‘If you haven’t broken up tho, we probably never would’ve met, have we?’

‘That's a good point Robin.’ You smiled at her and looped an arm in hers. ‘Now come on, show me where the goods are!’ 

‘Please, don’t get your hopes up too much, we don’t have anything that isn’t at least two months old and our manager is a bit of an asshole but I’m sure you’ll find something and Dingus is not half bad at this anymore either.’ 

‘Dingus?’ 

‘You’ll find out in a second’ she said pushing in the door.

‘Sorry, we’re closing in five minutes. Please come back tomorrow or be very quick ‘cause I have to pick someone up. Thank you!’ you heard someone calling from the back. 

‘Calm down Dingus, it’s just me and my new best friend.’ 

A messy brown haired boy popped up from behind the counter. 

‘What?’ 

‘Peach, this is Steve, Steve this is Peach. Peach is new in town and Steve’s a dingus.’

‘Hey!’ the boy said, indignant.

‘She’s gonna figure it out sooner or later, might as well get it out of the way.’ 

The way they talked to each other was very sibling-like. You didn’t have any yourself but your best friend in high school had three and this was mostly the way they communicated with each other. Not very veiled insults and teasing. Classic. And also highly entertaining for everyone involved, if done correctly. 

‘Sorry, I don’t wanna keep you away from your date, I just wanted to rent a movie for tonight.’ 

‘Oh, he’s not going on a date’ the moment the frackled girl spoke up, Steve started to give her his best ‘please shut up’ eyes, but she didn’t notice. Unlike you, who definitely did. He wasn’t subtle. ‘He’s just picking up his other friend, who happens to be a 14 year old.’ 

You couldn’t not chuckle at that even though you really tried, seeing as the boy in front of you had a pained look in his eyes and a bit of a blush on his cheeks. 

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Also, I’m not one to talk. I chose a whole ass career that requires me to spend hours upon hours with children, so…’ you shrugged as a way to indicate, you didn’t really have a good closing thought for that sentence. 

‘Are you a babysitter?’ The boy asked with furrowed brows and a tilted head. He didn't look unlike a goden retriever puppy.

‘No, dude, she’s a teacher! Isn’t that awesome?’ 

‘A teacher? Aren't you, like, way too young for that?’

‘You guys have very little scrupulous about what you can and can’t say, huh? But to answer your question, yes and no. I just graduated, but this place was losing teachers so fast, they needed an arts teacher, like, yesterday, so here we are. Also I did everything early.’ 

‘How old are you by the way, if you don’t mind me asking’ Robin chimed in now.

‘I’m 23. I have a good 10 years before I start being precious about my age, I think.’

He let out a light laugh and you took it as all clear for the laugh earlier. 

‘Okay, so did you guys just come here to annoy me or can I help you with something?’ 

‘Oh, yeah, sorry, I was looking for a movie for tonight and Robin offered help.’ 

‘Great, what’s the mood, what are we thinking? Winding down after a long day with a glass of wine? Or are you looking for some excitement? Maybe a date night?’ 

This time you’re the one to miss the curious glint in the boy’s eyes, while Robin catches it and squints at Steve’s sneaky inquiry. 

‘Oh, first one for sure. I’ve had enough excitement for one day and if I had a date I’d either need a lot more or a lot less snacks. So, just some classic entertainment for me today. You know, Risky Business, Raising Arizona, Back to the Future, something like that.’

‘Really? Back to the Future?’ 

‘What? You didn’t like it?’ 

‘It’s not that I didn’t like it, it’s just a weird movie.’ 

‘Okay, the mom falling in love with her son part gets a little dicey at places but I love the concept, the DeLorean is a crazy cool car and Michael J. Fox is a total cutie. It’s a future classic.’ 

‘Huh, maybe I should give it a second chance.’ 

‘I might be biased but you definitely should. But only after I brought it back.’

‘Of course, ladies first, always.’ Now he smiles with something more than a little mischief. ‘Uhm, I’ll go get it for you, just stay here.’ It's not lost on you that the boy is pretty. But you know his type. It's the type you have stay cautious with. The dangerous type. At least for you.

‘So, what are your plans for the week?’ Robin asks as Steve disappears between the rows. 

‘Not much really, just wanna get a little more situated and used to the town before starting school. I still have to buy some supplies, I’m big on reward stickers, I have to make sure, I always have them on me.’

‘And there we go, one Back to the Future for you’ he smiles. ‘Now I just need a couple basic information from you. Full name, address, date of birth aaand a phone number.’ 

You give your info to him and he rings you up. 

‘Well, it was lovely meeting you guys, and you know, I guess I’ll see you around.’

‘Sure, and if you need help with anything else-

‘Enzo’s is a yes, Family Video is a definitely and Lovers Lake is a ‘you should know better’, got it.’ 

‘I mean, Lovers Lake gets a bad rep, but as long as you don’t want to swim it’s a great spot for a picnic or just hanging out’ Steve chimes and Robin squints again. 

‘Huh. Alright, well, I guess I’ll just have to see for myself.’ You say your goodbyes and you start heading for the door but turn back as you suddenly think of something. 

‘Hey, if this is too much, just say so, and I’ll go and we don’t have to talk about this ever again, but would you guys want to come around for like a housewarming dinner sometime? I know it’s probably too early but I don’t have any friends, or know anyone here, really, and you guys seem cool. I’m a decent cook and I can buy alcohol absolutely legally and I don’t have any board games, but I can buy some, or charades or whatever’ you knew you were rambling, but you couldn’t help it. You were tired and you hated to admit it but also a little bit lonely. You went out on a limb here, something that you arguably maybe did too much. But to your surprise they perk up.

‘Yeah’ Steve says with a hint of a smile. ‘What time were you thinking?’

‘How about Saturday, say around 7?’ 

‘It’s a date, we’ll be there, right Robs?’

‘Sure, we’ll bring desserts and oh, we could introduce you to a couple of our friends? Or maybe that’s too overwhelming. But it’s just a couple people and they’re all great, I promise. I mean, they’re little shitheads sometimes but they’re great.’

‘Yeah, oh my God, that sounds awesome! Can’t wait! And you have my address now, right?’ You raise an eyebrow at Steve. 

‘Y-Yeah, we do, see you then. And just for the record, I can buy alcohol legally as well.’

‘Hm. Good to know.’ 

You’re giddy with your plans and have a spring in your step as you walk back to the car, blissfully unaware of Robin scolding Steve behind you.

‘Stop that.’

‘What? I’m not doing anything.’

‘Is it a date night? Lovers Lake? We don’t ask for anybody’s phone number and then you sign off with ‘it’s a date’? You’re not slick Harrington.’ 

‘Oh, shut up, those were just… I was just making conversation.’

‘Uh-huh, sure thing Casanova.’ 

‘Okay, maybe I was testing the waters a little. So what? I’m single, from what I understand, she is too, it’s not a crime.’ 

‘You’re also in love with Nancy. And she seems way too cool and way too nice for you to break her heart. Not that Brenda deserved to get her heart broken, but she was always a little mean in high school, so I’m biased.’

‘I didn’t break Brenda’s heart, she just liked Nate more and I’m not in love with Nancy.’ 

‘Fine, but you’re sure as shit not gonna break hers either. And don’t tell me, you’re not still hung up on Wheeler, cause I can see the look in your eyes, every time that obnoxious pizza van rolls into the parking lot. Also I think she might just have gone through a rough breakup or something.’

‘Who? Nancy?’

'No, Dingus, Peach!' Robin says as he swats at his chest.

'Oh.'

‘Yeah, she didn’t like say it-say it, but mentioned something in the parking lot that sounded a lot like it. So, just, you know, tread lightly, okay? 

***

As you drive back home, that spooky feeling and mysterious bravado strike again. It wasn’t dark just yet but the sun was much lower in the sky and the empty streets felt colder somehow. You usually loved sunsets but there was something unnatural about the hue of orange and red today, and you did not like it one bit. 

‘This is okay, you’re okay.’ You muttered to yourself, as you looked into the rearview mirror. ‘This is exactly what you came here for, you’re not chicken shit, you’ve dealt with much worse, just get it together.’ 

You rested your head against the steering wheel for a second. Almost unconsciously, as a routine or a mantra you reach for the glove compartment. Opening it, you reach inside and immediately relax as you find the Colt in there. You let out a long exhale and finish the routine with checking the bullets and the safety. You shove it in your bag and head inside the house.

[alitan99]

Hi everyone, I wanted to share something new with you all.

If you know my blog well enough, you probably know that I’m trying to produce my own album dedicated to the Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023). It’s a passion project so I had fully intended on putting my own personal funds into it but I realize that since I’m not rich 🤣 and can’t afford studio time as often as I’d like, I thought I’d begin a campaign and just put myself out there to ask for help from you all. Of course I will continue to invest what I can currently but if you feel inclined, please consider helping me out. I’m starting off with just 1 tier as of now at $3/mo. Which may not sound like a lot on its own but if even 50-100 people choose to support that adds up to $150-$300 which would be super helpful and would allow me to release quicker! Right now I do not have a projected date for release. But I anticipate at this current rate it will not be available to the public until at least March of next year. The circumstances may be subject to change but for now I will work as diligently as I can! I still have a full time job and a personal life so of course it will take some time but i’m excited for you all to experience this album. And hopefully when all is said and done you all enjoy the music I’ve created!

