#like i remember listening to this while pulling weeds in the yard

[hobbittime]

So I found the playlist from 2020 that my Camp Nano cabin made and I'm literally crying because I forgot about it almost entirely, but back then I listened to it every day and it still makes me have all the warm feelings and I'm-

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Birdsong fills your ears as you meticulously unearth the last few weeds in the soil. Careful to not damage the stems, you pull gently while barely disturbing the dirt. The last step is pruning. With ginger motions, you cut each crooked branch pointing in the wrong direction. Beads of sweat drip down from your forehead into the soil.

The heat from the sun is unforgiving today.

But you welcome the labor, even with the sweltering weather. Time flies when you spend it in the garden.

It’s a welcome distraction, the kind you’ve sorely craved as of late. Idleness does you no good. It often ends with you curled beneath your blankets, drowning in a puddle of your own tears.

Each day you wake up hoping none of it was real.

The harsh reality swiftly claims its right however.

It’s everywhere. All the painful little reminders. 

The empty chair at the dinner table. All the spots he loved in the house, now desolate without him. His untouched room, lacking the messiness he usually favored.

And there’s all the times you turn, words tingling on your tongue, hoping he’ll be there to listen to you as always.

Then you remember.

Your brother can never listen to you again. And neither will you listen to him.

You’ll never hear his stupid laugh again or his crazy stories.

And your whole life you’ll turn, hoping to see him standing right there, beside you, but he will not be here.

Your grip on the shears loosen. They hit the vibrant green grass with a quiet thud.

You lift your eyes to admire your handiwork.

The garden looks nice; the flowers are thriving. The roses in particular.

They have bloomed wonderfully this year, having blushed to a gorgeous scarlet.

Your heart sinks. 

If only Sejanus were here to see it. Your brother spent most of his life helping you tend to this garden. Whenever he wasn’t busy at the Academy or with the various tasks Strabo had for him, your brother was here, with you.

You both worked in silence, basking in the warmth of the sun and the pleasure of each other’s company.

The garden turns into a watercolor rainbow before you as your eyes well up with tears.

“We have company, sweetie.”

You swivel towards the familiar airy tone your mother often uses. She often emphasizes the importance of poise and decorum in every situation. Even in the current situation, your mother’s held her head high. Still, you don’t miss the subtle red rims around her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. 

Like you, she’s suffering. While you may not share blood with your family, having been adopted when you were three, your bond with your mother has always been as strong as if she gave birth to you.

Confusion has your brows collide into each other.

“Company? We weren’t expecting anyone.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, gripping your shoulders. Heartbreak flashes in her eyes, the same soulful ones as her departed son. “I’m hurting too, but you can’t hide forever.”

She cups your face and advises, “Go put on a nice dress, and wash up some. You have dirt on your face.” Disapproval pinches your mother’s features as she gauges your disheveled appearance. She sighs. "You know you don’t have to do that. This is what we have staff for."

Help. You suppose your mother refers to the Avoxes who tend to the yard sometimes. The sight of them fills you with rage and disgust.

Just one of the Capitol’s many crimes against its own people. Who would even clip someone’s tongue as punishment, then have them serve their tormentors?

It’s beyond vile and sadistic. But what else to expect from a place that openly sponsors child murder?

At times, you feel as if you’re living amongst beasts masquerading as human beings.

Still, you feign nonchalance. Some opinions cannot be voiced aloud, even to your parents. Especially to your parents.

"It calms me down," you explain, shedding your gloves and removing your wide-brimmed hat.

“Sweetie…”

She gives you yet another lecture on proper ladylike behavior. As usual, you only listen with half an ear, checking out about five minutes into her querulous spiel.

You’ve heard it at least a million times before. Still, you indulge her like the dutiful daughter you are.

She then reminds you to get dressed. You don’t have to be told twice.

You head to the back door connecting the garden to your room. 

While you do as you’ve been instructed, inquiries crowd your mind. Your parents haven’t been too fond of visitors lately. Besides, what kind of company requires you to dress up?

As you head to your massive closet, you wonder who’d visit your family at such a time. 

Your mother’s refrained from entertaining altogether and your father’s poured all his energy in his business, turning down most social calls. 

You randomly pick a dress, a pale blue one with a sweetheart neckline, before making your way downstairs.

Faint chatter echoes from the sunroom near your father’s office. You follow the hushed voices.

Astonishment rushes through you when you realize who’s having tea with your father.

You haven’t seen him since reaping day.

“Coriolanus?” you gasp.

He stands to his full height at the sound of you calling his name. Your surprise multiplies. 

He seems so…different, yet you can’t pinpoint what exactly about him elicits that impression within you. After all, he's still the same tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, dashing young man you knew before. 

But something has changed. You can feel it.

Even the air around him moves in a different way, it seems.

He makes his way to you, surprising you further by grabbing your hand and brushing his lips over the back of it.

“You look lovely,” he mumbles, cobalt eyes finding yours.

Warmth rushes to your cheeks. You don’t remember Coriolanus ever being so…chivalrous. 

“T-Thank you,” you stammer.

“I’ll let you two kids catch up,” your father states, nodding at the blond before taking his leave. 

“How are you holding up?” the young man asks, escorting you to a nearby bench. 

It occurs to you that he’s still holding your hand, his long slender fingers curled around yours. Cheeks aflame once again, you draw it back and tuck it in your lap.

Coriolanus’ brow twitches at your tiny gesture.

“I…Dad said you were the one who brought the box with his things. That was so thoughtful of you.”

A subtle smile spreads on his lips.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it means a lot,” you insist, shaking your head. “Any part of him it’s…it’s important to keep it.”

You fidget as he studies you, his crystalline gaze unreadable.

“But you have the most important part with you all the time. In the end it’s all we have, right? Our memories.”

Your heart swells with warmth.  He’s right, you surmise. After all, every memory of your brother is yours. Forever. They will never be taken away.

You’re a little taken aback though. Who knew Coriolanus Snow to be so sentimental? 

“Thanks, Coryo.”

His mouth tenses at the nickname but his tight-lipped smile expands. You used to call him that when you were little, having witnessed Tigris do it. It stuck and he never corrected you.

“I missed you. I think the last time you came to our house you were like seven or eight, right?” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Janus had to drag you there. He kept asking and you always said no.”

He shrugs.

“All the other kids were picking on him. I didn’t want to make it worse for him.”

Your voice softens. “But you never did. Pick on him I mean.” They may not have been the closest but you remembered how much it meant to Sejanus at the time, that at least one kid in his class wasn’t harassing him for being from a district. While some thought he was merely upholding the grace befitting his name and status, you believed otherwise. You’ve always been convinced that beneath the sturdy layer of indifference he drapes over himself, Coriolanus is kinder than he seems. He was kind to you after all.

He spoke to you many times, even playing with you when many other children wouldn’t. Over the years, you grew a bit apart but he’s always been sweet whenever you ran into each other. 

“So, what have you been up to?” he asks, changing the subject.

You sigh. “Not much,” you admit. “Gardening, reading, going to class. The preparations for the wedding take up most of my time anyway.”

His jaw ticks as a slight crease appears on his forehead.

“A wedding? Are you helping someone plan their wedding?”

“No…It’s for my wedding actually.”

Your engagement ring glimmers, catching the sunlight as you show it to him.

Coriolanus’ frown deepens.

“You’re engaged? I didn’t realize.”

Enthusiastic, you nod. “Yeah, he’s amazing. We met at Uni. Dad doesn’t like him too much though.”

This seems to catch his interest, his head leaning sideways.

“Is that so?”

“His family’s from the districts…and Dad said his breeding will drag down to our name.”

Just saying it boils your blood. How hypocritical of your father when the Plinth house had its roots in District 2. Sometimes, it stuns you how far your father’s strayed from the plight of his own people, going as far as sponsoring and financing the barbaric practice the Hunger Games are. 

Sejanus never stood for it, rightfully so. 

It’s one of the many reasons you miss him. He never embraced the horrors of Panem, fighting against your father’s plans for him at every turn. In the end, it even got him killed. 

“He just wants what’s best for you." He pauses, plucking your hand from your lap. His long fingers twine with yours. His tone dips, oozing concern. "I do too. You deserve the best. I hope you know that.”

A wave of emotions engulfs you. You don’t notice you’ve begun shedding tears until he reaches up to your face, using his thumbs to collect them. 

You give a watery smile.

“Thank you. For everything. For the box. For coming.”

He traces your tear-stained cheek with his finger. 

“I should have reached out more," he says, glistening blue eyes locking with yours.

Your hands cover his. You never expected in a million to hear such words leaving Coriolanus’ mouth. He’s always been so…aloof.

This is the kind of change you can only welcome. You often hoped Coriolanus would open himself more to others.

“It’s okay. We can catch up now. Make up for lost time," you chime.

His lips twist upward. "Right. We have all the time in the world."

Struck with the abrupt realization of your closeness, the way he cups your face being easy to misconstrue for an onlooker, you scoot backwards and clear your throat. 

Flames tickle your cheeks.

You’d be lying if you said you never harbored a little crush on the handsome heir of House Snow growing up. He on the other end, never seemed to notice you, his attention always on girls like Clemmie or Arachne. It makes sense, you suppose. They are, after all, cut from the same cloth. Bonded by generations upon generations of hoarded wealth and an elusive code of rules and conduct you never fully grasped.

The mere way you hold a cup of tea gives you away. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re older now and about to get married. You can’t wander the wistful lands of childhood fantasies anymore. 

So while keeping a careful distance, you offer solemnly, “I… Dad is attending this fundraiser tonight…to funnel the promotion funds for the next Hunger Games." Your brow furrows as disdain coats your tone. You can’t believe plans to repeat this ghastly tradition are being set in motion. "I didn’t want to go but he wants the family to present a strong front." 

You pointedly omit to speak of your father’s blackmail and all he threatened to take from you if you didn’t show up, starting with the roof over your head.

See how well you fare as district trash, how long it takes you to crawl back home and beg for scraps.

You discard Strabo’s harsh warning to the deepest recesses of your mind. While you know he loves you, he also doesn’t tolerate any misstep from you. They took you in after all, saved you from a life of misery. Otherwise you’d have grown up an orphan. Instead, you get to live a lavish, easy existence in the lap of luxury, now the heir apparent to the Plinth fortune since Janus has passed.

You’re grateful, of course, for all they gave you. You just hate having to forsake your origins and partake passively in the slaughter of innocent children. Once you’re at the helm of the company, you’ll do everything in your power to stir up change. Every tidal wave begins with a small ripple. Perhaps one day all those tiny ripples will come together and form a tsunami, one that’ll wash away the sins of the Capitol and too many years of injustice.

"You should come. I could introduce you to my fiancé,” you offer.

Hopefully seeing both of them in one place will cement which one of them is your past and which one is your present. You don’t like the way a single touch from him flustered you so easily.

While you’re thrilled to resume your friendship with him, you and Coriolanus can never be more than that. 

Besides the obvious matter of your impending nuptials, the two of you are so different. There has to be someone out there for him, some lucky girl that’ll make him so happy. And you bet he’ll make her happy too. 

One thing's for sure however. That girl isn’t you. 

Coriolanus sizes you up before giving a slow reply.

“I look forward to it,” he says.

[shinhoebakuhoekitten]

Shinso as a roommate w spice 👀

I can talk about this guy for hours. 🥵

Also send me an ask with a person from MHA and I will say how they are as a roommate. Please advise if you want some spice

I know that some people are sick of the cat and Shinso comparison but I think it is the perfect comparison for him when it comes to being a roommate.

You do not see him often when you first become roommates (and honestly unless you heard him leave his room to go to the bathroom or kitchen you were sure that he just wasn’t there) and it wasn’t uncommon to just say hi in passing once a week or so.

Something changed though once you had been roommates for around 6 months and he was more comfortable around you.

You started seeing him more and more but he did it pretty subtly. It started with him joining you for whatever tv show you were watching- and it rally did not matter what. He watched your (in his words) “pointless reality trash” or “tame horror films” and though he wouldn’t admit he liked them he also watched your “over dramatic teenage shows”.

It got to the point that it was common for you to knock on his bedroom door with a “take out will be here in thirty, I ordered your favorite ramen. Hurry up so we can finish the series tonight.”

What you weren’t expecting was for him to open his door clad in only a towel that was tied lowely on his lean hips as he ran another towel through his shoulder length hair.

“You’re home a bit earlier then usual” he stated, his voice low in a way that you knew he had just been smoking a joint. Just as you thought that you were hit with the smell, making your nose scrunch slightly.

You weren’t against weed but your job did randomly drug test throughout the year so you had not partaken since your first year of college.

“Oh shit, sorry I forgot to spray something before opening the door. I wasn’t quite expecting you home so early.”

“Oh, no worries. I get it.” You felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed with heat. You had seen Shinso shirtless. It actually wasn’t uncommon to see him that way when you two were watching TV or when he was cooking throughout the week.

He said it was because he ran hot, but you swear he continued to do it only after he saw you no so subtly check him out the first time you had seen him shirtless.

“Extra spicy?” He questioned as he back into his room, spraying an air freshener to help combat the smell. It never quite worked but it was nice that he tried.

“What?” You questioned, completely caught off guard as he turned around to look at you, his signature soft smirk pulling at the corner of his pink lips before he bit his bottom lip to try and make it go away. You couldn’t help but notice the blood rush to his bottom lip, making it a bit redder.

“My ramen, did you by chance get it extra spicy?”