Thank you all for your support already ^^ i will keep posting updates as they come!

Oh! Also! If you’d like to hear what my music sounds like just to get an idea of how the music will sound, here’s some tracks I’ve written already that will appear on the album once they’ve been re-recorded. Enjoy!

[milascenta]

December 22nd 10:41pm

I'm so sorry I haven't talked in a while, N. I wanted to wait until I was in some sort of good place or heading in a good one but its not really working out that way too much. A few things have happened over the months. Though I am hoping for next year should be a bit better.

I'm so happy you had a good time in London, the Stranger Things play looked awesome and the stuff you got looks so cool. I love the bag and the plushie Demogorgon (? I'm sorry I didn't watch too much of stranger things, first season was awesome and I love Winona Ryder but Its so hard for me to get into shows lol, same with the Witcher I love it but haven't watched past the first season haha) You looked really beautiful in that black dress, and I also love your hair with the black its a nice change and twist on your usual look. I hope you kept it or have something similar because it really suits you. You tattoos too OMG they looks good, I really love the Cpt Rex ones, subtle and cute on the fingers (omg again another series I need to get back into hahaha I'm really bad with shows) the portraits look insane, although I haven't seen much of the show they are probably my favourite characters too. I just looked up the Jaig eyes and I love them so much more now, its really up my ally and something I would get done, they suit you more now. I'm looking into starting a large tattoo idea hopefully during next year. I want to get a torso tattoo from cyberpunk, the one with the snake and the ram head on the back. I want to start with the snake curling around my body then work from there. The fact that you got them done in one day is very deserving of the aussie coveted "Hard Cunt" status, on the shins and everything is insane, I'm really proud and impressed you could sit for the whole thing.

I'm happy you met someone but then also I'm sorry he kinda turned out to be only really there for one thing. Maybe things have changed by now? either way it sucks to have met someone and you think one intention and they're another. I'm also so sorry you were having troubles with your friend, the trip started so nicely I hoped it would end that way too. I hope you're in a better place with each other, maybe talked it out or at least got closure.

I want to reassure you that you don't have to talk about anything you don't feel fully comfortable with, so I'm glad you didn't force yourself with that. Whenever you're comfortable to talk I'll be here but I'm here regardless. I'm just sorry you were ever reminded of those things and hope that person isn't continuing to do so. (cause they'll catch these hands nah jk.... unless) I'm also sorry about the news with your grandmother, its definitely not the news I was hoping for and I really hope things a turning around.

I want to properly reassure you that you are important and you are significant. These posts are really important to me and I know it helps you get things off your chest. I understand the thoughts you have been having, and can relate to them too, I just want you to know I care about you and you're important to me. I know that can't take any of the bad thoughts of feelings away, as much as I would like that, I just want you to hear them and hope they can act against those thoughts in some way. Those thoughts aren't you, those thoughts aren't shaping you or the path you're going down, you are doing better ever year and I'm so proud of you for that. Being strong sucks sometimes and you know that more than a lot of people but its won't be forever I promise.

Thank you for your birthday wishes. I did have fun, even though birthdays don't really mean much to me these days lol. honestly just reminds me of time I'm wasting. But I tried to have fun and surprisingly did. Before I say what I did on my birthday day, I took my friends to go see Nightmare Before Christmas with a live symphony at the start of November and that was unbelievable and fantastic and amazing. Such a surreal experience, watching the movie and the music being right there, by people. I watched the orchestra more than the movie, which I hoped they appreciated. One of my favourite movies with the music live was a great experience. I then saw the new Wicked movie on my birthday day with my friends too, and that was surprisingly great! They really did translate the stage show to screen, both Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande did amazing and really sold the characters and their relationship. And the visuals were amazing, apparently a lot of it was real and they took a lot of the in set vocal takes too. We then went to fortress, which is a kinda of "nerd" bar, looks like a medieval tavern, they sell mead and stuff as well as good food and you can rent board games, play video games and do dnd sessions there too, they also have a really cool futuristic cyberpunk cocktail bar upstairs from the tavern which we went to aswell. I bought a shirt from them, senpais.jp did a collab with them so I got a really cool shirt from them, but I took it home at the end of the night and it turned out they gave me the wrong one, so I had to trek it all the way back to the city the next day to exchange it, which they almost didn't do they had to get a manager involved but he said it was ok to change, I had proof of purchase and everything. I also bought a lot of stuff I needed for myself. A bunch of shirts, some new black jeans, and new cologne Jean Paul Gautier Le Male Le Parfum, long name but its my favourite cologne lol oh and a nice green linen shirt too.

But then its kinda gone a lil down hill, a couple week ago, we found out my grandmother had passed away, heart attack. Which I'm glad it was quick and painless but sucks she's not around anymore, I feel really guilty not talking to her more or going to visit her more. We went to her town for her funeral, which we had two. A smaller close family one at the crematorium and one we had at a church that had sooo many people attend. She was very community driven and had a relationship with probably everyone in the town to some degree so it was great to see that. You would have liked her, she was a badass headstrong woman, and stayed very active and lucid up to the end. Going back to her town was very surreal. All the smells and sights were the same, well the sights mostly, the town has grown a lot. A lot of people go through there now so its developed a lot more. And her house was the same, but none of it had the soul anymore, all of it felt empty. We didn't stay super long, a few days, I took lots of pictures, mostly of nostalgic things, patterns in her house and things that were always around. Then my brother got me sick with a chest cold, how that happens in 35+ degree weather I have no idea. But its starting to go now just a bit phlegmy lol. I'm on the waiting list for some psychologists my doctor recommends. I've tried a couple recently and they've not been good, I got lied to about cost, was told one thing and ended up being charged almost double with no warning which sucks and we just didn't click so I'm trying again with someone else. I don't mind if its a little bit expensive just tell me that at the start not after I've been charged and have no control over it like what is that, especially after I was told a different amount. I told my doctor that and he was like ok I'm not going to recommend them anymore lol.

I'm hoping next year will be better, for both of us because we really need it. I really hope at least your new year is better and you can keep progressing. I hope you have a good christmas, and hope you get some good holiday time off too. Know that I'm thinking of you.

I'll talk to you soon,

E

"Hey little monster, you know its all okay"

[damonjuicyscock]

Playlist- Chapter 14: Shattered dreams (90s Noel Gallagher X Reader)

Pairing: 90s Noel Gallagher X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy, a sad word starting with M and ending with age, language, a few spelling mistakes, maybe.

Words: 2805

Summary: Y/N is pregnant with Noel's baby. We follow her through her pregnancy journey that has its up and downs.

A/N: Heya Y'all ! Here's chapter 14, I hope you'll like it, as per usual. It's a chapter I found important (but very emotional), and the next one will be as well. You know I like to include societal subjects in my story, at first to sensibilize and also give a bit of action in the story. Some of you may even have gone through it and I hope it won't trigger you, that's not my goal. My goal is to provide visibility to subjects like this one, because it isn't taken seriously (at least not enough) and to entertain you.

Next part next weekend !

Love y'all, take care of yourselves !

Enjoy !

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And now you've given me, given me Nothing but shattered dreams, shattered dreams Feel like I could run away, run away From this empty heart”

August 11th 1996- Knebworth:

I’m pregnant Noel.

I saw his face light up, and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen appear on his face.

Ye’re not joking right? Please, tell me ye’re not joking. He said, taking my hands in his

No I’m not. Should I understand you’re happy about these news? I answered, stunned

I’m the happiest man in the world! I’m so mad fer it, I’m going to be a dad!

He took me in his arms, holding me tight, and everything around us disappeared. I smiled, now relieved.

Before going on stage, Noel kissed me passionately and nailed it even more than usual. I hoped he wouldn’t say anything to anyone yet. But there’s someone to whom I couldn’t hide my condition. Because deep down, she already knew.

Seeing him sile so much and him being so happy, I bet you told him? Patsy asked

Told him what? I answered

About the baby growing in your stomach.

I smiled to myself.

Yeah, I told him. And he’s so goddamn happy about it. And so am I.

And I’m happy for you two! She said, taking me in her arms

I held her back, emotion starting to take over.

You’re going to be an auntie Patsy! I said, on the verge of tears, not believing my own words

*

August 12th 1996- Knebworth:

It was time for the afterparty, and I felt fit enough to attend, with Noel and a lot of people.

Please Noely, don’t tell anyone yet. I want to keep it for ourselves just a bit, okay? Except Liam. I’m going to tell him. I said

Why tell Liam and not the others?

Firstly, because he’s your brother, secondly because he’s my future brother-in-law and he’s also like my little brother and thirdly, Patsy already knows.

Wot? How does Patsy know?

Who do you think convinced me to take a pregnancy test?

Patsy.

Well done Columbo. Because she knows what it is to be pregnant. So, according to my symptoms, she knew why I was sick.

Noel nodded. I hadn’t smoked for an entire day, and I really needed a cigarette He saw me take my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and took it from me.

Hey! I exclaimed

No smoking. He said, sternly

I just can’t quit like that; it’s going to play on my nerves. Let me have a cigarette per day for a week, so I can get used to it. Please Noel, and I’ll stop.

He hesitated for a second and sighed.

Deal. One per day, not more. And I keep yer pack with me in case ye’d decide to smoke more. I’ll give ye yer cigarette of the day.

Okay chief. I said doing a military salute

Oh no, not ye too calling me that!

*

Later in the night, when everyone went to bed, I finally had my moment alone with my fiancé, in his arms.

Did you suspect I could be pregnant? I asked

Not a minute. I really thought you had the flu.

And so… how long has it been that you wanted to have a baby with me?

Since November 22nd 1983.

Ew, gross.

Why ew? He said, chuckling

We were literally 16 years old Noely!

I know! I mean… when we were 16, I was like not now but one day yes, I wanted to wait fer this because having a kid at 16 was out of the question, but I knew on this day that I wanted ye to be the mother to me children.

That’s cute. I’m soz I can’t say the same thing because I never really asked myself if I wanted to have children in general before yesterday.

And that’s okay. But if ye thought ‘bout it…

Yes Noely. I would want it to be you. And you’re going to be such a good dad.

At least I’ll do me best. I know what’s running in this little head of yers.

Oh yeah? What then?

Ye’re hesitating to ask me if I’m scared to be like me old man because I had a shitty father. And I’ll answer that I’m scared to become a father, like every parent would be, but I’m also mad fer it. And I’m not scared to be like him, because I’m not him and I’m not like him. And I’ll never be.

Well well… You know me by heart Noely.

Yea, I do.

*

At around 8 am, I woke up and felt really nauseous. I told myself I should get up and get some fresh air. So, I went outside.

I tried to breath to prevent me from vomiting but ended up throwing up anyway. I felt someone grab my hair and hold them for me. I thought it was Noel. But it wasn’t.

Still sick I see. A male voice said

Yeah, unfortunately. And it might last a bit.

What d’ye mean?

I finished throwing up first.

Sit down, we’re going to have a chat. And thank you for holding my hair by the way Li’.

Anytime.

We walked a bit and sat down under a tree, in the grass. I could see in Liam’s look that he was impatient to know.

So… what I mean is that something that wasn’t planned, at least not yet, happened. You’re going to be an uncle, Li’.

He smiled.

Really?

Yeah.

That’s so fucking cool! Oh, thank ye Y/N, I’m so happy ye’re the one our kid decided to fuck with!

I laughed.

Then thank him too!

Oh, I will, me. How long has it been?

I don’t know yet, I’ll be seeing a doctor once we’ll be back in London.

Good. I can’t wait fer this little one to show up so I can teach…

No Li’, not so soon. I laughed

Oh, ye’re not funny! He answered, rolling his eyes

*

August 23rd 1996- London:

We were back in London for a few days and for a gig that would take place on this night. And the only appointment I had was on this day. Noel wanted to come with me, but couldn’t miss soundcheck, and this for three reasons. Firstly, because he wanted this gig to be perfect. He always wanted to, and he could have missed an hour of it for other gigs, which leads us to reason number two: This gig would be the MTV unplugged one, meaning it would be recorded and the band worked really hard for this. Reason number three…. Liam let them down on this most important day. I had to separate the brothers who almost fought (again). Liam said he was “sick” and Noel didn’t believe it, and thought he was just hangovered, and though he didn’t mind it, he would have to do the job himself, meaning he couldn’t come with me to the appointment, and hated the fact Liam was lying and unpredictable. He wasn’t doing his job properly.

So here I was… but not alone, because Patsy didn’t want me to be alone during this important moment.

Not too stressed I hope? She asked, while we were in the waiting room

Just a bit. Not because I don’t like going to the doctor’s, I got used to it with years, but because I hope I’m not too far along, knowing I kept smoking and drinking.

You couldn’t have known. You were having your period and all that stuff…

Yes, but nausea and other symptoms should have alerted me. And yet, since I know it, my stomach just grew up and man, I look really fucking pregnant now.

She put her hand on mine.

It’s gonna be okay, I understand how you feel. I didn’t go through the same thing, but I’ve been pregnant, and I know how it feels. You’re still in shock and that’s perfectly normal. But don’t be scared. Everything will be fine.

A silence settled in. I had to get rid of a heavy load.

I’ve already been pregnant before Patsy.

She was shocked.

Really?

Yeah, a few years ago. It’s when Noel and I were separated. I was with a guy called Kenneth. He was beating me and a lot of other stuff.

Like…

Yeah, the sadly famous R word.

Oh, I’m sorry…

Don’t be. I’m fine now. I’m more than that. I’m the happiest bird in the world. I was a lot younger when it happened and not ready. Noel came back and not so long after, I was pregnant, and this baby was conceived during hard moments. Kenneth didn’t like Noel at all, he thought we were a bit too close for his taste. He was paranoid, thinking I was cheating on him, and he was taking advantage of it to take advantage of me and my body. When I told him I was expecting and that I wanted to keep the baby, he pushed me in the stairs and there was no baby anymore.

Oh my God…

And what I’m going to say is absolutely horrible to hear, but I felt sad and at the same time… relief. This child wasn’t meant to be. What could have had happened to his future with a father like Kenneth? Would he have beaten this child too? No, he was killed first. But… it was better this way. It’s as if for once… he’d protected someone from himself and especially with what happened afterwards… I know what I’m saying is absolutely horrifying but…

No. No, it isn’t. What is horrifying is what happened to you. Did you even, have time to mourn this baby?

Not at first. I had to be miss perfect, so I was like high functioning. But when Noel rescued me and the aftermath… I think that’s when I did it. A part of the depression mourned this baby. This is the biggest secret I’ve kept to myself and myself only. No one knows. Not even Noel.

And it’ll follow me to the grave.  I’m so sorry and horrified you had to go through this. Noel is right when he calls you his warrior. Because this is what you are.

So yes, I lied to Noel. To protect him. I knew if I told him that he’ll run to the airport and take the first plane to Manchester to kill Kenneth. I thought about having kids before. But I stopped thinking about it since that particular day. And now, the baby I was bearing was all I wanted.

*

Hearing your baby’s heartbeat for the first time… What a fucking moving moment. I was in tears.

How… How far along am I? I asked

By the size of your baby, I’d say between 4 and 5 months. Let’s say something like 4 months and 3 weeks. And it seems like you’re having a healthy baby boy, I can already see it. Congratulations!

I was happy. All I needed to hear was said. The word healthy was ringing in my head.

I-Is it possible to print a screen shot? For me and the dad? Please?

Of course. The doctor answered, smiling

And once I had it between my hands, I couldn’t let go of it. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Examining and re-examining the little silhouette of the being that was growing in my stomach. To the point, Patsy was forced to tell me we arrived at the Royal Festival Hall. In the car, everything I was thinking about was “And now? how will he look? What name will we choose for this little one?”

I entered the building alone, as the cab left with Patsy who would be coming back to Liam. The guys were in the middle of rehearsals. The minute Noel saw me, he stopped playing and put his acoustic guitar aside before jumping off the stage and running towards me.

Tell me everything. He said, taking my hands in his

I handed him the ultrasound’s screenshot, and he took it.

I’m 4 months and 3 weeks pregnant. And…

And?

And we’re having a baby boy.

Noel jumped in joy and held me in his arms.

Guys, I’m going to be a dad and it’s a boy! He shouted

The boys cheered, happy for us. I looked at Noel, surprised.

Noel…

Soz, I couldn’t help it. And anyway, everyone can see you’re pregnant now!

*

Jacob!

No.

Romeo!

Out of question.

Milton?

Oh come on, don’t grandpa him yet!

Martin.

Ye can do better.

Owen.

Too American fer me.

Oh come on Noel, we have to decide! I said

Ye’re only 5 months pregnant! We’ve got time fer this!

Actually it’s 4 months and 3 weeks and the baby will be born tomorrow if we let time go by.

Nevermind.

Hey no! My baby’s name won’t go with a simple and jaded nevermind!

Alright, alright. Can I propose one?

I’m all ears.

Frederick. Like imagine, we could call him Freddie Gallagher. A rockstar’s name fer a rockstar’s son.

Noely, I love you and I love Freddie Mercury but no.

Or Simon, what d’ye think about Simon?

Cute but it sounds a bit too much like Simon Lebon. But as a second name, why not? What about Andrew?

Andrew Simon Gallagher… Andy Gallagher… Yea. Yea, actually I like it. It sounds good. Deal.

See? A nevermind can quickly become an Andy.

Oh, shut yer cake ole.

*

Sometimes, it feels like happiness comes with a price. And everything you were happy about and everything you had planned ends up in a shattered dream. I knew something was wrong when it was going too well.