“Oh yeah, yes I did. No worries, I know how you like it.”

You could feel the air continue to thicken as your tried to stare anywhere but him but you couldn’t quite take your eyes off of him.

While you had been attracted to Shinso the second you saw him (you mean, you weren’t blind) it had really been the past few months that your crush had gone from a small school yard crush to a full fledged stomach lurching infatuation.

You had honestly couldn’t remember the amount of times that you had spaced out thinking about the indigo haired man and you had definitely lost count of the nights that had ended with your hand down your panties getting off to the thought to him.

“Um, I’m going to get the show ready and listen for the takeout person. I’ll see you when you are ready.” You said quickly, embarrassment an understatement at this point as you got out of his room as quick as possible and walked to the couch.

It wasn’t long before you heard the trill of your doorbell, signaling the delivery guy. As you got up from the couch to get the food you saw Shinso emerge from the small hallway.

“I got it.” He said as he walked passed you quickly, your living room wasn’t very big.

“Oh I haven’t paid the guy yet, let me get it.” You insisted as you stood at the edge of the couch.

“I got it this time, you can get it next week.” Shinso reasoned as he opened the door while also digging into his black sweats for his wallet. He pulled out enough yen to cover the meal with a generous tip before grabbing the bag of takeout and muttering a thanks as he shut the door.

“You know, you said the same thing last week about me paying this week.” You said softly after Shinso had untied the bag and handed you your cup of ramen.

“Did I?” He muttered “must have slipped my mind. No worries, I’ll make sure you don’t get out of it again.” He said with a wink as he handed you your chopsticks.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread across your chest and neck at the wink, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you thanked him while taking the lid off your food before placing it on the coffee table in front of you as you grabbed the remote to put on the last few episodes of the show that you two had been watching.

Dinner was quite as you tried to pay attention to the show you were watching but try as you might, you couldn’t get your brain to shut off. You made a mental note of needing to watch these episodes alone sometime soon because before this you had been wrapped into the story.

It wasn’t until the finale, the fourth episode you both had watched tonight, that you were able to pay attention. You were completely lost at this point, confused why the main character was in an abandoned farm but you tried to catch up as you watched.

A particularly frightening scene involving a chainsaw man that was wearing body parts of his most recent victims made you a bit jumpy and of course Shinso noticed right away.

“Come here” he whispered as he opened his arms while also putting his feet on the coffee table. It wasn’t completely uncommon for you two to cuddle but it was usually reserved for nights that one you have had a awful day and it never happened after so much sexual tension had been prevalent just hours earlier.

But you also knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth and you were basically crawling to his side without a second thought as you made yourself comfortable by placing your face onto to the chest of his white plain t shirt as he wrapped a long arm around you.

“No scary chainsaw man can get you know” he whispered into your hair. You could hear the grin in his voice as you slapped a hand onto his chest before moving to get up.

“Oh where do you think you’re going? I finally get you in my arms and you think you can leave?” As Shinso said this his arm tightened around you as the other one grabbed onto himself, effectively cocooning you into his side. You couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from your lips as you looked up to his face.

What you weren’t expecting was for his face to be so close to yours. Frozen from shock you continued to stare at him as he stared down at you.

Shinso couldn’t help but look from your eyes to your lips and quickly back to your eyes.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispered as his head began to lean down towards you, his lips quickly capturing yours.

You could feel as he undid his embrace on you while also placing both of his hands on either side of your cheeks.

It didn’t take long before he was deepening the kiss and placing one hand on your hip as his skilled fingers drew random small shapes on your hip.

You broke the kiss, needing to breath. As you stared at him for a second you noticed that your hands had had a mind of their own and we’re both at the edge of his skull, pulling gently on his purple locks.

“Woah” you exhaled.

“Good woah, or ‘oh shit what the fuck did we just do’ kind of Woah” Shinso questioned with a quirk of his eyebrows. You noticed that when Shinso got nervous he talked a lot more the he normally would.

“More like ‘why the hell have we not done that sooner’ kind of Woah” you corrected with a smile.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you became my roommate, but I also didn’t want to fuck anything up.” Shinso confessed.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Sure there had been some sexual tension, but he had thought you were attractive since you had two met? Why the hell did it take so long then?

“Maybe we shouldn’t waste anymore time then” you said, trying to sound very nonchalant but you could hear the tremor in your voice.

Shinso didn’t need to hear anything else as he grabbed you by your hips and placed you onto his lap.

Where the hell did he get so strong? You wondered as you widened your stance to allow both of your legs be flush with his hips as you straddled him.

Shinso placed a hand behind your head as he guided you back to him while whispering “if you want to stop at any point, tell me and I will. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the words. There was just something about your roommate that made him very different then most guys your age.

“Same goes for you” you whispered back before kissing him.

It wasn’t long of him kissing you that he began testing the waters by allowing his fingers to inch up a few inches up your shirt as he felt the skin beneath. You gave him permission to do whatever he wanted by tugging harshly onto his hair and moaning.

He quickly made work of taking off your oversized shirt, a twing of a smirk gracing his lips as he realizes it’s one of his black shirts that you must have stole at some point. He made a mental note to tease you a bit later, but for now he had way more important things to do.

As the shirt fell to the floor he couldn’t help but grown at the sight in front of him. He hadn’t realized due to the bagginess of the shirt but you were wearing a bra and damn if you didn’t have the pretties tits he had ever seen.

“No bra” he quipped as he cupped them in his large pale hands, loving the way your soft supple skin felt in them as your back arched a bit at the sensation of him kneading them softly, testing the waters to see what kind of pressure you wanted.

“Almost never when I’m in a baggie top.” You admitted with a flush.

“I’ll have to remember that for the future” he said with a shit eating grin before he latched onto your left nipple, rolling a very expert tongue around it.

You let out a louder moan then you meant to but this only seemed to spur Shinso on as he suckled harder.

“Shin, fuck, Shin, can we take this to one of our bedrooms? Not that fucking on the couch doesn’t sound fun, I just think I would rather be in a bed.”

“So demanding” he teased as his lips popped off of your bud, but in that same breath he grabbed you and hoisted both of you up off of the couch, his hands digging into the fat of your thighs. “My room? I just washed my sheets today.”

“We’re you hoping something was going to happen, Hitoshi?” You teased as you kissed his nose.

“Only every fucking day, also please continue to call me that. It sounds so fucking sexy coming from you and I can’t wait to hear you moan my name.”

“Well, just know I don’t just moan to inflate a persons ego, I have to mean it.” You quipped back.

“Don’t worry, you will.” Shinso said with a wink as he slapped your ass, making you giggle before attaching his lips to your neck and walking you to his bedroom.

Also, don’t worry. You moaned his name all night long.

[littlenightma]

Robert Turner | New Neighbor

Author’s Note: It still shocks me that Robert is not more popular amongst the slasher/horror community since David Morse is the total daddy package. Him as Detective Tritter in House was good too even though he was a total ass.

• You just moved into the neighborhood. Two weeks, to be precise, according to his memory. He remembers everyone who comes and goes, who he should avoid and who could one day pose as a problem.

• You, on the other hand, were like him in many ways. You kept to yourself and preferred privacy more than most. He liked that. You weren’t nosey or looking to make friendly conversation just for the sake of it. Apart from the polite smiles and waves, there was barely any interaction.

• You enjoy being outside. He does too. While you like to sit on your porch swing and listen to music or read or whatever activity suits you that day, he is hunched over his garden pulling weeds and working up a sweat. He finds a mole in his garden. He holds it up debating on what to do.

• “Are you going to kill it?”

• It was you peeking over the fence awaiting his answer. To be honest he was quite surprised to see you had spoken to him so he didn’t answer right away.

• “He was in my garden. He is ruining my yard.”

• “But are you going to kill it?”

• He looked down at the mole desperately trying to dig through his gloved hand. He had considered disposing of the animal.

• “Do you not want me to?”

• You shook your head and held out your hand. He dropped the small creature into your palm.

• “If I catch him in my garden again I won’t give him back.”

• You smiled appreciatively and walked away hugging the mole to your chest and he went back to tending his flowers.

• You had a boy over recently. Interesting. He doesn’t seem like your type, but then again he wouldn’t really know what your type was, now would he? He doesn’t mean to pry, but you did not look like you were enjoying yourself. He understands. He too found it difficult to truly connect with people. They all eventually became…disposable after so long.

• You did not take the boy up to your bedroom. He is pleased. He was not the one for you. He knows this because your smile did not light up the room like it usually did. It never even reached your eyes. Soon you were leading him to the door, but he was a persistent one, wasn’t he? He detested people like that. Disrespectful. Eventually the message becomes clear and he leaves and you lean against the door in relief.

• You had nothing to worry about though. He was watching over you and had the boy not left he would have planned to randomly show up asking for butter or sugar that he had supposedly ran out of at that precise moment.

• Your bedroom, believe it or not, sits directly in front is his and often times he would see you toss and turn at night. Nightmare, perhaps? Dare he be that bold to assume you were dreaming of him? Was he chasing you around in your house carrying a blade, lurking around corners, waiting for the perfect moment to attack? He leans in closer to the window.

• And does he catch you?

NSFW 18+

• And sometimes, if he studies the curtains just right, he can see your figure laying in bed, hand working fast beneath the sheets. He knows what you’re doing and to his shame as a mature, somewhat older man, he become hard. He reaches beneath his own sheets to work himself, matching your rhythm. While he knows you’re not, he imagines that you’re thinking of him. That you can see him clearly through the obscure curtains. Your eyes are pleading for him to come over and up to your bedroom, the very same bedroom that you denied access to someone else earlier.

• Your back arches and he knows you are close. You are beautiful, he admits. Younger, yes, but you seem to have your head on your shoulders and he respects this immensely. He is close now too and as you moan out your release, he looks up at the ceiling and jerks his cock, splattering into his hand. Oh dear, what a mess you’ve caused him to make.

• He dreamt of you last night. He is in his bedroom laying in bed watching tv when you climb on top of him so very delicately. Where did you come from? He doesn’t know, but you’re holding onto his headboard for dear life, steadily bouncing on him. When you start going too fast he corrects you, placing his hands on your hips to slow you down.

• And you follow his command so perfectly. Is that what you yearn for? Guidance? Love? Acceptance? He could only give you two of those things, but would that be enough? You look through your curtain of hair and ask if you could finally come and he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you. You wrap your arms around his neck for support as you begin riding him urgently until you’re shaking in his arms.

• To say he was disappointed when he woke up alone would be a grand understatement.

• He is out mowing his lawn this morning. You see him and wave. He waves back. These brief interactions would be enough.

• For now.

[basic204]

You should never have touched the strange glowing spear.

"You should never have touched the strange glowing spear." I repeated to myself for the hundredth... yeah, it had to be at least that many as I raised my slim, perfect arm, and deflected the tank's sabot round with my palm. I mean sure, it’s amazing being nigh invulnerable to harm, but was being pulled to every area of conflict on Earth 24/7 worth it? I mean the soldiers can't even actually see me as I stalk the battlefield, watching, encouraging, leaning down to whisper "If you run to that boulder, you can throw the grenade into the hatch of that damned tank." Running my hands through the hair a young soldier about to break and run saying "Courage, I promise you will survive this" Touching a general on the shoulder as he pours over his maps and making him see the best way to smash the enemy's flank without losing too many of his men. As amazing as it all is being in this beautiful, perfect form, I'd give it all up if I could just go back to standing while I damned well pee again.

I guess I should explain how this started a little better. After I got out of the Army, I moved back into my parents’ old house. Ms. Stratos been part of the neighborhood as long as I can remember. She was the crotchety old biddy that every neighborhood hates. Weeds in your yard because you've been working doubles for a month, she'd call the HOA. Get together at your house with your friends ran one minute past 10pm, the cops would be on your doorstep because "She called about a wild party". When we were kids, and cut through her yard she would go full scorched earth, shaking her cane, screaming, HOA, cops. I don't think there was a soul on this Earth that she liked.

Not long after I came home, I was pressure washing my driveway, when she walked over and asked if I could do her walkway when I was done. Her voice, which I had only ever heard as a shrill shriek my whole life, was full, rich, and commanding, and did not belong on a wisp of a crone like this, it was more like the voice I'd heard from every colonel, and general I'd ever served with, that is the kind you don't say no to. After I finished her walk, I cleaned her driveway as well since it looked like shit, and frankly, part of me was afraid of half-assing it.

As I was wrapping up, her garage door opened and there was a pair of lawn chairs, and a cooler. Were sitting just inside. She motioned me to sit, fished out a beer, and handed it to me before she sat down. She didn't say a word, and just looked over the driveway with a slight nod of approval. We never spoke a word, just sat drinking our beer, watching the neighbors walk by, giving her glances that ranged from fear to contempt. When the beer was done, I gathered my things, and crossed the street to my house.

Thus it went for a few years. I'd be doing something outside, look up, and she would be there asking me to help her with something. Repairing windows, changing the float in the toilet, replacing a ceiling fan. Her house was a monument to clutter. Souvenirs from all over the world, pictures showing a younger, much hotter version of Ms. Stratos. Each task I completed was followed by a trip to the garage for beer, and laughing at the neighbors.