October 12th 1996- London:

Terrible cramps woke me up. It hurt. I hadn’t felt the baby move for a few hours now. I thought he fell asleep after giving a long series of kicks. I sat on the edge of the bed. I put my hand on my belly. I knew. I felt something was wrong deep inside. Then I felt something humid between my legs. I turned the light on. I was bleeding. It wasn’t a pool, but enough to make me panic.

Noel! Noel fucking wake up I’m bleeding! I yelled

Noel woke up, startling and saw. The man never had his driver license, so he was forced to call 999, and an ambulance took us to the hospital.

I was panicking. But not for my life. And I was right to do so. The doctors made some exams, including ultrasound. This is when the biggest heartbreak of my entire life happened. I previously told you that hearing your baby’s heartbeat is really moving. Then Heartbeat turns to heartbreak. But before turning to heartbreak, it turns to fucking heartache. My baby had been suffering. He had been kicking non-stop to alert me something was wrong. And I didn’t get it. His little heart had stopped beating and It was my entire fault.

But one of the hardest things was that I had to wait. I had to wait for my fucking cervix to dilate, not to give birth but to literally expel my own son from my womb.

Noel was by my side. I didn’t want him to see this, but he didn’t want me to be alone during this hard ordeal. And then we saw why after the “delivery”. One fucking reason. But an evident one. A knot. A knot in the umbilical cord. My son died of hypoxia. This is very rare event, as not all knots are dangerous. But this one…

And it was as if my body detected our little one’s death and started to try to expel him, but he was already too big to pass.

Apart from that tragical event, he was perfect. He had no deformities. And even if he had, I would still have loved him the same.

I was devastated, and so was Noel.

I insisted to hold Andy in my arms for a few minutes, to say goodbye. Noel and I cried, for a long time. We both kissed his little head. A shattered dream and two broken hearts.

[bluegalaxygirl]

Old Friends (Zosan X Reader) P10

Plot: Reader is the 9th doctors old assistant but soon moved on to other things, joining the straw hat pirates and falling in love but now their paths cross again (only he has a new face, 10th Doctor) when they go to see an old friend in a strange hospital. Unfortunately there's some one else there that wants to start trouble.

One piece and Doctor who cross over (10th doctor), its based off the new earth episode. i thought since David tenant as the doctor is coming back in November it would be good to get this idea out.

Reader is Female (Sorry), Zoro X Sanji X reader, Poly relationship, established relationship.

Warning: Illness, Death, Bad language and Violence.

P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - P9 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14 - P15

Sanji wipes the tears off your cheek as you sit on the floor Zoro holding your arms form behind you "You ok?" The cook's voice was soothing, he knew this wasn't you but it's the first time he's seen genuine emotion from Casandra. Light tears fall down your face as your head shakes slightly "She's so sad, so alone. Oh! so very alone" You voice comes out in a whisper Casandra still trying to process what just happened "What? who?" Zoro asks wondering if its you she's talking about but Casandra seems to ignore his question her eyes fixed on the floor "All her life she's never been touched only looked at with Disgust ... all she wants is to be touched, to be held... to be shown kindness" You finally look up seeing Sanji's kind face before looking at the Doctor whose eyes are slightly wide and mouth open. "Help her please... Help them" Casandra asks with a shaky voice, she can't bare it, to feel like that much be hell but there's a way to fix it and the only person that can do that is the doctor. Seeing genuine tears and emotion the Doctor steps closer holding out his hand to her. Casandra takes his hand and stands up Zoro and Sanji joining her "We'll help them" The doctor nods making his way through the storage room there in.

Sanji pulls out a tissue and hands it to you "Thank you" Casandra lets a small smile show taking the tissue and drying your eyes and cheeks. She can't believe what just happened, you stood there and let her back in, the doctor is involving her in helping these people and Sanji and Zoro seem to be showing her kindness. She has no idea why but it fills her heart with something warm and long forgotten. Zoro rubs your back lightly with a concerned look "Why? Why did Y/n not move" Casandra looks up at the swordsman supposed to see he's not angry even though she thought he would be "She said she'd let me back in ... She pinkie promised" Casandra sighs looking down at the ground, your not the type to break a promise, but she wasn't fully convinced that you would keep your promise after everything she's done "Are you ok now?" Sanji asks placing a hand on your shoulder, Your eyes look up at the cook seeing him smile at you "I-I don't know" It was an honest answer since Casandra can't remember what this feeling is, putting the tissue in your back pocket she finds the key card pulling it back out "Will this help?" Casandra asks seeing the doctor trying to use his sonic screwdriver on another electric lock.

The doctor looks over and nods holding out his hand as the three of you walk over "I don't know why my screwdriver isn't working on these locks" The doctor laughs a little taking the card off you "It's all security coded even against time lords" Casandra smiles a real smile, its still not your smile but at least its not fake. Opening the door you all make your way out into a hallway on the 26th floor "Do you think the sick have made it up this far?" Sanji asks not hearing anything, no talking or alarms "I don't know, lets keep quiet though" The doctor nods walking down the hall. Casandra takes Zoro's hand walking down the hall the swordsman pulls away slightly only to stop at your words "she doesn't want you to get lost" your voice whispers to him, even though your not in control Casandra seems to be listening to your wants and needs which makes the swordsman smile a little. The doctor stops you all as a door starts banging down the hallway, looking around the corner you all notice a door has been barricaded with beds and tables. "I need the yellow one's too" A familiar voice calls out from down that hall, it seems to be coming form the room across from the barricaded door. "Chopper" Sanji and Zoro smile recording the voice.

Making your way down the hall some lady runs at you with a chair only for Zoro to grab it making her gasp "Your not infected" The woman sighs pulling the chair away "Sorry" she sighs only for Sanji to touch her shoulder "It's ok. are you hurt?" the cook asks watching the lady shake her head, Casandra rolls her eyes and walks past them following the doctor into what looks like a stock room with shelves full of medial equipment and bags of different colored liquid. Chopper along with some other patients and their families were running around the room gathering bags and putting them on a large trolley "Chopper" Zoro yells out walking past you and the Doctor over to the reindeer "Zoro, Sanji" The reindeer yells running over to the swordsman as Sanji joins the two, Chopper jumps up being hugged by Zoro and Sanji feeling Choppers tears hit their shoulders "I'm so glad your ok, when i woke up you weren't here, i was so worried and then when the sick people got out i thought you were dead" The little deer cry's but is happy that there both alive "We're ok Chopper don't worry" Sanji smiles moving back so Zoro can put the reindeer down who wipes his eyes only to look up and see you standing next to the Doctor "A-are y-you Y/n or Casandra?" He asks hiding behind Zoro's leg but backwards "Casandra, i'm guessing my nurse explained everything to you...where is she?" Casandra looks around not spotting her.

Chopper grips onto Zoro's leg harder but Sanji pats his head "It's ok, She's going to help" The reindeer nods but sticks close to the two "I'm sorry but your nurse got grabbed. We were heading to the elevators but then the sick showed up, We managed to get most of the people on this floor in here, but she got grabbed. We blocked the doors, so they can't get into this section but i do have an idea on how to cure them" Chopper rambles a bit but looks up at the Doctor who smiles at him and walks over. Casandra looks down at the ground a sharp pain going through her heart, she didn't understand why it hurt so bad hearing that the nurse is gone. "Perfect, i'm guessing we're going to use the bags right?" Chopper nods stepping closer to the Doctor "Yea, there isn't enough for everyone but one of the patients said he got showed down in one and was cured so i'm thinking if we put it into the sprinkler system it'll go everywhere and everyone will be cured" The reindeer smiles wide getting excited about his plan. "That might work" Casandra walks over standing next to the Doctor but Chopper step back grabbing into Zoro's leg still scared of you "There are work rooms on every floor so all the pipes and systems connect but i don't know where exactly they are" Casandra sighs trying to think as the Doctor nods at you "I do, its on the right two rows away, the door is painted white so it may be hard to find" A male walks over with blue skin and a very thin body wearing what looks like a white boiler suit "Thank you. We'll head there then" Chopper smiles wide at the man who bows a little to you all.

With everything on the trolley you all head out the people closing the door behind them since the banging on the door is getting much louder and some of the beds and tables are starting to shift. Running down the hall a loud bag catches your ears another door comes into view, tables and beds pressed up against it as sick's hands force there way through the gap trying to push it open "We better hurry" Casandra pushes on the Doctors back making him run faster down the hall pushing the trolley while the others follow. Running down the hallway you make it to the area where the room is but the only doors lead into other rooms. "Feel around" The doctor walks over running his hand over the walls as he walks down the hall. The rest of you join him in different areas trying to feel for any kind of shift in the wall. It was hard to find the room since the walls were white and the door was white but Sanji was the one who found it, feeling along the wall he noticed a slight dip. "Over here" The cook calls out getting everyone to walk over as the Doctor pulls out the key card and presses it against a white panel that looks almost invisible, the door slides open raveling a cramped room with large pipes and wires. Zoro keeps watch outside the door as the rest of you head in and find the pipe thats connected to the sprinkler system. "Get as many bags in as you can while i try and get this to work" The doctor order the three of you as he walks over to a large wall panel using the key card and sonic screwdriver to access it.