One day, after I replaced her garbage disposal, she pointed at the scars on my arms and asked. "Those still hurt?" I shook my head "Nah, these I don't even notice, its the plates, and screws holding my legs together that hurt like hell." I shrugged "IED, Kandahar. Could have been worse, if I hadn't listened to that little voice in my head to stop, I'd have driven right over it. It was the difference between living and dying." She nodded with a sad smile and laid her hand on my cheek. "Its a good thing you listened to that voice then, most don't." She looked me right in the eyes. "Part of you misses it, I can tell." I nodded. "I miss teaching the young guys so they didn't get themselves killed doing something stupid. Mostly, I just wanted to walk into the HQ, and tell those idiots with the stars on their shoulders, everything that they are doing wrong, and how to fix it." I swear, it was like her eyes lit with fire for a moment and she said coldly. "Is that what you really want? To help the soldiers, and fix things?" I laughed to break the tension and said "Yeah, wouldn't that be fucking great?" I quickly left, as things were getting a bit intense for me.

The siren from the ambulance woke me at midnight, and I went outside in time to see them loading Ms. Stratos into the back. Fighting the paramedics, she clawed the oxygen mask from her face, and pointed at me. Her voice rang clear as a bell. "I'm leaving it in your hands, you can take up the spear now." I watched the lights until they were lost around the corner. I found out that she died on the way to the hospital. A lawyer named Nina Themis contacted me a little while later, informing me that I was the sole beneficiary of the estate of one Athena Stratos, and, with the exception of a few items she had donated to various museums, was entitled to her house, and everything contained within it.

It was a few weeks before I could bring myself to go over there, and start cleaning out the place. When I entered, the place simply felt dead, and hollow without her personality filling it. I spent an hour checking out things that I had always wondered about. A few statues in marble, a stabbing spear I swear must have been a prop from the movie Zulu, a huge painting of the Parthenon, mostly hidden behind a pair of cabinets holding Hummel figurines. I was at a loss where to start when I saw a curious light coming from under a side room. I had to put my shoulder to the door to get it open, but there are advantages to being 6' 3", and 220 pounds of muscle. Moving through stacks of boxes, filled with what appeared to be Jane's Defence Weekly, and Soldier of Fortune magazines, I saw it.

It sat on the armor tree, the metal looking like liquid gold. Burnished bronze was my guess. Breastplate, helmet, greaves over a pristine white tunic, all in the most classical Greek style, right out of the museums, and leaning on it was a spear that, I shit you not, was glowing like a fucking light saber. As freaked out as that was, I just couldn't help myself. If you tell me you wouldn't have done the same, I'd call you a liar to your face. There was no heat, as I grasped it, but the glow enveloped my whole body instantly. I felt a burning sensation as my clothes disintegrated. I felt agony as I looked down to see the hair fall from my rapidly slimming legs, and a wet clank, as the plates, and screws that had been my tormentors for years, hit the floor. My arms slimmed, becoming the color of marble, and my pecs started doing things that I didn't want to think about.. There was an uncomfortable feeling in my groin, and I gave out a scream as, with a pop, everything inverted. The armor on the stand flowed onto my body, and took its proper place. With a final flare, the glow snapped off, and I could feel the knowledge of centuries of combat, and battles flowed into my brain, and I almost crashed to my knees.

I ran into the bathroom, stupid damned spear still in my hand, and flicked on the light. My heart sank as the face of a 6 foot tall goddess of a woman staring back at me. I looked down at my arms, and didn't see a scar, or even blemish on them. I leaned the spear on the hamper, and used both hands to lift the hem of the tunic up, as I watched in the mirror. Bracing, I saw exactly what I was expecting, an innie, where is should be an outie. I looked at myself in the mirror and could only say one thing. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

[the-black-dragons-den]

one of the withdrawal symptoms of quitting cannabis is having super vivid dreams and the possibility of dreaming about smoking weed and BOY-O THEY WEREN"T KIDDING. my most vivid dreams are most often nightmares and i've been having nightmares all week but last night were the most comprehensive and, they were super scary while they were happening but now that i'm awake, i'm like, these could be movie plots.

i totally get that some people don't like reading/hearing about dreams because they're not super cohesive and can be hard to follow, but i did my best to describe them below so if you're interested, read on

((also i used to be able to lucid dream and i might try to get my brain trained that way again, keeping a dream journal is one of the steps to making that work so this is also serving that purpose for me))

dreams under cut so i don't clutter up the dashboard -

my first nightmare: took place in the 1950's ish and I was at some kind of... political event? and during the course of this political event, the political party in power very suddenly announced that they were now planning to eradicate certain people, it was... pretty much nazi stuff without the pomp and circumstance of being an obviously nazi event. and i happened to be one of the unwanted-needs-to-be-eradicated type of people. so as people were leaving the event, the officials were pulling out us undesirables to be sent away to die.

i was alone and scared and trying to figure out how to get out without them realizing I was one of the undesirable people. and this family of like 8 people (who were not in the undesirable category) suddenly clumped around me, threw a hooded sweater on me to disguise me, and was like "we've got you honey, just keep your head down, you're one of us now, you're coming home with us". so they shuffled me out of the event and past the officials, passing me off as one of their family. one of them was wearing a nurse uniform like this which is what gave me an idea of the time period.

we had to walk back to their home, but we had to act like nothing was wrong even though I was terrified and shaking and wanting to just run. cars kept pulling up next to us and shining their headlights at us, and i would just instinctually freeze every time, but this family was like "nope no undesirables here, just us 'normal people'," until we made it back to their house safely.

we sat around their kitchen table, they fed me and took care of me, and were discussing what they could do to fight this horrid regime, when we heard a commotion in the front yard, and the mom of the family realized she hadn't locked the front door. we were all scared that this was the officials, having figured out that the family rescued me, and were now coming to take me away (and punish them for helping me). as the mom rushed to the front door, it burst open -- but it was another woman in a nurse uniform, who turned out to be a cousin or something of the family. she was also infuriated by the whole scenario and came to make plans with the family to fight against the nazis and rescue as many people as they could.

i woke up and told my husband briefly about the nightmare and that I felt like Anne Frank getting rescued by the Weasley family (fuck joanne and her books but that's who the family reminded me of).

--

second nightmare: you know how people don't join a cult, they join a "movement" or something and then later realize it's a cult? so me, my grandfather (pre-dementia) and my friends (from real life) A, S, and D (all male) were all wrapped up in the cult and we knew we needed to get out, and we had developed a plan to escape. but it was known that people who tried to leave would get drugged into mental oblivion by the cult leaders so they couldn't leave or cause any problems.

so we were all (everyone in the cult) sitting on these bleachers (like this but out in the woods) listening to the cult leaders talk, and i surreptitiously asked my grandpa if he remembered the plan. for some seriously idiotic reason, we had written it down, and he pulled out the plan and passed it to my friends to make sure they remembered. i'm sitting there like "what no put that away, the cult people are going to see, what are you doing?"

it was at this time that my friend A (who IRL we used to smoke weed with all the time, and who is being very supportive of me quitting smoking) pulled out some weed and started loading a pipe (which was not allowed in the cult), and i'm just thinking, "fuck I hope the cult leaders are more focused on that than this little piece of paper that we're stupidly passing around".

but i just knew the plan was blown, and i told my grandpa "no, we can't do it now, they know, the leaders know, we can't try to do this plan" but he didn't really get it. and he was invited to have dinner with the cult leaders and I tried to tell him not to eat anything because he was going to get drugged but he didn't listen.

cut to after the dinner, it was very clear that my grandpa had been drugged, he was not functional at all, just a totally empty shell of who he had been. and i panicked and i was like "scuff the plan, i'm going to get out and get away and then help my friends and grandpa from the outside when i'm safe."

so i took off running through the woods and the tree branches started getting caught on my clothes, and i just kept trying to run. but the tree branches became hands and arms pulling me back and i realized, i too had been drugged - i wasn't running through the woods escaping, i was deep within the cult's inner sanctum, i was heavily drugged, and the cult leaders were holding me down. i thought i had been careful but they had discovered our escape plan and had gotten to me without me realizing it. and now i was fully trapped and wouldn't be able to escape because i couldn't get a grip on reality. and that's when i woke up.

so yeah. crazy and scary when they were happening but really interesting to me now that i'm awake. idk if they're interesting to anyone else but they are to me.

[stuckwith-harry]

cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

[cozykozume]

Can you handle it? (NSFW)

(Stoner)Asahi x (stoner)reader 

You’re at a party with your friends and so is he. After a nice little smoke session, you guys take a walk. And one thing leads to another.... 

Warnings: Partying/alcohol/drugs (barely, its weed), reader/asahi under the influence, creampie, hooking up with stranger, fingering, i’m really bad at tagging tbh, breeding kink if you squint (really hard) 

Word count: 2804 

Proof read but still might be some mistakes. Sorry if there is!

Did you really want to come to this house party? Mehh

It was not at the top of your list of ways to spend your Friday night. Could you think of worse ways to spend your evening? Absolutely. 

You stay towards the edge of the room, watching people as they interact with each other. 

Had you not smoked so much, and maybe drank a little less, you might realize how creepy you probably seem. But you had hit that perfect level. The perfect balance between smoking, drinking and sobriety. Now you just had to milk that line while enjoying yourself. 

You slip into the dining room, a table placed in the middle with beer pong set up. You once again find your way to the edge, watching as guys try to shoot their shot and get shot down. 

Hard. 

You find it funny, smiling to yourself as you giggle softly, and take another sip out of your cup. You shift your gaze into the kitchen where you meet a pair of bloodshot, glassy dark brown eyes. Whoever the owner of said dark brown eyes was smiled at you, his muscular face softening as he maintains eye contact with you. 

For whatever reason, you feel yourself drawn to him, making your way over to him slowly. As you get closer to the kitchen you look in the direction that he was once in. 

Those dark brown eyes are gone.  

You feel a little disappointed as you begin to turn around, heading for the back door. Right as you make that complete 180, you run right into the chest of a very tall man with his hair pulled into a sloppy low bun...and dark brown eyes. 

His large hand covers the small of your back, steadying you as you grab his arms. You just look up at him, trying to remember how to speak as he smiles down at you again. He leans down, getting closer to your ear, “Hi. I’m Asahi.” 

You blush, his deep voice causing your stomach to stir and skin to crawl in the best way possible. 

“Hi..I’m y/n.” You say, leaning close to him as you remember how to speak. 

He nods his head, taking your hand softly and leading you outside to the back porch. As you walk through the door, he closes it behind you, shutting off the loud music and even louder voices from inside as you sit down on the stairs of the deck. You stare out into the dark backyard, listening to the faint voices of the few people outside smoking and hanging out.

You suddenly feel nervous, realizing that this man was so much more attractive up close and he was the one that pulled you out here. Wiping your palms down your bare thighs, you curse yourself for wearing this particular skirt to a party. 

You feel Asahi’s large body sitting down next to you, heat and pleasant smell surrounding you as he gets comfortable. “So y/n...What or who brings you to this party tonight?” You smile, looking over and up at him, once again caught off guard by his chiseled jawline and perfectly shaped lips. 

“Uhh my friends wanted to get out and one of them is dating a friend of the owner of the house I think? Honestly I’m not even sure” You laugh, drinking the last bit in your cup before setting it to the side. “And what about you? What brings you out and about?” You ask, digging around in your jacket pockets looking for your dugout. He shrugs, “A friend of mine is friends with the owner of the house I think?” He says, smirking slightly when you finally twist your dugout open, sliding the one hitting out and starting to pack it. 

“Oh.. sorry I hope you don’t mind..” You say quietly, forgetting that not everyone in the world was okay with smoking weed or being around it. He shakes his head, pulling a cigarette pack out of the inside of his jacket pocket. He slides a pre rolled joint out of it, followed by his lighter. “You are all good. You’re in good company” 

You smile before putting the one hitter between your lips, lighting and inhaling hard. You hear his lighter flick as he lights his joint, his breath sucking hard as he pulls the smoke deeper into his lungs. 

You both smoke in silence for a few minutes, packing your one hitter 2 more times before putting it away, feeling the high all the way down to your toes.

He continues to smoke slowly, inhaling as he watches you, losing focus as you stare out into the dark backyard. He hits it one more time before offering it to you, you shrugging and taking 2 hits and passing it back. 

After a while of him smoking and occasionally passing it to you, you both sit there blazed and feeling great. You lean back on your hands, letting your head fall back as you close your eyes and let your body feel the high. You guys talk about random things are they pop up, with bouts of comfortable silence in between. 

You notice Asahi’s hand inching its way closer to you, his pinky toying with yours. You feel a sheepish smile spread across your face, looking over at him with eyes too heavy to open all the way. His eyes also red, glassy and looking very heavy. 

You decide this is a cute look for him, furthering your smile as you stare for a second too long. 

His deep voice pulls you out of the haze in taking over your brain, “so uh..Do you want to go for a walk in the back? I saw you eyeballing it and it’s pretty big.” He asks, you hearing the somewhat nervous edge to it. You nod your head, smiling as you slowly stand up, pulling your short skirt down just a tad. You don’t miss as Asahi’s eyes pause at where your skirt begins, for the first time noticing how short it really is. 

 You walk side by side into the large back yard, letting the darkness swaddle you. You look up at the sky, noticing the bright stars in the sky, and how the darkness seems to warm you up. Or maybe that was Asahi as he was standing close to you, his hand bumping into yours until finally lacing his fingers with yours. 

For such a large and confident looking man, he seemed so shy each time he made any kind of move on you. It was adorable but didn’t exactly match what he looked like. You once again got lost in your thoughts, wondering how he was the exact opposite from what you would expect (but not in a bad way). 

As you pass by a large tree, hidden from the eyes of anyone at the party who might be looking towards you two, you feel Asahi slow down a bit as he steps behind you. His large hands slide around your waist as he lets go of one of your hand and pulls you close. 

“If this isn’t okay in any way..” he begins to say. You shake your head, stopping so that he is directly behind you, pressed against you as his arms tighten around your body. “Nope this is okay with me..” You say quietly, lightly dragging your nails over his arms until you can feel him shiver. 

He lowers his head, planting a soft kiss against your neck “good…” he murmurs before starting a slow trail of kisses and nips along your neck. You lean your head to the side, giving him more room. You feel one of his hands leave your body, as he takes a few steps forward, trapping you between him and the large tree covering you both from any prying eyes. You move one hand to brace yourself against the tree, bending slightly to grind yourself back into Asahi. A soft grunt leaves his lips as he pulls your hips back against him harder, bending you a little further over as he goes from soft kisses and nips, to full on sucks and bites. 

You can’t help but push back against him, feeling his semi-hard cock already poking at the front of his jeans. Be it the alcohol, weed, or just Asahi in general, you were in a mood. Your other hand snakes into his hair, turning your head and finally connecting your lips with his. Once your lips met, the tension around you snapped and the feeling of everything changed. 

It went from flirty grinding and kissing, to full on dry humping against this tree. 

You had both hands planted, your legs spread wider, bent over at the waist with an arch in your back. Asahi was of course, planted between your legs from behind, his body hunched over yours as he had one hand against the tree and the other tightly wrapped around you to keep you in place. 

You lean your head back, meeting his shoulder as small huffs and whines escape your lips. This spurs him on further, pushing your skirt up and over your hips and lowering his pants so only 2 layers of clothing separate you two. You can feel his cock poking and rubbing at your pussy, causing the wetness between your legs to intensify. He moves his hand from your hips further down, rubbing your clit through your panties as his cock teases and pokes at your sopping hole from behind. Your hand shoots from holding onto the tree, to a locked grip on his wrist as his thick fingers tease and toy with you. 

“Please…” you whisper softly, your hips rolling and pushing against him. 

A sign leaves Asahi’s mouth, his thrusting against you becoming harder and more intense. His gruff voice is suddenly in your ear, “again..say it again.” At this point, you’re not sure what you are asking for, but you know you want something. “Please...I need more” You huff out, pushing your needy little cunt further into his hand. 

You hear him growl before feeling your panties ripped down to your mid thigh, the cool air hitting your sex and causing a shiver up your spine. Before you have a chance you wince, Asahi has one thick finger buried inside you, causing you to moan softly. You push back against his hand, wanting more to feel more of that delicious stretch deep inside you. 

“God I thought you would be tight...but fuck..” he trails off, leaning back to look at where your pussy was sucking his finger up. He slowly adds a second finger, pumping slowly to give you time to adjust. You moan out, pushing your hips back on his hand as you start to get lost in the feeling. You let out whimpers and whines as you fuck yourself on his thick fingers. You lose yourself so much that you don’t hear as he pushes down his boxers, his cock finally popping out of the restrictive clothing. 

He grips himself, lazily stroking up and down as he watches you move back and forth on his fingers. He feels like he could cum just from watching you do this. He feels your soft insides start to tighten around his fingers, “Asahi…” You whine, looking over your shoulder at him with a pleading look. 

That was all it took for any self control to be thrown out the window. He lines himself up with you, using the liquids on his fingers to coat his cock. He teases your hole with the tip, “If it’s too much..just tell me..” You nod, at a loss for words as he starts to push himself in. You feel like you’re being ripped in half in the best possible way. 

As soon as he bottoms out he leans forward again, one hand braced against the tree and the other gripping your hip. You use both hands to steady yourself, already feeling your legs start to shake from the stimulation. 

He starts with slow thrusts, his breathing uneven as he shoves his face into the crook of your neck. 

Within minutes, he is pounding your insides, using the leverage he has on the tree to crash into you harder. 

You have both hands against the tree, pushing back against him with all that you can as you begin chasing your own high. His breathing turns into grunts and then into full moans in your ear, spuring you on further. Just hearing him fall apart in your ear this way was doing things to your insides you had not thought possible. 

He moves his hand down, rubbing and toying with your clit as he jackhammers into you from behind. You feel the tears start to form in the corners of your eyes as you get closer and closer, the throbbing in your clit snapping and exploding. Your pussy starts convulsing, your legs shaking as you try to keep your moans down and your breathing somewhat even. But even your best attempts are no match for the orgasm that finally rips through your body. You feel every nerve in your body twitching all at once, Asahi moving his hand from your clit to your waist to keep you from falling. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, holding you up as if you were a rag doll.

He slows down as you try to catch your breath. “Mmm I hope you aren’t K.O.ed yet..I haven’t gotten to finish yet…” He says, slowly pulling out of you to turn you around. You shake your head, looking up at him as you push your panties the rest of the way down your legs. You grab them and put them into your jacket pocket, not wanting to lose them out here. “Good.” He says, stepping closer to you, reaching down to grab you by the back of the thighs and lift. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he uses one hand to position himself to sink into your dripping slit. 

He moans loudly into your neck, unwrapping one of your legs and tucking it over his arm. In this position, you are sure you can feel him in your stomach as he bottoms out and holds you to him. 

It is now your turn to mark him up as he starts to hump away at your sensitive cunt. You suck and bite his neck, using your arms to pull your chest close to him. He takes your hips in his hands and hammers away, knocking the breath out of you each time. 

He leans his head back, grunting with each thrust, 

“fuck” 

Hearing him, you tighten your leg around him. 

“God how do you take it all inside you”

You feel your breath catch, your nails digging into his back as they find their way down the back of his shirt. 

“That's it, give it up to me..” 

You once again feel the pulsing of your pussy around him, that pre orgasm hazy already starting to take over as you beg him not to stop. He continues to batter your insides, slamming into you as hard as he possibly can. 

“Be mine be mine bemine..!”

Hearing those possessive words come from such a mild tempered person was the last straw as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, holding in a scream as you cum violently around his cock for the second time that night. This time though, you felt him jackhammer until he fell out of rhythm, his pace slowing as you felt his warm seed filling you up. You rest your head in the crook of his neck as he takes the next few minutes to use your body, milking his cock for every drop of cum possible. 

You lay against him as the haze clears and you realize…”you came inside me..” He clears his throat, pulling back to look down at you and then to where you two are still connected. “oh...I didn’t even think..” You look up at him, “umm neither did I. Like, I have an IUD, so I’m not worried about that. And I’m clean..” He quickly adds, “as am I. Clean. I’m clean.” You nod, feeling his cum starting to leak out of you. 

You hated how the idea of fucking a stranger, but not like, a total stranger, was still turning you on. 

“Soo like...I mean..If you can get it up for a round two, my car is just down the street..” You say quickly. He smiles, his hips already starting to move in a slight pumping motion, “Oh I can make it round 2. Do you think you can handle it?”

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[smoll-ratt]

Dr.Junkenstein X Maid!Reader

Part Five:

——————————————————————————

While laying in your sleep you began to stir. A headache began to fall upon you and you softly opened your eyes before they rolled back into their sockets. Taking a deep breath you turned onto your back and sighed, gently stretching your legs as an attempt to find comfort. You swam inside the cloths that kept you warm as a chill crept it's way up your torso. It was an uncomfortable and unwelcoming sensation, as if  the very hands of death were holding onto you, caressing your body.

There was a light tug at your leg and you stirred with a murmur. Then followed another tug, more aggressive than the first. In a daze you stretched your arm to cover your leg, but came to find that the soft touch of your blanket was nowhere to be found. Your tried again, annoyed and on your back, searching both sides of your frame with your eyes still shut. The dark shadows of strain and decay travelled further up your leg and pulled once again with such forces that you were physically dragged down to the end of your bed. You gasped in the dark, shooting straight up with your struggling eyes, but with nothing to see, and a headache most painful, you fell back asleep.

There was a fog during the night, traveling through any crevasse it could slither through, stalking the halls for prey and dancing in the gardens before the sun began to rise. As much as you have slept in discomfort, the king did so as well. Almost knowingly aware of the stressor who had snuck their way through the castle walls.

The morning that followed was grey and crisp with cold air. Giant clouds of melancholy rolled over the sun and casted a harsh white light as they dominated the sky. A gloom was presently beginning to set before a dreadful winter would take its place with a slow shift of seasons where the leaves took their time to show it. Long before baring their place of home they blessed a sight of reds and yellows against the harsh monotones of the day. It was the sound of mourning doves which began to wake the people of the land and a stray ray of sunlight that woke you. In the middle of the room, closer to the door, the other maids dressed and chatted amongst themselves as you sat up in bed. Briefly one of the maids looked at you as you searched for the blanket which had gone missing through the night. Amongst the other beds in the room all other blankets remained tucked in nicely, but on top of the sick frame of the maid you've been caring for, laid your warm blanket cruelly resting there. That morning and for the proceeding three days.

"Don't be bothered, the ma'm is sick." One of the maids called out. "No one else wanted to give up their blanket."

"I can see that." You responded.

"Can you now? Don't get smart here, just ready up already for the day."

The maid shared a look with another and continued to brush her hair as you sat your old white gown.

You listened to the orders given out that morning by a maid with chestnut hair in braids wrapping around the bottom of her head and in place for her white cap. Her voice was low and modulated as she spoke to her gathering. You thought back on the sick woman resting behind everyone at the opposite side of the room. Barely motionless with no change in comparison to when she began taking the medicine you've given her. A steady, slow recovery, and fading fever.

"Anything not assigned means you'll continue yesterday's work as perusal. Lena, Amelie, and myself will be assisting rounds in the castle alongside the laundry maids."

You fiddled with the sleeves of your uniform, adjusting it so the sleeves fit nicely on top of the under layer added to combat the weather.

"Eventually we'll need travels to the fair and work in the gardens. Y/N instead of caring for the women return back anon and join those in the gardens nearby."

You gave a silent nod as a reply without turning your attention away from your sleeve.

Many gardens were hidden within the castle walls, unique to its custom design. The main court yard was what you could see out of the castle from the servants area opposite to the hall you were walking upon. Beyond that; stairs, much like the one you hated, stretched up into a hall - officially part of the castle on the left side of the garden.

Once venturing through the castle, down the decorative halls aligned with glorious overpowering windows sided with thick solid curtains, pass the familiar throne room, and ball room dorned in glistening objects, would one arrive to a series of doors. Libraries, studies, and most importantly guest rooms guarded by rich cherry wood.

Then there is a return to those stairs which mainly separated the two sections of the castle. The main castle and the servant living quarters.

As the main castle had one large garden outside of the ballroom with a small division of another -separated by a flowered arch- the extension of the castle and servant area had several less intricate gardens. They held their beauty satisfying yourself and the other maids who enjoyed the gardens' minimal beauty but they didn't amount to the glory outside of the ballroom.

You yawned passing the kitchen hearing a brief commotion as they began breakfast for the king and a tiny squeak as a little thing darted passed your feet. Down the hall, the torch by the scientist's door was out and remained dark.

To your left you entered the garden space. A large rectangular plot of land where the grey light in the sky blinded you momentarily. A few maids were already working on some rose bushes as others trickled in from behind you. Instead of cleaning up some sticks blown over from the wind last night or trimming some hedges by the benches seated at both ends of the garden, you sat in the middle of garden where smaller flowers were being planted and weeded.

"These aren't going to survive long" you pointed out to the gardening maid. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"The rose bushes is where you should help." She waved her gloved hand at you.

"Very well, but it's getting colder and-" she cut you off with another wave.

The roses stared at you with sad dry petals, begging for forgiveness. The greens of their leaves curled and the only thing barley standing was the sharp thorns out against you as weeds peered out from the roses' base. You sighed.

You lifted one of the weeds for a better look and it pricked you with tiny thorns of its own. In continuing your work you discovered how deep the root of the weeds went, entangling themselves with the roots of the roses.

You dug your hands in the hearts of the weeds as a crow above head screeched.

All other maids in the garden looked up at the passing bird as you continued your work. The thorns, sharp and cold as both plants, dotted your hands. Scrapping your nails loaded with the uncomfortable sensation of dirt under them, the dirt rejected you, numbing the movement of your fingers. There was a strange feeling of nostalgia that came from the numbing pain in your hands. Picking at the ground while unknowingly listening to the older women who cared for you, shaming you in secret for not being capable to help around the castle. It was a memory or memoric sense after the events at the stairs where the unnerving presence of that women followed you through the twisted stair case. After you were pushed and shoved around in the hall as well. Sitting in the garden like now, you were planting small white flowers you didn't know the name to. The soil was also just as unwelcoming as it was now. You're throat dried at the memory.

There was crows above head calling that day, much like today. The maids ignored it then with a few muttered comments you couldn't quiet make out.

What was it they said?

It had been disapproving. A curse to someone.

Now all the women glared at the black bird as it landed behind you. The bird kept crying.

You swiped a tear from your face with your sleeve. You fought to remember that day. As you plucked the weeds your hands held themselves to close to the roses and a thorn etched itself into your skin. You raised your hand in the air, shaking it as a response to the sting but kept attending to the weeds. As if the deep cut signaled an acceptance to the scratched pain you continued aggressively, ignoring the thorns that kept digging into your skin. After creating a large hole you found the base of the plant. Tugging at it, you remembered when you were younger and had reached what you wanted to plant those white flowers.