The three of you get to work, Sanji opens the pipes hatch and grabs some bags ripping the top off and pouring the liquid into the hole. You and Chopper follow his lead until there's nothing left. "Is it working?" Casandra asks walking over to the Doctor, who's still working on the panel while Sanji closes the hatch locking it shut "Yea, i'm almost done, i'm going to flush it through the system and then turn on the sprinklers" The doctor turns his screwdriver, the buzzing noise getting louder until the panel lights up green and the large pipe starts to shake. "They broke through" Zoro yells out from the door way after hearing the groaning and voices getting louder and the bagging stopping "Hurry, please" Casandra begs watching the doctor work. "Zoro get in here and close the door" Sanji runs over to the door grabbing the swordsman and pulling him into the work room as the sick round the corner. "There's no handle" Zoro's eyes widen as he stops back into the room. Chopper runs over to you and the doctor grabbing the key card off him and throwing it to Sanji and Zoro "Catch" The reindeer calls out seeing Zoro catch it and hold the card over a white square on the side making the door slide closed. "are you ok?" Chopper asks running over and looking up at the Swordsman who nods and hands the little deer the Key card back "Yea i'm good, thanks bud"

Chopper sways a little at Zoro's words but jumps when the door starts to shake as the sick bag on it. Sanji steps back as Chopper runs back over to the doctor "What's taking so long?" Zoro yells out pushing Sanji back further way from the door "It's almost through the system, it has to go through all three buildings first. Just give it a minute" The Doctor yells back watching as the lights turn form Green to red "We don't have a minute" Casandra panics while looking at the door seeing it shift a little, the light form outside starting to peek in. With all the lights now turning Blue the Doctor uses his screwdriver to activate the sprinklers, Alarms ring out as every sprinkler in all three buildings turn on but surprisingly theres no sprinklers in the work room . The banging on the door gets quieter and quieter before fully stopping "Did it work?" Casandra asks walking over to Zoro and Sanji to look at the door "I don't know" The two say their eyes fixed on the broken door. Chopper squeezes past the three of you and jumps up using the key card to try and open the door but it only squeaks unable to open with it being bent in slightly. "Oh great, were trapped" Casandra groans crossing your arms over your chest. Zoro lets out a chuckle walking over to Chopper and patting his shoulder, getting the message the reindeer nods putting the key card in his back pack and runs over to you and Sanji as the Doctor joins you.

Zoro cracks his knuckles and his neck before grabbing the door where its slightly open and pulling, the metal door bends, opening up letting blinding light in, the sick people outside turn to look but there not sick anymore, their skin is normal, and they seem to be able to walk without issue. The sprinklers turn off along with the alarms allowing you all to step out and not be soaking wet, "We did it" Casandra smiles looking at all the now healthy people before picking up Chopper and hugging him. The reindeer stiffens scared she's going to hurt him but soon relaxes hugging you back as your laugh rings out. A young girl walks up to Zoro her eyes looking him over before reaching up and lightly touching his face, her eyes are full of curiosity but soon turn into shock realizing her touch hasn't killed him. Zoro stiffens when the girl wraps her arms around him hugging him and letting out a small laugh along with a smile "It's ok now, your all cured" The doctor smiles as a man walks over his eyes also curious but the doctor hugs the man who hugs back the rest smiling and walking over. Casandra puts Chopper down and pats his head "Thank you, Chopper and i'm really sorry for everything i did. your amazing" You smile is wide and voice kind making the reindeer wiggle a little until a girl walks over and bends down feeling his fur "So... soft" she smiles making Chopper blush more.

Sanji's eyes widen as he walks over to Zoro and the girl who's still hugging the swordsman, a part of him is jealous but mainly for two reasons, one he wanted her to hug him and two he didn't want any other woman but you hugging Zoro. The cooks cheeks where slightly red watching the two, but he jumped slightly when the girl looked up at him, she lets go of Zoro who's still very stiff with his hands at his sides and walks over to Sanji suddenly hugging him. Heat rises through the cooks body as the girl pulls away looking at him with a big smile "Thank you" her voice is soft and sweet "It's no problem, can't let a pretty girl like you live like that" Sanji laughs a little "Pretty? what pretty?" The girl asks as Zoro walks over and place a strong hand on Sanji's shoulder "It means you look nice" The swordsman sighs pulling the cook away only to stop once he's had a good look around "Where Y/N?" The swordsman's words gets Sanji, Choppers and the Doctors attention, all of them looking through the crowd of people but, your not here. Chopper feels through his back pack his eyes widening "She took the key card, she could be anywhere" The reindeer panics "Chopper stay and help there people, we'll go looking for Y/N" Sanji runs off followed by Zoro "Take all these people to the main lobby, we'll meet you in the canteen" The Doctor pats the Reindeer on the head before running after Zoro and Sanji.

[windswhispvrs]

[ simone kessell, forty-six, cisfemale, she/her ] Welcome to Antioch, AMARA MORGAN! Local sources report that you’ve been in town for FORTY-SIX YEARS and are known to be DETERMINED yet GUARDED. Others have dredged up rumors that you’re involved in THE VAMPIRE OF ANTIOCH as JESSICA MORGAN’S MOTHER, but most know you for your work as a/n DEFENSE ATTORNEY at LOCKHART, WILSON & ASSOCIATES. We’ll see you around town soon! 

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of poverty, alcoholism, implied abuse, parental death, child loss.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

name: amara evangeline morgan ( bailey )

nicknames/alias: mara ( by luke ) faceclaim: simone kessell age: forty-six gender: cisfemale sexuality: bisexual / biromantic date/place of birth: november 10th / antioch, oregon currently: antioch, oregon positive traits: determined, hard-working, protective negative traits: guarded, outspoken, sanctimonious astrological sign: scorpio archetype: the tigress

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.

you are born amidst the trailer parks of oregon, another bailey doomed to fail like all those who came before. it's a rather damning curse to bare such a name — one that is known to drown in mediocrity. you are the eldest of three, essentially a third parent, well, the only parent. collette and rudy bailey were there time and time again, sure, but were shells of their former selves — forcing their burnout on the back of their eldest daughter. you are forced to grow up far too quickly, thinking very little of yourself. the older you get, the more you begin to understand exactly what is wrong with your parents — put the pieces together as you notice the empty beer bottles beside your fathers armchair. you’ve come to realize that the soundtrack of your life, the screaming matches that echoed through the paper-thin walls were far from normal. if no one else was going to save you, the best you could do was try to save yourself.

you are given more freedom as your siblings age — but the after effects of your upbringing give little way to the experiences of youth. your life seems so clear when you first lay eyes on luke morgan, maybe he could save you. no, no. you would never force the burdens your parents had forced onto you on his back. you try to keep him away at first — but you cannot stop yourself from letting go. falling.

you do not regret severing the ties that bind you to that trailer at the edge of the — but it weighs upon you as you leave your siblings with them. you check in on them when you can, leave your door open to them — but it’s the most you can do. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. luke has never been anything but protective of you, supporting you onward and upward to the dreams you aspire to — no, the life you are entitled to after all the anguish. before you know it there is a ring on your finger, one that comes with a new last name. at long last, a bailey no more.

you never expected yourself to become a mother, especially at such a young age. perhaps because you thought you’d never have it in you. but, the moment you meet your daughter — everything changes. jessica. your own flesh and blood, untouched by your past, unclaimed by the curse that no longer has its grip on you either. she is your everything and more, another motivation to balance both law school and motherhood — no matter how tired you are. passing the lsat on the first try was met with such celebration, unlike any other. you consider it the best day of your life alongside jessica’s birth… for one thing is clear. you’ve done it. you’ve finally arrived, bailey’s be damned.

but, as the stories show — such a beautiful life is certainly too good to be true. luke’s drinking begins to worsen, the bailey curse wrapping its withered hands around his neck instead of your own. and while you stay for a time, believing so deeply that he could fight it — you cannot save him. you are so tired after a lifetime of saving everybody else. besides, you cannot save a man who makes no effort to fight his own destruction. as much as it pains you, you serve luke with divorce papers shortly after jessica turns eighteen. perhaps this will be the swift kick he needs, but she can’t stay around to find out.

much like you, your daughter is a quick study and moves through her academics with ease. you keep in contact as much as you can while she is immersed with her studies, and you with your casework. when the time comes for graduation and the real world, you cheer her on — but you can’t help but worry. it’s normal, right? all mothers naturally worry about what their children will become. especially with a bloodline like hers — one that you have tirelessly worked to protect her from. and yet, also in your stead she grips the real world by the throat and beats it to a pulp. she finds success in ways you could have only dreamed of at her age, and you couldn’t be more proud. she deserves this, she always has.

no parent ever plans for what came next. one moment you are conversing with your daughter on the phone, hanging onto every word, every update on her life until suddenly — policemen are standing at your doorstep. she’s missing. you can’t help the question that comes first, what do you mean missing? while hope had never been your strong suit, you cling to whatever sliver of it you can find. she’s out there, isn’t she? you raised a fighter, someone who can protect herself. wouldn’t that be enough?