When you had placed the small flowers and could feel something else aside from yourself move in the earth.

You patted the soil on top, closing the hole at the bottom of the roses and could still feel the rumbling and small vibration of something definitely moving through. For a closer look you leaned in to see the soil break, revealing a set of fingers. A hand reached out and grabbed your own hand which resided by the flowers. You screamed out, falling back at the horror with your heart racing in your ears.

You tore the weed from the soil and tossed it to the side, panting. You reached back but instead of your skin catching itself in its thorns the fabric of your sleeve held you back. You tugged and pulled at the roses until the same hand grabbed your wrist, it's flesh as cold as ice. Frantically you shook your arm but the hand pulled you in. Through the thorns, deep into the bush you were forced to see a face emerge out. Her eyes opened and you screamed again, freeing yourself and falling back onto someone else.

"Y/N!"

You stared at the face melting back into the rose bush as the murder's wings above head sounded almost directly beside you. In a distance, your name was called out again but the piercing dazed eyes of the bush stared back. Holding an opaque blue, you could see a slow movement of smoke dancing within them. The face sank in slowly and the thorns dragged on its skin drawing the deepest blood you have seen.

"Y/N" the maid called out again, grabbing at you arm and pulling you up. "Y/N you damn wench pay attention to me! Can't you hear me?" She dragged you to your feet and slapped your arm repeatedly, but as you were still in shock you paid no attention until she slapped you across your face.

The world fell silent once the slap of her hand grazed across your face with an echo. You could feel the gaze of the other maids working in the garden. From where the maid had hit you a stinging sensation arose. She held onto both of your arms but what she proceeded yelling at you was unclear. Your ears rang and the maid began to shake you. Before she could say anymore and react to your silent response you pushed her back. As she walked back to you with another raised hand you pushed her again with a following punch.

Now your knuckles stung and the world began to make a sound again. The ringing in your ears was slowly replaced with the yells of the other workers. The maid who stood with the one you had hit rushed up to you before you could continue to fight the one on the ground. She looked up at you with a snarl and pulled herself up. The maid intervening stood in front of you with her hands raised in protest. 

"Y/N" she called out as you tried to catch your breath. "Y/N, we needed you with the king!" As the other maids helped the one on the ground, with you, they stopped at the mention. "We need more help within the castle and need to have a conversation before an announcement was made. You weren't responding, you never  answer to Amelie. What is wrong with you?"

"She hit me."

"Because you were dreaming off again and scaring everyone. I understand you're strange, all the maids do, but Amelie is bleeding, look at your hand!" The maid grabbed the wrist of your aching hand before tossing it to the side. You looked around you and the entire garden had their eyes locked. You began to protest shakingliy with the staggered murmurs of "but " as you tried to recollect yourself.

Looking at your hands again in a confused daze you gained an odd sense of familiarity, not of the situation, but of the sight of blood on your hands.

They've hit you before, you acknowledge now. A forgotten history of some ill treatment.

You wiped your hands on your gown, hiding the stains of blood in its brown color.

"What does the king want?" You asked.

Amelie stood in front of you, annoyed and in pain. The other maids tended back to their business,  lending one ear out in case of anymore drama.

"There's plans for a celebration for the upcoming harvest. All the maids are to be involved but for the time being just a few. You, are needed to give updates about the madam."  She began leading the way down the wall of your work space to the second set of stairs in the area, parallel to the scientist's end of the hall way.

"I spoke out about how I've shared some of the care for our beloved madam but they still wish for you to be present."

Amelie groaned as the second maid assisted her up the stairs.

"I've mention that I've assisted myself, but there's more to it."

As you entered down a small hall that still held an outlook to the garden you were previously in, the three of you entered the castle officially once passing three smaller steps and the entrance of a gated door. The harshness of the grey light lit up the acoustic halls, emphasized by the echoing steps, as the grey light poured in similarly to the way rays of sun do without the golden colour. Inside this little bit of the castle the cold air trailed along behind you from the gated door. Now out sight or ear range from the others the second maid turned back at you for a quick look.

"We need a report from the doctor."

"And as you've been so kind to relieve the burden of stepping in his deranged space you can understand why we're turning to you-"

"As you fancy him and all," Amelie slapped the girl's shoulder with a laugh of her own. "Don't be so cruel," she insisted as you responded with an uncertain chuckle of your own while recollecting the encounters in your head.

You remembered the first instance you've seen him and how you felt. There was soft curiosity dwindling in the background until you had heard the miss matched steps of his missing leg. Your heart beat began pounding against your chest with an intensity that only rose when hearing the rejection from others. How carelessly they dismissed him as a character in a story told to scare one another. He presented an opportunity to really push the kingdom forward with time and the anger he possessed infested yourself. A passionate anger which correlated with appropriately attractive sharp features.

The curious thought of whether or not what the maids had said was right followed you throughout the castle as they continued to explain other preparation details until eventually they conversed amongst themselves only. With yourself outside of the conversation you  pondered on the idea until it was interrupted by the thundering bellied laugh of the king. You had known you had returned to the throne room where you had first seen the scientist when you heard the king and felt a busied energy that breathed life then what actually stood.  As you wouldn't converse with the king directly, you and the two other maids walked along the scene's edge to a man in dark brown clothing standing in the corner with a scrolled book at hand.

"Wynston, Y/N as requested."

"Ah yes, thank you," he read through his book again. You scanned the man again taking in his appearance, dark hair and beard, tidy brown fabrics, and polished shoes. He was of thicker stature, built surprisingly of muscle and fat that may be better fitted or common with the knights. Especially those of tired experience. Never once had you been this close to the man or address directly with importance, but due to your age it had been a matter of time for you to be brought up more. Still this, you betted, would be the minim of involvement.

"How is Mina progressing with her illness?" You eye the two maids. Amelie scowled.

"Slowly."  You responded.

"I assumed Jamison is not needed if you have control over it and the housemai-"

"Jamison?"

"Yes, Jamison."

The man continued his dialogue about the elder maid and a usual routine expected to take place to care for her until a dire instant calls to grab the scientist who now had a name.

'Jamison ' you thought, awe founded.

"For the harvest there'll be guests from a far staying in the company of his majesty so a division among the maids will be needed as well as isolation from Mina and those caring for her. I originally placed you three with Aria in care for Mina, but I can switch the positions between Aria and Amelie around," he turned to her, ripping a page from his book. "I'll have you in charge with Aria in creating some of the division amongst the appropriate classes. For now here is what I have arranged, tweak as fit."

"Y/N remains with Mina." Amelie spoke aloud as if to offend you secretly by keeping you at a distant from the party.

"Yes that's what I have written." Wynston reassured while distracted by another in need of his attention. "Y/N before its forgotten, what are the details with Mina?"

"Fever remains but she regained some colour. Can't actually tell if she's better at first glance,"

"Good. I'll need a report,"

"The girls informed me." You spoke out now with an internal desperation to see the scientist again.

"Then I'll leave you to your duties then and have you continue with the plans."

Wynston left the three of you and you followed the maids around as they discussed the given sheet of paper. You had half expected to remain with the sick maid and distant from the event as Amelie knew of your one incident with the stairs and mysterious guest. She had poked fun of you multiple times before after finding you pale and shaking. Then you thought back about the scientist's remark about the maids.

"Y/N, I don't believe Mina has received her turn of medicine. I was left to track that as Aria went to town. She said to mix the medicine with a soup as a trick remedy to lessen the taste."

You nodded and parted ways, relief to be alone and process what you had learned. You felt a strange disconnection almost always throughout your life in a comforting sense. A feeling of displacement but passing peace where moments like this, knowing his name as if it was a dark secret, grounded you. This state of mind drove you back into the throne room where the king still laughed with his order of chivalry; made out of a woman quiet liked by the kingdom, her father (the shortest person you may have ever seen) charged with constructing knights armour and weapons, and a male, age shown by his greying hair.

Heading through Wynston's exit you found yourself by the extended hall of rooms, armoury, and library just before the stairs of terror to the kitchen. You paused for a moment, peaking your head in to an empty labyrinth of books.

'Jamison' you thought.

You knew the library held a record of names to every soul that made up the kingdom. An archive of dates and ends, and locations of homes too. Maneuvering you're way through, you reached some wooden tables centred in the middle of the numerous shelves that exceeded your height. Three of them stood as two sectioned off to the side for privacy with crafted chairs waiting to seat you. On the third table, furthest from you and leading to the back of library, laid a book already open for your viewing and a chair pushed to the side. Unknown to yourself the scientist you were searching for had scurried moments prior before you could've caught sight of him. Though you hadn't known then that he was, there a suspicion which arose as you sat down and sworn to hear some movement behind the shelves away from you.

Turning the pages of the book you began reading the listed names. You expected all names were truly of belonging of those outside the walls as the only ones you could recognize were of those you encounter regularly, both personally and through others. Passing through the pages the order of chivalry caught your eyes:

'Brigitte, Torbjorn, Jack...'

Then the listed names of the maids:

‘Mina, Aria, Amelie, Lena, Hana ..."

Strangely as you reached the end of the list of recorded maids you noticed that you're  name wasn't listed.

You continued to turned the next page, eyebrow raised. The kitchen staff were listed, gardeners, outside help, all but yourself. As you examined the book closer you noted 'Jamison Junkenstein' wasn't listed amongst the villagers either. Turning the final pages, past a space saved for new birth, you came across you're own name imprinted on a thinner page separated from the rest by the remains of a ripped page.

Your first name was written in a different style of cursive , alone, with a start date and frighteningly an end date.

'Y/N……….1204-1209’

Stepping away in bewildered confusion, you heard the sound of a book falling on the carpeted ground. Turning behind you saw that there was nothing there and returned to the book. About two other thin pages proceeded the one with your name but they were left blank with no other name to read.

1204-1209

Another thump in the library caused you to snap back behind you to see the source of the sound. The aisle behind you again laid empty. Another sound and you froze, waiting to hear what would come next. Slowly, you made your way to the back and aisle beside your left and there laid a book fallen on the ground.

Picking it up, it read of some farm land on the outskirts of the village outside of the castle. You placed the book back in it's vacant spot on the shelf and walked to the next aisle where another book laid. As you stretched back up from retrieving the book you saw a glimpse of white and finally heard the muffle sounds of miss matched steps. With eyes wide of realization you ran in the same direction it fled. Each end you've reached you seen the same white turn the corner and raced to catch up.

"Jamison?" You called out. Your heart began to run down each aisle of books as they grew longer. "Jamison?" You called out again and the muffled steps stopped. You found yourself lost in a labyrinth of books. Not once did you come across the table again and as you looked around you realized you have lost your complete sense of direction. Walking down one more aisle the sound of steps and fabric rubbing against itself picked up and this time you caught the glimpse of the scientist's purple glove as he ran off. Out in a sprint you fought to catch up, calling out his name repeatedly. With one last push you turned one final corner and could hear the man's breathing, even a giggle of sorts. But as you sped around the corner you met the ends of two shelves and a blank wall. Dr. Junkenstien was gone.

The library untwisted itself and you found yourself not far from where you started. The book still laid open but away from your name and at the end of the chivalry's list, now short due to a newly ripped page. You grabbed the book and proceeded to place it back into a vacant spot on the shelf where another one, above the shelf you had placed your book, stood. Wether or not Junkenstien had taken it was a mystery to you as you would've heard his steps behind you from the table if he had.

——————————————————————————

                You thought about the library while gazing into the bowl of soup back in the maid chambers as your patient laid fast asleep, a bit of her spit still sliding it's way down your cheek.

How was it possible to have been lost so suddenly and out of breathe despite moving a few feet away from the book?

You were sure you had seen the scientist too.

This curious thought continued as you tried to sleep. Turned to your side you brain ache to solve the mess you had found. Your name was missing as part of the maids. If it had been scribed it should've been with a last name you've never heard of or the name attached to your estranged mother. Similar to Aria, a daughter also taken instead of birthed. Her's was written with the same ends of Mina.

Still, your name remained alone. There was something about each letter on the page that resonated with you.

It is your name.

You turned to your other side, facing away from the other maids. While staring at the wall you tried to remember your childhood within the castle walls and with time your eyes began to grow heavy. You could hear and feel the beat of your own heart, and the deep breathes of the other women in the room. You could hear the candle left by the empty soup bowl and the wind just outside. With enough effort you could even hear footsteps approaching the room,  and on que, through the darkness and with your squinted eyes, you could see some movement at the bottom of the wall.

Little bits of stone fell out of place to reveal a small tuff of white fur. A rat squeaked it's way out and smelt the air, scurrying off in the dark and leaving you with a smile. You pondered at the newly made hole and returned to the question from before, coming to a conclusion that maybe you do fancy the scientist after all.

——————————————————————————-

[poguesrforlife]

Polar Bear Wrestling | JJ Maybank

Hey, what’s up..it’s been a while! Second JJ fic I wrote even though I have an exam tomorrow but yolo am I right? Something like that (exactly that) happened to me last weekend with my friends and I just had to imagine what JJ would’ve done in this scenario. Enjoy! xx

Trigger warning: swearing, blood, angsty (kinda), fluff, and little bit smutty because I can’t help myself

Word count: ~ 2,220 words

You and JJ are just having fun in secret and everything seems smooth sailing until you get hurt at a party and JJ turns into protective™ mode!