grief begins as numbness, disbelief. she can’t be gone, they’re lying to you. you never let anyone watch you break, trip and fall ( in the beginning, not even luke — at first you believe he’s lost that privilege ) every press answer is choreographed, years of training certainly coming in handy. that is, if you has the energy to answer. as the years go by, however, your sadness gives way to anger. your daughter deserves better than this, better than the incompetence antoch’s law enforcement has shown you. the disrespect that they have shown your daughter. you quickly become antagonistic towards the detectives on your daughters case, taking some amount of pride every single time you evicerate them in court. perhaps it is a bias, someone prejudicial, but you do it all with a smile — ever the strong-willed professional.

you are breaking, day by day. you may be strong, but even the strongest can only last for a certain amount of time.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

quit smoking initially before jessica was born, but has secretly picked up the habit once more after her passing.

has never taken well to losing a case. she is no stranger to getting dirt on her hands, something that she has taken a great deal to hide from her ex-husband and daughter.

everything about her must be clean-cut. from head to toe she must appear perfect, without a hair out of place. she has worked far too hard to be seen in any other light.

has dated casually since her divorce from luke, but has never found it within herself to start anything serious. perhaps because of the stakes of her career, processing the loss of her daughter, or simply believing that no one out there is good enough.

amara made the decision to keep luke’s last name following their divorce. on the outside she would tell people it was for business reasons, but she had found so much peace in no longer being associated with her parents. that was the real reason.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

WANTED CONNECTION #1: THE ONE AFTER LUKE. it was likely a couple years after her divorce when this flame was first lit, but this person was the most serious romantic relationship amara ever had after luke. she likely remained rather guarded throughout the whole thing -- beginning very hot and heavy. things likely moved too quickly for amara, and i could see her wanting to tell this person she loved them, but never quite being able to bring herself to. wether they are on good or bad terms is completely up to player.

WANTED CONNECTION #2: A SOLID GROUP OF GIRLFRIENDS. amara never really had a lot of close friends, except for this merry band of three that has seen her through thick and thin. she met this group of three once she finished law school and they have held her hand through absolutely everything, especially jessica's death.

WANTED CONNECTION #3: DRINKING BUDDY. preferably a coworker from the firm or someone related to law enforcement, this person has always been a friendly ear. she has tried to be the same for them, despite her reputation as an ice queen.

[har-rison-s]

your good will: 38

family meeting

a/n: hiii, a big milestone chapter finally here. i hope i get to finishing this story sooner. i have less than 3 weeks left in my home country, then i'm moving away and i kinda wanna incorporate all those feelings into this story, yk? like method acting, only method writing :D happy reading!

masterlist

series masterlist

stranger things masterlist

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word count: 5.3k

characters in this chapter: maggie byers (oc), will byers, joyce byers, jonathan byers, el / jane hopper

warnings: angst, comfort, i suck at endings

gif credit goes to owner!

Maggie is sure she's only seen her mother smoke this many cigarettes when Will went missing. Well, alright, the whole year between November 1983 and November 1984 was a good year for Camel cigarette sales in Hawkins because of Joyce. Surely she's not as anxious now as she was then, this - telling your kids they're moving away from their hometown - is a lot less stressful than having a missing kid is. But her hands are steady, so that's a good sign, at least. 

Sitting beside her mom at the table, Maggie can feel how much her mood differs from the rest of the kids. Jonathan is a little antsy because of the job search, Will and Eleven are just waiting for Joyce to tell them whatever it is she brought them together for, they're a little confused. Maggie's just impatient to get this over and done with already.

“Okay, guys, here goes,” Joyce finally says, making everyone straighten their backs for the millionth time this morning. It's been a while since Joyce sat them all down to tell them the news, there have been many attempts to say it nice and easy, “I–”

“Is this about the house?” Jonathan asks, raising his head from its usual low hanging point. Everyone looks to him. “I saw an unpublished flier in the ads room while I was still working at the Post.” 

Maggie didn't know that Joyce had already marketed the house, she looks at her mom. Joyce sighs and takes another puff from her cigarette. She has been found out. “Well, that's an easy way to start this,” she says and huffs, “yes, I put the house up for sale. Our house.” She says and looks her kids over, Maggie included, so that there's no suspicion of her knowing before the rest of them find out. It's not exactly good to hide something like that from the rest of your family. 

There's no reaction from the kids yet, only blank stares and raised eyebrows. Except for Jonathan's furrowed brow. Maggie scratches the back of her head. No one says anything. Joyce takes that as a sign to continue.

“I've been… thinking about it since last year,” she admits, “since we got that thing out of Will.” Joyce says and looks at her youngest. Will hugs an arm around himself. “How so many shitty things have happened in this house,” she continues. The man in the wall with no face, Will going missing at home. Fights with Lonnie. Billy Hargrove and Steve having a fight, smashing up some kitchen cutlery in their way. A demogorgon actually being in this house, “so many shitty things have happened to us here, especially in the last few years.” Joyce shakes her head. “I just… I just think we need a fresh start. Somewhere new, where nobody knows us, where nothing like this happens. And of course, things can happen to you anywhere, because not in a million years would I have expected for things like what we've been through to happen in a small town like this! It's crazy.” She takes a drag of her cigarette and shakes her head.

“But…” Will gets the first word in, “but we grew up here. I have friends here, I–I… this is my home.” He tells his mom, looking right at her. The glassy look in his eyes and the slight tremble of his lips make Maggie's heart ache. “Our home,” Will adds, searching his mother's eyes for understanding. And there's plenty of it there, it's just that determination wins over it, “mom.” He whispers the word. Tears are bound to overflow any second. 

Joyce nods in response without saying a word. The tension in the room could be cut with an axe. Maggie looks everyone over, she sees confusion on everyone's faces, disagreement in her brothers' eyes. El has a deeply furrowed brow, Jonathan's sporting a less serious one. “I know,” Joyce finally says in a quieter voice, “I know. It's my home, too. I watched you guys grow up here.” She breathes a deep sigh. “Everything, and I mean everything has happened to us here.” Joyce shakes her head. “Living in a new place would be… refreshing, I don't know. A restart option.”

“Mom, it's not like our current lives have stopped for us,” Jonathan argues back, “all three of us still have school, and El should go to school, too, right?” He looks at the others for back-up. Maggie and Will shrug. “Maggie and me have relationships here, you know. It's not like life's stopped for all of us just because it's stopped for you.” Maggie raises her eyebrows at this statement.

He's not wrong, but he could have framed it differently. Nicer, less mean. Joyce looks at him, aghast. “Jonathan…” she whispers, “I just want things to be normal again. I want us to live a normal life.”

Jonathan grins in a not-amused way and bites back a sinister chuckle. “Mom, I'm sorry, but that's just… never happening,” he tells her with a shake of his head, “ever. The very reason you want us to move in the first place is not normal. Interdimensional monsters and mad scientists. It's not something you can just run away from and forget.” That's also true. “Will and El still have nightmares. They're still tied to everything, even if something like that never happens again.”

“He's right, mom,” Maggie says with a nod. Joyce feels a little betrayed by the only person she'd expected to take her side in this, even though they've had their arguments over this exact topic before. 

“It's not something we can get away from,” Will adds on, “me and El…” he looks at the girl, “we can't just forget it.”

“Yeah, but it will be totally different from here,” Joyce argues back, “there's places and things here that remind you of everything that's happened to you, but there's not gonna be any to where we move!” She explains. Will and Jonathan huff, nearly in unison. “It will be… moving on. For all of us.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” Maggie asks the question she hopes is neutral to ease the tension a little bit. Her mom turns her head to look at her. 

“I'd really love to move to Maine,” Joyce says and lights another cigarette, “but it's actually Owens' call. He'll know where the best place for us is.” She takes a drag from the new cigarette and looks the kids over. Silent, but tense. “Bob had a house in Maine, his parents' house. But we'll have to see. Owens is visiting today or tomorrow, don't know exactly.”

Maggie sighs. Will sleazes back into his chair. “So that's it,” he says, “we're just moving because you decided. We have no say in it.”

Joyce looks at her youngest. “I'm not looking to argue with any of you. This is a decision I've made that's best for all of us.” Joyce glances at El, who hasn't said a single word yet. “Owens suggested it, too. For El's safety from the government and everything.” She shrugs. 

“I think it will be safe,” El speaks up finally, a gentle nod swaying her head in agreement to Joyce, “the new place. Fresh start.” She looks at Joyce, and the woman squeezes her hand, shooting El a quick smile. Thanks for the support.

“And how soon will we be leaving?” Maggie asks in a near whisper, dreading the answer. If mom has talked this over with Owens, it means there's been more concrete talk or where and when. Joyce shrugs.