You did not know who’s idea it was to throw a kegger in the middle of the week but at this point you were too drunk to care and quite happy about it. 

The chateau’s garden was crowded with people, mostly poques from your school, but also a few kooks and occasional tourons. Some song from the Cure was playing on the speakers and your gaze wandered over the string light adorned garden, drowning it in beautiful colours of the rainbow.

“C’mon Y/N we’re playing beer pong and I need you on my team!” Kie yelled from across the yard where they carried a table outside. 

You were quick to support your best friend, always down for a good drinking game. 

“Who are we playing against?” You scanned the garden looking out for a particular blond surfer dude.

JJ owed you a rematch after the last party where he beat you together with John B. You couldn’t deny that you maybe also just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t flirting with some random girl again. Ever since the two of you started hooking up in secret you started to get more than a little bothered by all the attention he got from other girls. You told yourself that no feelings were involved but sometimes you weren’t so sure.

“Sarah and John B,” Kie waved the couple over to take the other side of the table where she had professionally filled up the cups.

“Rock, paper scissors…winner starts,” John B announced and promptly won the match.

Kie and you sunk one ball after the other into the cups, although most of them unfortunately only hit the rim. Sarah was surprisingly good at the game and you had to down more than you expected. That didn’t really help your already intoxicated state.

Good for you and Kie however, you were even better at beer pong when you were drunk. And at this point you were too drunk to care about anything except winning this match. 

When John B’s ball went way over the table you picked it up and hit your head lightly on the table’s corner. It hurt a bit but you weren’t too bothered by it. You had to win that game and there were only two cups left on the opposing team’s side. 

You concentrated on the furthest cup and with a flick of your wrist the ball cleanly fell into the cup.

“And that’s how you do it!” You screamed and turned to an excitedly jumping Kiara to give her a high five.

However fell the happy expression from her face rather quickly after looking at you and was replaced with wide eyes and an open hanging mouth.

“Fuck! Y/N, you’re bleeding!” Kie exclaimed, already storming towards you and looking out for someone to help.

Your hand went up towards your forehead, where the dull ache was centered, and came away red. Good thing you weren’t one to faint at the sight of blood. 

“Shit,” You swore under your breath and made your way towards the bathroom inside the chateau. 

Kiara was hot on your heals, fussing over you and grabbing Pope on the way inside.

“What did you do?” He asked and immediately went towards the cabinet with the first aid kit. You were glad that you could always trust him to be the rational one. Because Kiara was close to hyperventilating at this point. 

“Kie, it’s gonna be okay. It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” You tried to calm her down while you grabbed some towel and tried to stop the bleeding. 

“It doesn’t look okay!” She pointed out her hands flying towards the reddening towel in your hands. 

“Baby, can you get Y/N some ice?” Pope distracted her while he was preparing some disinfectant.

Kie nodded vigorously, glad to be of service and hurried towards the kitchen.

You let out a relieved sigh and looked towards Pope thankfully, “Thank you. I love her, but sometimes she can be a bit…”

“Overbearing?” He finished for you and gave you a knowing smile. You laughed in agreement and went back to focusing on your little wound. 

“This is going to burn,” Pope warned before pulling the towel away and starting to clean the cut above your eye with a disinfected cotton pad. You hissed at the burning contact and would’ve rather pulled away but you knew it had to be done.

“Doesn’t look like you need any stitches,” Pope analysed as he took a closer look at the cut. At this point you were really glad that Pope invested so much time in his medical future. 

“It doesn't even hurt, I’ll be fine,” You agreed and looked at the towel that was quite red but the wound finally had stopped bleeding.

“I couldn’t find any ice but this will do,” Kiara showed up with a frozen beer can in her hand that had a kitchen towel around it. 

“I’m not gonna walk around all night with a beer can pressed to my head,” You argued and made your way out of the bathroom. You were here to enjoy yourself and this little incident wasn’t going to stop you from doing so.

“If you don’t cool it, you’ll have a black eye tomorrow,” Pope warned but it was clear that you wouldn’t listen to him. He knew his friends pretty well and when it came to you and JJ every rational thought went out the window. The two of you were perfect for each other but also the most trouble anybody could cause. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” You scoffed and picked up one of JJ’s snapbacks that was lying around the kitchen. You loved wearing his hats to get a reaction out of him, mostly that reaction him being annoyed with you for stealing yet another cap.

“See, you don’t even see the bruise like that.” You showed off your new look but Kiara and Pope just rolled their eyes at your carelessness. You grabbed the beer out of Kiara’s hand and opened it instead of holding it against your head.

“Well if you’re not going to listen anyways we might as well win the game,” Kiara threw in and pulled you back outside with a slight smile. 

And you did win graciously as ever, as drunk as ever. 

You were about to get another cold beer inside the empty kitchen when you felt a pair of arms around your waist. 

“I’ve been looking for you all night.” A familiar voice whispered in your ear and you melted against his chest.

“Should’ve looked better,” You mumbled and turned around to be met with JJ’s sky-blue red-rimmed eyes from the weed and alcohol. 

He gave you a sloppy grin and his hands wandered over your backside pulling you closer to him. If it weren’t for all the people and your friends outside who could catch you, you would have fucked him right there and then.

“You look good with my hat,” He stated cheekily and leaned in to give you a peck on the lips, “but I’ll take that back now.”

“JJ, no-“ You tried to stop him, remembering the cut above your eye but it was too late, the hat was off. 

You knew how protective JJ was about his friends but after the two of you started sneaking around it was even more intense than before. You were quite scared about his reaction.

He looked shocked at the cut just below your eyebrow and the already forming bruise there. His jaw clenched when he took a step back from you.

“Who the fuck did this, Y/N?” He seethed and was already making his way towards the door to beat up whoever dared to touch you. You on the other hand hadn’t even thought about JJ assuming that someone hit you.

“What?” You were too confused to move at first but then your reflexes kicked in. “JJ wait!”

You grabbed for his arm but he yanked it away, one foot already out the door. He was furious and you’d never seen him like that before. You tried another time to stop him, yelling his name repeatedly and succeeded with a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you try and tell me to not get in trouble, Y/N! I don't give a fuck right now. When somebody hurts you, do you really expect me to just stand by and do nothing?” He yelled at you and you could see the desperation in his face as his shaking hands raked through his blonde hair.

“JJ, no one touched me,” You explained in a low voice to calm him down. Some people were staring in your direction. You grabbed his hands in yours, making soothing circles with your thumbs, and led him back inside. “It was an accident, J. I was just drunk and a bit clumsy.”

JJ looked at you with scrunched eyebrows, like he was not really believing you, but you felt his hands relax slowly in your grip.

“What?” He breathed out and let his eyes wander over your left eye repeatedly.

“I tried to pick up a ball while playing beer pong and hit my head,” You told him and sat down on the kitchen table, pulling JJ between your legs. 

“Oh.” JJ’s gaze dropped ashamed at your interlinked hands before he mumbled a “I’m sorry.”

You lifted his chin with one hand and giggled at his pouty expression. “It’s okay Jbae.”

“I don’t know I just assumed…” He stopped mid-sentence to take a deep breath and his hands caressed the wound above your eye carefully.

“You have to be more careful,” He lectured you and pecked the cut slightly.

Butterflies rose in the pit of your stomach at the touch of his lips on your skin. This side of JJ was so new to you. He had always been protective but he had never been this sweet and caring afterwards. You really enjoyed having him all to yourself in these moments.

“And you have to control your temper,” You reminded him and saw the guilty grin on his face immediately.

“Yeah… the combination of both of our flaws together will probably only cause trouble,” He laughed and placed his hands on either side of your body as he leaned in.

“You love my clumsiness,” You argued and locked your arms around his neck. This close you could smell his undeniable JJ scent: cigarettes, weed, the ocean and freshly cut grass. It was intoxicating.

“I do,” He agreed softly and placed a kiss on your jaw which made you gasp lightly. “But let’s just say that you wrestled with a…uhm…what are they called again? Snow-bear?”

You giggled as he struggled for the word while peppering your jaw and neck with kisses. You guessed the adrenaline rush had stopped and the both of you were back to being just a little bit too drunk. 

“A polar bear?” You guessed and looked at his crystal blue eyes for a second.

“Yes!” He exclaimed excitedly, like a little child. “You wrestled with a polar bear and he jabbed at your eye but the bear obviously looks much worse.”

“Obviously!” You nodded and smiled at him. “So…polar bears in Outer Banks?”

“Oh shut up!” He complained and before you could retort anything his lips crashed onto yours.

You pushed into him as your lips moved against his. The kiss was fiery and you gasped slightly as JJ bit your lower lip. You couldn’t contain the moan that escaped you when his tongue entered your mouth. Your hands grabbed strands of his blonde waves while his grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the table. 

“Fuck Y/N!” He groaned as his groin met with the spot between your thighs and attached his mouth to your jaw once again. 

You threw your head back at the feeling and swore under your breath. But when you heard John B screaming from outside you were brought back to reality.

“Fuck JJ,” You pushed him away slightly and he whimpered at the loss of contact. “Not here, not now Jbae,” You reminded him, your hands framing his disappointed face. 

“I hate that fucking rule,” JJ mumbled but brought some distance between you anyways. 

You hated the rule as well, but you knew it was made for a reason. No pogue-on-pogue-macking or you would risk the entire friend group. Even though everybody seemed to have broken it anyways.

“C’mon, let’s get back to the party,” You smiled at him and slipped your hand into his.

“Fine, but I’m not leaving your clumsy side.” He placed his hat back on your head with a smirk and pushed it down a little bit so the bruise wouldn’t be obvious to everybody. 

“Fine by me,” You grinned and gave him a peck on the cheek. “And maybe later we can continue where we left off..”

At the sound of this JJ’s smirk turned into a thousand watt smile as he followed you outside, grabbing your hand a bit tighter. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your whole body as you looked at his gorgeous face and thought about his sweet protective side and what might happen later this evening. This boy would be the death of you.

[unstoppableforcce]

a long december

pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!reader

masterlist

a/n: so she’s long, about 9.5k and I know that’s a lot but i really love it, i put a lot of heart into it and i don’t know, maybe i made it just for me but i really love it. WARNING of weed use, i’ll tag it but quite a few joints are smoked

also, the song is a long december by the counting crows !! enjoy, i really tried to get the vibe right so maybe listen while/before/ or after reading

I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving

The cold made everything worse. 

With the haunting blood orange sun dropping just below the back treeline of his yard, he inhaled a deep breath of smoke from the burning embers of the small joint between his fingers, desperate to take his mind off the lingering pain of a day’s work which settled in his knees, back and neck. That didn’t even include the seismic rift running deep through his hollow chest. 

The winter evening chill shifted from refreshingly brisk to painfully freezing in a matter of minutes as the sun disappeared but he held steadfast on the window seat in his bedroom, blowing his smoke out as the cold made its way in. 

A blanket would make it better, turning the heat on, closing the window… he was too stubborn to bring himself to do any of it. The cold hurt but the alternative was worse. 

He’d gone numb before. 

After a string of bad missions, he couldn’t come home with the boys, he had to go somewhere else, somewhere where no one could see the way the shit piled onto his shoulders and weighed him down until it crushed him into cold and dark oblivion. There were drinks, empty bottles and spilled liquor… There was more too, more he either couldn’t remember or more he couldn’t fathom remembering. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t feel anything and that he hated it. 

At least feeling the pain of his lingering injuries and the heartbreak tearing through him meant he was feeling something. All he wanted was to feel something. 

Inhaling the next deep hit from the joint and exhaling it out the window, he found himself desperate for warmth, warmth that not even the burning bud between his fingers could provide him. He needed a blanket, he needed the heat turned on, he needed a body next to him in bed, wrapped around his body… That just wasn’t an option anymore. 

You were gone. You had been gone for about four months now and it had been no one’s fault, but he was going to bed alone nowadays and the cold was becoming nothing but a familiar friend. 

Fuck. He smashed the butt of his joint into the ashtray by his side and stood up as fast as his crying joints would allow, shutting the window and abandoning his empty bedroom entirely. The weed was for the physical pain, but his hollow heart needed something more. He needed liquor, he needed a blanket, he needed to turn the heat on and warm himself back up. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he did a load of blankets though, his best bet was finding some in the laundry room but with each creaking step down the stairs, the pain got worse, doubling both in his weakened knees and in his chest as he walked down each dark, hardwood step. His laundry room was adjacent to his garage, one of the coldest rooms in his house, and as he shouldered open the door, he found it as much a mess as the rest of his house, spare the stack of neatly folded blankets atop the dryer. 

It must have been the last load you did before you moved out. 

Fuck…

It just hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. 

Taking two steps into the room, he grabbed the first blanket off the stack and moved to make a hasty exit only to turn back at the sound of the stack hitting the floor in front of the machines. It wasn’t just blankets in the stack, there was a pair of his jeans beneath it, and a sweater. 

Your favorite sweater. 

The fabric of the sweater felt all too familiar against the cracked palms of his rough and calloused hands, the cream color of it appearing bright even under the yellow-tinted light coating the small laundry room. And the smell of it… it wasn’t just the fresh smell of his detergent, it was you. 

The warmth it cascaded him with while his weak hands gripped tight to the thick stitching was not unlike the warmth he remembered you always filling him with. When you grabbed his hand and swung it between the two of you while you walked, smile shining brightly towards him whether it was just to your car or out for a date night. When you trailed kisses down from his chin to his hips, paying special attention to each of his jagged scars while your lashes fluttered against his skin. When you rolled over in bed, still half-asleep, and buried your head deeper into his chest, unconscious but desperate to touch him still.

He held it tight in his grasp, the blanket he had come searching for now the furthest thing from his mind. 

It was one of your favorite sweaters, perfect for when the weather got cold like this, perfect for when you wanted to sit with him next to the open window while he smoked, or out on the porch while he worked on the yard, perfect for nights out and nights in… It was your perfect sweater and you had left it behind, folded into his blankets. 

Given that it had been July when you left, he couldn’t exactly blame you for not remembering you left it with him, but it was nearing December and you must have needed it, you must have realized that you left it when you moved out, you must have--

You weren’t his to worry about anymore. 

Even with the warm fabric gripped so tightly by his weak hands, he had to remind himself that you weren’t his to worry about anymore. It had been four months. 

Nearly five actually, now that he really thought about it. Honestly, he had been trying not to really think about it, it never did him any good to get into it but now it was all that filled his mind even as the gentle lull of the weed began to calm him down. 

His head filled with the thought of you, not in your happiest moment by his side, but in your saddest. The day you left… 

He managed to pull one hand back from the sweater to rub his eyes as it all began flooding his senses, overwhelming his defenses. He could see the tears in your eyes as you held his hands and told him that the two of you could still be friends, he could feel his throat constricting as he agreed with you and stopped himself from wiping your tears away. 

It hadn’t been anyone’s fault. 

The guys didn’t believe him at first when he explained it like that, but there was no other way to describe it. No one cheated, no one broke the other’s heart, no one did something reprehensible or immoral or… there was no singular reason at all, actually. It had been piling up for the second half of the year the two of you spent living together and piece by piece, it just became too much. He didn’t blame you, you didn’t blame him, and the two of you steadfastly remained resolved in not allowing the other to blame themselves. 

He loved you. He hadn’t stopped when you left and holding your sweater now, after months of denial, only made it worse. 

He still took it with him though, as he threw his blanket over his shoulders and walked back out into the slowly warming atmosphere of his house. He didn’t know what to do with it, but he knew he couldn’t just leave it, he needed to get it back to you. He could pass it to Benny, get it to you without breaking his heart in seeing you again, it was only fair. 

Leaving it on his kitchen counter, he quickly moved for his liquor cabinet, filling up the empty hole you left behind with smooth amber without a second thought. 

He needed the cold to go away, he needed the warmth he hadn’t felt since you left, he needed--

The vibration of his phone on the counter next to your sweater stopped his thoughts before they landed him some place that was all too dangerous for him to end up in. It was a message, from Frankie. 

Then another. And another, a trio in quick succession. 

Are you coming tomorrow night? Will wants a headcount.

Are you alive Pope?

We haven’t seen you in a while man, it’ll be good to get out of the house

Tomorrow night. Benny’s birthday party. Right. 

He needed a response. Or at least, he needed to start thinking about a response. 

Frankie was right, it had been a while since he had gone out with them. After the breakup initially, the guys had tried to get him out as often as possible, saying ‘it’ll be good to get your mind off of things’ and ‘you’ve got to get back on the horse’. Santiago didn’t have the breath to argue with them, nor the capacity to truly explain what he was feeling, so he just went along with them. Besides, was there really a good way to say ‘hey, I don’t think it’s fair to date other people when I’m still not over the woman I planned to marry’?

But it was Benny’s birthday. There was no avoiding that. And if he was lucky, there would be too much party going on for anyone to realize he wasn’t having a good time. 

So as he threw his blanket over his shoulders and collapsed back against the couch with his glass in hand, he sent a quick text back to Frankie before he could send ten more. 

Yeah, I’ll be there

Frankie very quickly responded, as if he had been waiting by the phone for Pope’s response. 

Free beer too

Free beer, a Benny-centric party, and this big fucking hole in his chest. What could go wrong?

If you think that I should be forgiven, I wish you would

Elite tactical mind. 

That’s what his commander described him as. An elite tactical mind. 

Well how elite is his fucking mind if he didn’t figure out that you were going to be at Benny’s birthday party? Not very elite. 

You had been Benny’s friend first, Santiago had only met you when Will introduced the two of you at one of his fights, he had asked you out during Benny’s superbowl party. Every single sign was there for him to realize that you were going to be at Will’s house when he walked in that night, but his elite tactical mind just didn’t come to play when you were involved. 

If it was socially acceptable for him to put his coat back on and turn back to the doorway, he would’ve already done it, but instead, he stood frozen in place next to the coat rack and it had nothing to do with the jarring winter chill. Whatever game was happening in the kitchen had you throwing back shots in time with Benny right at your side, then laughing brighter than anything Santiago had seen in months. 

Four months actually. Maybe five by now. 

The way your hair was styled was all the same, the tight fit of your black top highlighted every single inch of your beautiful body, he had torn it off of you so many times, he knew it well. But there was something light about you now, a stark contrast to the image seared onto the back of his eyelids of your somber disposition as you pulled out of his driveway for the last time. There wasn’t just a hole in his chest, there was a faultline that was still shifting, quaking, decimating--

Was it warm or was he just not breathing?

The cold snap of the free beer thrust into his hand accompanied by the firm thud of the harsh grip landing on his shoulder was just enough to send his breathing back to normal, and as his stare was pulled from the sight of you in the kitchen, he found both Frankie and Will flanking him. But there wasn’t much in terms of comfort there as their party faces faded to looks of concern. 

“Oh shit…” Frankie cursed into the neck of his bottle as realization.

But Will was already a step ahead of him with the words Frankie couldn’t find. “I thought that you knew…”

He tried to shake his head, to wave it away as the first taste of beer met his tongue but as his stare found that of his two closest friends, he found their brows not just laced with concern but also with genuine sympathy. This was a party, not a pity-party but a real one, for Benny’s birthday… he wasn’t going to make a scene, he wasn’t going to ruin it or distract from him. Instead, he just waved his hands in a futile attempt to dismiss their concern and shook his head once more. 

“It’s okay, I don’t know why I didn’t know…” he waved his hands once more, even if he saw it was having no effect on their concern. “It’s fine, I’m fine, let’s just play some pool and forget about it.”

Maybe he was putting a little too much faith in the healing powers of a game of pool but if he faced away from the kitchen, he could nearly forget that you were in the same house as him. He could nearly forget the seismic rift through his chest and the way it burned with each and every thought of you. Fish was kicking his ass, which was not the way their matches usually went, but the casual banter and laughter was helping. 

Or at least, it was helping. It stopped helping when Frankie leaned towards him, rubbing the chalk on the tip of his cue and whispered, “She’s been stealing glances over here every few minutes.”

He missed his next shot pretty spectacularly after that. And it only got worse. 

“She’s coming over here, Pope.”

He couldn’t turn himself around. He knew he should, he knew that you deserved a face-to-face, he wasn’t avoiding you, you hadn’t done anything wrong… he just couldn’t. Not until he saw Fish and Will retreat a few steps to offer the guise of privacy. You had to be right behind him, he needed to turn around--

“Hey Santi…”

Fuck. He even missed the sound of your voice. 

The toes of his boots turned slowly, as if they were caught in thick glue, holding him in place, but the second his stare found yours, it was like he was standing on ice without skates, completely unsure of his footing. 

“Hi,” was all he could muster out as his hands gripped tight to the pool cue in his grasp, nearly tight enough to draw his tan knuckles white. 

But if you noticed, you didn’t say anything. Your hands just found your back pockets while your stare held his, neither one of you moving to break the silence at first, just soaking up the four months of difference between the two of you. 

And then, both at once, you tried to break the silence. 

“You look good--”

“I’m glad you came--”

Then a round of half-comfortable, half-uncomfortable laughter fell from both of your lips as you pulled your hand from your pocket and gestured for him to go first. 

His throat was tight, pinching around the words as they escaped his empty chest, “You look good.” 

He regretted them almost as soon as they fell from his winter-chapped lips, eyes falling to the wood floor beneath his boots as his head shook instinctively. He wanted to pull them back, to swallow them down like the beer he had been drinking heavily throughout the night, he wanted them to stop before they ever hit your ears but they were already out, lingering in the foot of stale air between the two of you. 

Yet, with his eyes to the floor, he missed the way your half-smile shifted into something more comfortable on your lips, something more genuine. And as he tried to recoil back from his own words, you stopped him. 

“I shouldn’t have--”

“No, no it’s okay…” you laughed again, this time with the warmth he normally associated with you filling the freezing air between you two, bringing his stare back up to yours. “Thank you, you look good too, it’s good to see you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound bouncing around as an echo through his hollow chest before falling from his lips in time with yours. He most certainly did not look good, he owned a mirror, he knew that much for himself. Bags under his eyes, in desperate need of a curl-controlling haircut, wrinkled shirt, worn jeans and the same boots he wore wherever he was, no matter what he was doing… he didn’t look good, he looked like he normally did but worse. You looked good. 

But he didn’t fight you on it. If he did, he’d have to admit exactly why he looked the way he did. He’d have to tell you that he looked as good as he felt and he didn’t need to weigh you down with that guilt, this wasn’t your fault. 

So he curbed his laughter and easily responded, “it’s good to see you too.” 

At least that wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t something he was saying just to be civil, nor was it something he was afraid to say, it was just what came out and it was true. It was like a breath of fresh air but freezing cold at the same time. It was good to see you, it would just make going home alone so much worse. 

Thankfully, you kept the conversation flowing as if you didn’t notice the sad turn of his eyes. 

“I’m glad you decided to come, Benny said he hadn’t seen you in a while and that you were debating coming tonight, and I thought it was because of me... I just... I’m glad you came, it means a lot to him.” You started off strong, but the longer you talked, the less confident you became in the words that left your mouth until you ultimately sounded as hesitant as he did, your stare dropping to your feet just as his had. 

The civil thing to do would have been to reassure you that you weren’t the reason he had been distant with the guys recently, it would’ve been the truth too. If he was being honest, it was the overwhelming sadness he felt whenever he did the simplest of things that was holding him back, and yeah, maybe that had only come about because you had left but it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. He wanted to be civil though, he wanted to be friendly no matter how bad it hurt, so he shrugged and offered a non-answer casual reply and hoped you went with it. 

“I’m happy to be here for him, and you know…” he trailed off, reaching back to the table for the bottle that sat there, “the free beer.”

The laugh you gave him back this time wasn’t in anyways forced. It was familiar, it was genuine, it was a break through the civil front you put up and it was real. That had to mean something, right?

“Free beer, yeah well, it tastes like free beer so...” you joked back, returning your stare to his as you did. And though he didn’t want to read too far into it, it also seemed like your shoulders released a tension as you spoke, like you were relaxing back into conversation with him. 

He couldn’t help but do the same, a genuine smile worming it’s way to his lips as he did. “Well, you’ve got a strange taste for expensive weird beers.”

“Strange taste? They’re good--” you chuckled as you tried to defend yourself but his laughter cut you off. 

“None of them were good, not even that pineapple one you loved so much.”

“I loved it because it was delicious, unlike the shit you drink.”

“Well the shit I drink is free tonight, so I guess I win.” He continued to fight with another laugh, all too comfortable with the way it was flowing out of him when it was you on the receiving end. 

He knew it was wrong to do, to get sucked back into your inescapable gravitational field, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, it had been Frankie’s plan to get him to come out and forget you and even he wasn’t jumping in to stop him, so maybe it wasn’t as wrong as it felt like it was. 

Maybe it wasn’t wrong at all, maybe coming out and seeing you again was what he needed to bring you back into his life, maybe that was Frankie’s plan, maybe--

“Where’s my partner! I’ve got a game to win over here!” Benny shouted from the kitchen as he moved with wide arms and a following crowd towards the living room. And as you glanced over your shoulder and made eye contact with him, it was clear that you were who he was looking for. However, as he saw you with Santi, he toned down his volume and gave you some sort of silent signal that you waved off. 

“I should probably go deal with him…” you chuckled softly as you turned back to him, sticking your hands back into your back pockets nervously. “It was really good to see you, I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Yeah, good to see you too…”

With that, you gave him another smile and turned away, half-jogging back towards Benny and his obvious drunkenness. 

“You okay, man?” Frankie quickly asked as he came back to his side, Will rounding the table to do the same. 

He tried to wave them off, to dismiss the feelings bubbling in his chest and focus on the meaningless game of pool in front of them, and while the two lingering men clearly didn’t believe him, they knew better than to push it. There was nothing either of them could do to make it better, nothing they could say, nothing they could change, so instead, they gave him the distraction he was desperate for. They cracked a few jokes, lined up their next shots, and let him spend the rest of the night trying to forget the brief sense of warmth flaming in his chest when he was talking to you. 

It was the first warmth he had truly felt since the seasons shifted. 

The smell of hospitals in winter…

Not going to Benny’s fight the following week had been a conscious choice, not solely because he knew you would be there, but he couldn’t deny that it was a heavily contributing factor. The cold made going out worse, he had a long day at work and figured a calm night in would be healthier for him then a packed fight, and yeah, he didn’t want to see you so soon after Benny’s birthday. 

He wasn’t proud of hiding, but it was better for the both of you. Or, rather, it should have been. 

Just as a subtle pull of sleep was beginning to tug on his eyelids where he sat on his couch, alone, watching reruns of whatever crap cable show they were showing at 11 o’clock at night, his phone began to buzz beside him on the cold leather of his couch, just outside the blanket he had thrown over himself. He checked it almost mindlessly as his brain toed the line between truly awake and falling asleep, expecting to see a text from Will in their group chat saying something along the lines of ‘Benny won’ or ‘Benny lost’.