“The next few months,” she guesses, “but it's hard to tell now. It can't be right away, because that would be too suspicious. Would attract eyes we don't want on us.” Joyce sighs. “No later than October, I bet.” She looks her kids over again. Will rolls his eyes, Maggie looks at her fidgeting hands in her lap. She can tell no one except herself is happy with this news. “I promise it will be good for us, guys. Yes, also hard, but when have things ever been easy for us?” She means this for her flesh and blood more, though she knows El can more than agree with her on that. “You can get as mad at me as you want, but it's not going to change anything. Until you know stuff better than me, I know what's best for you, okay? And you bet your butts I'm gonna act on it.” She tells everyone. Will shakes his head again, disapproving of all of this completely. Classic teenager rebellion. Maggie and Jonathan are hardly teenagers anymore, but they're on the same stand as Will. “I just wanna…” Joyce sighs, exasperated, “I just wanna move on. Not linger where everything that's happened to us is all around us, right here, in every inch of this town. It's weighing me down, and can't be healthy for you guys, either.”

Maggie sighs. She knows there's no changing mom's mind, but she still disapproves of this decision. She'd rather stay here with Steve, work and finish school, than move to a completely strange place that she'll once again have trouble fitting into. She hardly fit into Hawkins, and her brothers hardly fit, too. The last year and a half haven't been helping with that, either. “Yeah, well, running away isn't exactly moving on, mom,” Jonathan finally says and leaves the kitchen with quick pace. Now Joyce sighs and hides her face in her hands. She's tried her best to explain herself and make the situation better for everyone, but evidently, it's not working. And she hoped Jonathan would have a more mature response to this decision. She expected better from her first child, but she doesn't realize how this makes him feel, not really.

It's different for Joyce here than it is for her kids. All three of them still have school to finish in the next few years, and leaving in October means they'd be changing schools in the middle of the semester, which messes with their heads. Everything that's happened to them over the last two years already throws their focus off in school, and now a big move wouldn't exactly help, either. All that Joyce would lose leaving here is a job, and she can easily find another one in the place they move to. Changing jobs isn't as disorienting as changing schools.

Will has friends here that he's grown up with since kindergarten. He's known them all his life. Jonathan is with Nancy, and Maggie is with Steve. Joyce lost Bob last year, and Hopper this year. The few friends she has here aren't that close friends with her, really, they're not real friends. Hopper was a real friend. She's not exactly sure what Murray could classify as, and he doesn't live in Hawkins, anyway. Joyce doesn't have as much here to leave as her kids do. 

She doesn't realize that, because she's lost everything she could lose already, except her children. She's also forgot how defensive teenagers can be in their reactions and feelings, she's forgot how it feels to be a teenager. While going through tough times, friends and other forms of relationships are what ground a person, what can help them get through those times. And a person often gets attached to anything that helps. Joyce has lost those kinds of people, but her kids still have them. She can't just pretend they're not there and make her kids forget about them. 

Jonathan leaves the house, disrupting the tense silence with slamming the door shut. Everyone hears him powering up his car and leaving in less than a minute. Joyce really hoped he'd take the news better than he did. “All right, I have to get to work,” Joyce says, getting up from the kitchen table with her pack of cigarettes in hand. She kisses Maggie's forehead, and walks over to Will to do the same, but there's some reluctance from her son at first. It saddens her, but she guesses she deserves that. Making Will's decisions for him has never really been productive. She squeezes his shoulder just a little tighter than usual, “have a good day, guys,” Joyce embraces El before leaving the kitchen, “I'll see you later.” She says quietly, grabbing her keys and then leaving through the front door like Jonathan did a few minutes ago, though quieter than he did.

Will sighs once mom has left and shakes his head. “I really don't wanna leave,” he says and leans onto the kitchen table, arms crossed under his chin, “I have… everything here.” Maggie nods. El sits in silence, just listening to the Byers siblings. She understands them, and she understands Joyce, and agrees with her more. But she understands it can be troubling to have such big changes one after the other in their lives, she understands the meaning of this place to Maggie, Will and Jonathan. 

“Me too,” Maggie says quietly and offers her brother a quick half-smile. She leans on the table as well, one hand under her chin and the other resting on Will's arm, offering a comforting touch, “remember when Owens came by recently?” She asks her brother, and he nods, intrigued. “Well, I heard mom talking to him about adoption papers for El,” Maggie looks at the younger girl with a smile, “you will legally be our sister.” She tells her. 

The small news make El smile from ear to ear, a smile only Max had the honor to see recently. She nearly sheds a tear, but only nearly. Maggie and Will look at her with big smiles. “Big sister,” El says to Maggie, and she nods, chuckling quietly afterwards. 

“Come here,” Maggie urges the younger girl, stretching an arm out to her, and Eleven listens, coming to sit in Maggie's lap, both girls embracing each other, “two sisters with two brothers.” Maggie says, looking at Will, who is now holding her hand on the table. “I really don't wanna leave home, either,” Maggie says in a deep breath, “but staying here can't be safe for El. I mean, there were FBI agents crawling in Hawkins last year, thank God hopper hid El from the rest of us.” She admits. “Otherwise we'd all be interrogated or something, and not in pretty ways.” 

El nods. “And the bad men,” she says. Maggie agrees with a nudge of her head. Even though the lab has been empty since winter, she's had doubts whether they're really gone. Gone forever.

“That's true,” Will says, seemingly having no other choice but to agree with them, “I don't think you could really go to school here,” he tells El, “too many people have seen you somehow.” Eleven nods, knowing that. Too many people. Too much exposure. Rumors and theories would start to spread, leading to news and investigations. Will sighs again. “Mom's probably right.” He says in defeat. Maggie chuckles. “And she would never let half of us stay here and the other half to move away, she'd never allow that.”

Maggie shakes her head. “Never in a million years,” she agrees. ��I can’t split up my family” echoes in her mind, “that would be us splitting up, and she would never let that happen.”

“Yeah,” Will breathes quietly, defeat in the air between them again, “I guess she's… right. I don't think she understands how we're feeling about this.” He says and huffs, his eyes switching between El and Maggie. His sister nods and tucks her head under El's chin, the two of them embracing closer. 

“Jonathan could have said it nicer, but he was right. She doesn't have much left here, you know. No Bob, no Hopper.” Maggie says quietly. “I think he was kinda her last tie to this place. Home.” Her last chance at having a normal life. “And she's right in that… so much has happened to us here. This place just reeks of all the… trauma that's happened to us.” Maggie sighs. “I guess she can't take it anymore. I don't blame her. And she wants you guys to get better.”

Will nods, thinking how wise his sister always is. If she played D&D, she'd have to take his mantel and be Maggie the Wise. Sometimes, like this moment for example, he's overcome with how thankful he is to have someone like her. The closest women in his life - his mom and sister - are both smart, strong, always give the right advice, have kind hearts and are forgiving (though that's not always healthy for them), and are just little miracles that someone in creation dealt Will to have and cherish. And he does cherish them.

The Byers siblings sit in silence, El taking in what the siblings-by-blood are saying and feeling, seeing from their point of view in this situation. Will lays on the table, arms crossed under his head, thinking about this big change in their lives. He's had a couple of those already, and none of them have exactly been 100% pleasant. Maybe this move will be at least 90% better than it will be for the worst. Will hopes so. He's so tired of receiving bad news, tired of bad things happening to him and his family.

Maggie's pondering about what house Owens will be offering them, and if they really can put the move off until October. That's a good amount of time to fit in anything she wants to do until they're gone. Her thoughts travel to their plan for the day, and she realizes they have none. Maybe Owens coming by, but Maggie pegs him for a morning type of person, so he'll probably be here tomorrow. She doesn't wanna bother Steve again - though, of course, she knows he wouldn't call that bothering and would be happy to see her at any time of day - and she's wanted to bring the younger siblings together, anyway. 

“You guys wanna rent a movie, maybe?” Maggie suggests to the younger ones, catching their attention. “We could make popcorn or buy candy and watch something fun.”

“You don't have any plans for the day?” Will asks, and Maggie shakes her head with a gentle smile on her lips, looking at her brother. “Not even with Steeeeeve?” He turns his head at Maggie playfully and says Steve's name in a sing-song voice that sounds more like a whine, not a celebratory, romantic mention. Maggie chuckles, and even El cracks a smile, loving the dynamic between Will and his sister. 

“No, not even with Schteve,” Maggie tells Will and pushes at his shoulder a bit, teasing him back in her own way. Will smiles and nods, “what would you guys wanna watch?”

“Whatever,” Will says with a shrug and leans back in his chair, “what do you like, El?” He looks at his step-sister-to-be. El rests her head atop Maggie's and lets out a long sigh.

“Something funny,” she says.

“Maybe let's just go to the video store and we'll see what's there, huh? Whatever catches your eye,” Maggie suggests to El, looking up at her, and the younger girl nods. Maggie checks with Will with a glance, and Will agrees with a nod, too, “okay, let's change and go. We'll take our bikes.” She says and El gets off her lap as if on cue. “Wait, El, do you know how to ride a bike?” She asks. 

El looks a little puzzled. She's used to moving objects, not using them really. She thinks how hard can it be? But then gets anxious. She's less sure of herself now that she's out of her powers. She hasn't really tried practicing in the last few days, and Max said to give it time, but it hasn't left her mind. Can she do anything at all if she doesn't have her powers? Maggie notices her growing nervous, and shakes her head with an assuring smile. 

“It's okay, we can teach you. You can sit on the back of my bike today,” Maggie tells her, and El nods with a small smile on her lips. She's so glad there's no rush and no pressure. She's used to getting that from people around her so much that it's become a permanent feeling of pressure and expectations. El is glad the Byers are different from the people she's used to being around.

She enjoys that Will asks her personal questions without it being like an interrogation, or an interview. She likes that she can feel he asks her stuff and shares his own thoughts because he wants to know about her, not because he wants something from her. Like if she likes scary movies - which she doesn't, well only ghost movies and thrillers, because the ones with paranormal stuff and monsters remind her too much of the Lab, and of everyone's perception of her. A monster. Or if she likes any sort of music, which she does - Jim Croce reminds her of Hopper and good memories, and Madonna reminds her of Max and good memories with her. 

El doesn't know it yet, but the Byers - especially Maggie and Will - bring her such a feeling of normalcy, a reassuring feeling of being a person rather than a subject, and in a family, sibling kind-of way. They're her friends, but also more than that. Max is her friend, like a sister. Maggie is, too. But Mike was a friend, and then a boyfriend. And now… she doesn't really know what he is. But with these people, who are as close to her as Mike is, it feels kind of easier, with less expectations. 

There's no sense of doing anything wrong in their eyes, El feels like she could never do wrong in their house and that she's not under any pressure. In expressing feelings and thoughts in the Byers house there is no hesitation, and no fear. Maggie and the others, but Maggie especially, has made her feel so safe and secure. None of them really expect anything from her in any sense, and that eases El by a lot. They're really family to her. They've become that in a short time, though El knows it's gonna last forever. At least she hopes so. She has a good feeling about this.

And what if they are leaving their home? El understands that can be tough - Hawkins has been her home for the last almost-two years, yet she never really felt like she belonged, or had a right to live here. She can see and will see later how hard it is to leave one's home. Somewhere only you know, a place where you've grown up and had shaping experiences, earned friends and more. Where you took your first steps, said your first words, had your first kiss, screwed up something for the first time, were scared for the first time. 

But at least they'll be doing it all together. None of them will be alone, like Will was in the Upside Down, like El wandering the woods after escaping the Lab, like Joyce believing Will was still alive and doing everything she could to prove it, like Jonathan dealing with his brother's disappearance in the same time as being bullied at school and by his father, like Maggie dealing with Hopper and his daughter's death, and its toll on the poor man. The Byers and El are going to experience moving to a different town, different house all together. 

It makes El feel like she finally belongs somewhere. Like she has a safety pillow to fall onto. Like she has a home.

She used to watch movies with Hopper at their cabin all the time, and tv shows, too. But El’s never been to a place where you can rent videotapes for movies or shows, so Family Video is like another world for her. She’s sure Hopper had some tapes, too, but he was much more of a television guy, she didn’t really get an offer for him to watch a rented movie or anything. 

Family Video is deserted, as the rest of the town is - they’ve lost almost half the population to the Mind-Flayer, so no wonder. But the less people, the more comfortable El feels. Maggie lets her roam the store while she and Will look for one or two fun movies to rent. For now they’ve got Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, they want to find an extra movie just in case it gets boring for either of the three of them.

“Need any recommendations?” That sly voice Maggie could recognise anywhere speaks up from their left. She quickly glances at looming Keith at the end of the aisle, and notices he has that strange smirk of his that tells you he’s up to mischief. She rolls her eyes when she turns her head back to the tapes, and Will holds back a snort.

“No, thanks, we’re just browsing,” Maggie responds as she usually would to anyone else asking. She hopes Keith will take the hint, but she knows him better than that. She doesn’t feel particularly comfortable in his presence, he’s always been creepy and even stalker-ish - both when he was still in school and now, after he’s graduated for more than a year.

“You know, I’ve noticed you coming in here a few times already,” Keith continues the conversation and comes a little closer, while Maggie and Will move further away, nearly in tandem, so the distance between them and Keith would remain the same while moving around, “you like movies a lot, huh?” 

Maggie huffs, “I sure do,” she replies flatly and finally finds what she was hoping to. Footloose, 1984, “let’s take this one.” She tells Will, holding the tape up, and Will nods, a smile stretching across his features. 

“Perfect, I’d forgot about it.” He says and admires the simple poster on the tape’s cover. “This will be fun.” He tells his sister, and she nods. 

“Go get El, and I’ll pay for these,” Maggie says, and Will follows suit. Ah, crap, now she has to pass Keith and also talk to him while she rents the two tapes. She makes her way into the parallel aisle to Keith’s, and holds the two desired tapes up in her hand. Keith nods and quickly makes his way to the cash register, beating Maggie to it first, “I’ll probably return them on Thursday.” She tells him.

“No problem at all,” Keith says and types whatever it is he needs to type into the store’s computer, “I’ll put it in until next Monday, the 22nd.” Maggie nods. Keith makes calculations on a piece of paper, presses buttons into the cash register and gives Maggie a sleazy smile. “That will be twelve bucks.” Maggie raises her eyebrows. “Gave ya a little discount there.”

Maggie chuckles weakly. “I appreciate that, but you didn’t have to,” she says, but pulls out the exact money and lays it on the counter. Now this is getting more awkward than it was before.

“Just come by some more,” Keith urges, taking the money from her, and Maggie gives him an attempt of a smile, “and, by the way, we’re hiring. The fire and everything lost us a couple employees. Plus, we could hang out. Maybe rent a movie ourselves.” He gives Maggie a receipt. Now she’s properly creeped out by him.

“I’ll decline that offer.” Maggie sighs. “I’m with Steve, for your information,” she reminds him, collecting the receipt and putting the tapes in her tote bag. Keith’s face falls to disappointment, Maggie gives El and Will, who are approaching the desk, an awkward smile, “but I’ll think about the job offer. Do I have to hand in my resume or something to come by for an interview?” She braces her tote bag over her shoulder.

“You we’ll take without a resume, just come in some day and I’ll teach ya everything,” Keith answers, and sends Maggie a hint - the disappointment on his face now seeming like only a fleeting feeling, as he proves to still be super bad at taking a hint. Maggie fights back the urge to roll her eyes and just simply nods instead, “enjoy the movies.”

“Thanks,” Maggie says and finally turns her back to Keith, walking with her siblings out of the store. Will gives Keith a good-bye wave as they slip through the door, and laughs as soon as they’re out of there, “Jesus Christ.” Maggie groans under her breath so her general disagreement to Keith as a person wouldn’t look as obvious through the Family Video window. Her grumble makes Will laugh more. 

“He is so weird,” he says finally, beginning to explain the context of the situation to Eleven, who feels pretty lost in it, “in every way possible.” 

“How have you noticed that?” Maggie inquires. Will shrugs.

“He’s always been kind of a bully to us, he uses the weirdest insults,” he starts counting off, “and he’s been asking Mike for a date with Nancy, and me for a date with you, since we started coming to the Arcade.” Will shakes his head.

Maggie huffs. “He really is creepy, I had kinda forgot about him,” she says, “in school he was weird, weirder than me, and now… He offered me a job here, said I don’t need to have a resume, even asked me out. Jesus…”

“He must be into you,” Will says with a chuckle, and the face his sister gives as a reaction has the chuckle expanding into genuine laughter, “better not tell Steve.”

Now is Maggie’s turn to laugh. “I tell Steve everything, and this wouldn’t bother him,” she says, knowing Steve isn’t one to be intimidated by a guy like Keith, “well, maybe the case of me getting hit on by a creepy dude can bother him, but he won’t get jealous, if that’s what you mean.” He did get jealous of Jonathan pretty fast, but that was a different case.

“Alright, alright,” Will raises his hands up in defense. El comes closer to the siblings.

“What does “getting hit on” mean?” She asks them and glances between the two.

“It’s when someone’s interested in you and they’re trying to ask you on a date or something,” Maggie says, “it’s a little more aggressive than flirting, but mostly they’re the same thing.” She looks at El, and the younger girl nods. She could see the Family Video guy was making Maggie feel uncomfortable. “Steve and Robin could work there, though, now that Scoops is destroyed.”

“And the rest of the mall,” Will says with a sigh, “you could work there, too. Maybe if you and Steve both get jobs there, Keith will take the hint and lay off you.” He suggests.

“Huh,” Maggie says, crossing her arms over her chest as the three of them cross the street, “that’s a good idea. Yeah, maybe I could work there. Save up some money for moving.”

“Yeah,” Will breathes with a heavy air between them that has suddenly breezed in. Maggie didn’t mean to change the topic of conversation to the least comfortable of them all, she knows how her brother feels about it all. She has her own complicated feelings, too. She hugs him close and kisses the top of his head. He gives his sister a faint smile. 

They get to their bikes and hop back on, El sitting on the so-called trunk of Maggie’s bike and holding her tote bag for the ride. She takes in the look of deserted Hawkins, the toll of the Mind Flayer’s terror games on the town really coming into view for her as they bike home. Some trees have lost their leaves because of the constant heat, making the center of the town look a bit like a town in the middle of the desert, reminding El of a western she once watched on TV. Hopper would have fit right in, the cowboy-dressing cop that he was. This town really suited him.

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