But the buzzing wasn’t singular like one message coming through, it was sustained, like a phone call, and the solemn voice on the other end of the line pulled a devastating sickness from his stomach. 

It was Will calling. Benny had taken a serious hit to the chest, he had to be rushed to the ER. It didn’t matter that you would be there, he really had no choice but to be there for his friend, and that meant changing out of his sweatpants and rushing to the hospital with a bag full of clean clothes for the two of them, as Will requested. 

Over the phone, he hadn’t really understood his request for the shirt and sweats for himself as well as for Benny, but as he walked into the ER waiting room and found the broad shouldered blonde waiting next to you and the small Santa teddy bear in your lap, he figured it out. 

His shirt and jeans were covered in blood. 

“Benny’s blood,” you explained as you stood up to greet him while he passed the bag of clean clothes to Will, “his nose broke too and he had to help the medic pull him out of the ring.”

It didn’t take long for Will to leave with the clothes to change, and even when he came back, there was a lot of paperwork there for him to sign, leaving Santiago with you in the waiting room, slouching uncomfortably against the plastic chairs in almost complete silence. The room itself had its own hum of noise; chatter from the elderly couple in the corner, hushed whispers from the mother and father trying to contain their toddler and keep their baby asleep in the carrier, the drunk college-aged kids on the far side of the room bantering back and forth… but between the two of you was nothing but cold silence. 

Cold silence and a teddy bear wearing a santa hat in the seat Will had occupied between the two of you. 

He just couldn’t take it anymore, the warm, stale hospital air was nothing but a small spark of warmth compared to the heat that naturally connected you to him and he was freezing beside you in silence. 

“Why the bear?” The voice that came out of his tight throat was one he barely recognized from himself, strained from the hour of night and the exhaustion blanketed over him, so he quickly cleared his throat and repeated himself. “Why the bear?”

The somber disposition that had coated your face since he first walked in faded slightly as you looked up from your lap and toward him, a half smile coming to your lips as your attention shifted from him to the bear and back to him. “It’s December, it was all they had in the gift shop.”

“It’s cute, he’ll like it.”

“Yeah, I think so,” you hummed, shrugging your shoulders as he leaned back to turn more towards you. 

With the silence broken now, it felt much easier to keep going as if nothing had changed in the past five months. “How was the fight, you know... before he ended up in the ER?”

“He would’ve won, but you know how he gets cocky, drops his guard…” 

“He shows off for you,” Santi mumbled with another shrug and you slowly nodded along with him. He almost took it back, he had never been jealous or weird about your friendship with Benny, he knew better than anyone that it was nothing more than friendship. And you always knew what he meant… “I mean--”

“I know what you mean.”

You always knew what he meant. 

After that, conversation flowed much easier. It was friendly, civil, and easy, catching up about work and mutual friends, day to day excitement, your mutual love for the local sports teams. Leaning forward on your elbows, cutting the distance of stale air of the empty seat between the two of you with an attentive stare, you followed carefully as he told the story of the night when Benny drunkenly broke Frankie’s wrist in two-touch football, long before Benny had ever met you, which resulted in a similarly long night in the ER.

It was just easy. As the conversation grew more and more effortless, he grew looser and looser, letting himself laugh, letting himself bask in the warmth of your full attention. It was a high he had nearly forgotten all about, going straight to his head and accelerating the beating of his heart. 

He missed you. 

Eventually Will returned, filling the seat between the two of you, but the conversation didn’t go cold, it just evolved. Naturally. Effortlessly. 

Santi couldn’t remember the last time anything had been this easy. 

And after another hour or so of waiting, the three of you were called by a nurse and pointed in the direction of Benny’s room where he laid, bruised, bandaged, and out of his mind of whatever pain medication they had pumped him full of. 

He liked the bear. He really liked the bear. And even if every laugh that bounced around his chest and out through his busted lips hurt like hell, it didn’t stop him from letting them flow freely enough to erase all the tension that had held in the three of you out in the waiting room. 

He was still Benny, and he was going to be fine. 

Knowing that made it a lot easier to say goodbye once the exhausted nurse pushed back the curtain to remind the four of you about family only visiting hours. It was nearly 3 in the morning and the four of you were not exactly a quiet bunch, so none of you blamed her, you just walked to Benny’s side, pressed a kiss to his forehead and bid him good night as Santi gave Will a solid hug. 

“Get home safe,” Will minded. 

And both you and Santi responded in unison, “Will do.”

It was too easy. 

So, of course, it could never last. 

It had snowed since Santi had arrived earlier, leaving the scarcely lit parking lot covered in a disgusting icy grey sludge, and as the two of you stepped out into the cold, he instinctively handed his gloves to you as he watched you shiver and stuff your hands into your coat pockets. You were dressed for the hot gym having come from the fight, your coat was warm but giving you his gloves was just what he did, what he always did. 

He didn’t even realize he was in the wrong until you turned and stared at them. 

“Sorry, habit…” He sighed, taking them back and slipping them on himself while you stifled a quiet chuckle blooming out of your chest. 

“It’s okay…”

The two of you couldn’t keep doing this. 

Crossing the parking lot in silence was simple, it was just the two of you, no prying eyes, no facades, but it wasn’t always going to be like this. You were going to be at every one of Benny’s fights, you would be on any guest list for any party being thrown, there wasn’t a way he could keep avoiding you, it just wasn’t possible. The two of you were going to have to find some alternative to whatever the two of you were, some version of your relationship where you could be… friends. 

That’s what you had said when you left his house for the last time, that the two of you could still be friends. He had thought it was just a nice gesture, something you felt you had to say. In all the mutual break ups he had ever been in, someone always said that to lighten the blow, just like you had, but now it seemed like a real necessity. 

The two of you were going to be in each other’s lives, you had to be some kind of friends. 

Again, out of habit, he found himself following you to your car, but the words falling from his lips were in no way practiced, tripping and stumbling out of his chest. “Do you think…”

Your boots stopped in the dirty, icy slush, turning to the sound of his rough voice cutting through the freezing air, waiting for him to finish. But as the next chilling wind blew past the two of you, making you shiver, he still hadn’t found the rest of his words so you took a step towards him and prompted him back. “Do I think what?”

He shrugged his shoulders tensely, “do you think… I don’t know, do you think maybe we could get coffee sometime next week? We’re going to keep running into each other, we should try to stay friends…”

Your smile was soft, warming the air around the two of you even as you shivered and wiped your hand under your freezing nose. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

His chest swelled with a feeling he hadn’t felt in far too long. 

Another gust of wind tore past the two of you and you shivered once more, turning back to your car for a quick glance and then back to him, “Yeah, just text me and we’ll figure out a time.”

“Sounds good,” he hid his smile as best he could, taking a step backwards in the direction of his car across the lot. “Drive safe.”

“You too, Santi.”

Coffee was good. Coffee would be good. 

He repeated that to himself a few dozen times as he clambered into his truck, his eyes trained on your tail lights as you pulled from the lot and back out onto the street. Coffee would be good. 

Maybe if he repeated it enough times, he’d actually believe it. Maybe if he repeated it enough times, it’d actually be true. 

I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower

It was a mistake. He should have just burned the stupid sweater. 

Watching your face light up as you took the soft, perfect fabric into your hands tore his heart in two. Not right away, at first it actually sparked a raging fire in his chest, bringing an unfamiliar warmth to his cheeks. But that could only last for so long once he remembered that you weren’t his. 

He was just a friend returning a sweater over a cup of coffee. A friendly cup of coffee. 

You weren’t going to surge over the table and kiss him, he hadn’t bought your coffee even though he knew your order by heart, you weren’t going to go home with him once your mugs were emptied… you two were just friends. 

He was just a friend returning a sweater. That was it. 

“You know, I was looking for this the other day, couldn’t fathom where it ended up…” you sighed, hanging it with your coat over the back of your chair before returning to meet his stare with the same warm smile painting your lips. “Thank you, Santi.”

“Yeah, no problem… I found it in the laundry room, I was looking for a blanket.”

“It’s been freezing lately, I know…”

You easily carried the conversation away from any awkwardness pretty easily from there. It was strange to settle into, a relationship with you that was purely platonic, but after the first twenty minutes, the two of you actually seemed to be finding your footing even on the iciest slopes. 

The two of you each bought your own coffees, and when you later decided you wanted a muffin as well, he didn’t step up and offer to get it for you, he didn’t even remind you that this shop had the cream cheese you liked in case you wanted a bagel instead. When you began talking about a particularly sensitive topic, he didn’t reach over the table to hold your hand, and when he tried to update you on Tom’s kids, you didn’t reach across the table for his hand either. When he kicked you under the table accidentally, he apologized, and when the waitress bringing your muffin very clearly flirted with him, you didn’t say anything and neither did he. 

It was… platonic. Plain and simple. 

Except he didn’t watch his friends this closely. 

He didn’t notice when Frankie bit his lip and sip at his coffee to avoid overzealously laughing at one of his jokes, nor did his ears gravitate to the sounds of rhythmic tapping of Will’s fingernails against the table top. 

There were rules to friendships. One of them being that you weren’t supposed to watch the lips of your friends while they talked, or the way their tongue darted out over the drips of coffee which stained your bottom lips after a sip. 

He wanted to be your friend… he was just too in love with you still. 

Your phone buzzing on the table was the final nail in the coffin because it never hurt when other friends said they had to go. Sure, he’d give a friend a hard time for quitting a party early or leaving the rest of the group, and sure, he’d miss their company, but it never hurt like this when they left. It never broke his heart the way it did when you shifted your full attention to the reminder buzzing on your screen. 

“I’m really glad we did this…” you spoke almost absentmindedly as you began pulling your coat back on, him doing the same, pushing his chair back up to the table with his knee as his hand fixed his collar. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

“Yeah, I’m glad we did this too…” he sighed, his gloves weighing so heavily in his hands as he followed you out the door back into the cool winter air, not nearly as freezing as it was that night outside the hospital, especially with the bright sun shining down, not a cloud in the sky. 

“I’m parked over here…” 

He followed your finger and nodded, stuffing his gloves into his coat pocket, “I’m right in front of the pet store so…”

The two of you stayed shoulder to shoulder, walking along the sparsely populated sidewalk until you turned back into the neighboring lot, heading to where your cars were parked just a few spaces from one another. And yet again, without even thinking about it, he followed you to yours on instinct. 

He didn’t know how to say goodbye to you, not in a way that was acceptable among friends. 

This was where he would kiss you, wrap you in a tight hug and wish you the best for the rest of the day of work that you had ahead of you. That wasn’t an option here. Neither was clasping your hand in a tight handshake or hitting you on the back like he did with the guys, it just wouldn’t feel right, not with you. 

He didn’t know how to not be in love with you. 

“I’m going to hug you, is that okay?” You asked hesitantly as the two of you reached your driver’s side door, turning back to him. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Clearly he wasn’t the only one still trying to work his way through this blatant awkwardness. “Yes… yeah, that’s okay.”

Your arms quickly moved to wrap tight around his neck and his settled so easily around your waist and up your back, holding you tight against him. You were slotted perfectly against him, fitting in along every ridge of his body like a pair of puzzle pieces, warm and perfect. His hands immediately moved to hold you in even tighter too, purely out of genuine habit, one hand around your waist and the other up your back, almost reaching the bare skin of his calloused fingertips up to the warmth of your neck. 

It was supposed to be a friendly coffee, now he was sure that if he turned his head, he’d catch your lips with his, incapable of pulling away. 

There was another fire lit in his chest, one he knew he had to extinguish. 

In the same instant that he pulled his hand down and almost off of your form, leaving them hesitantly at your waist, you did the same, pulling them slowly down from around his neck, lingering on his chest for a few seconds too long. 

He was hopeful. Your face was as somber as he felt, and hope was a heartbreaking thing. 

“Bye, Santi…” You pulled your hands the rest of the way back from him and maneuvered yourself out of his longing grip to step back towards your care as he got an equally weak goodbye out as well. 

“Bye…”

Hope was a heartbreaking thing.

Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her

The holidays had always been hard for Santiago. 

The first December he spent in the service was the same December that his parents died, making not just that Christmas unbearable, but every subsequent Christmas as well. He spent his holiday season out of the country, away from his friends, away from his brothers, it was the only way he could survive until he met you. 

And this was going to be his first without you. 

Frankie had been kind enough to offer Santi a seat at his table for Christmas Eve, and had even gone as far as to invite him over for opening presents the next morning at the crack of dawn with his little girl while Will and Benny were heading to their family’s for the whole ordeal. As much as Santi knew he was more of a grinch than he was a jolly old man, he knew that spending alone in his freezing house was going to be hell. 

He graciously accepted. 

Yet, now he was here, watching Frankie bounce his little girl on his knee as she giggled, the colorful stuffed cat that Santi had bought for her gripped tight in her fat little fist, he was beginning to think that there was no good way to celebrate. 

At home alone, here in the warmth of Frankie’s family, they were both bad for his heart. 

“I was talking to Benny the other day,” the sound of the fridge opening and shutting shook him out of his thoughts where he leaned over the kitchen counter, mindlessly spinning his empty beer bottle around in his hand. Frankie was grabbing another for himself, scratching at the stiff collar of his nice sweater, and watching his best friend with genuine concern. “He says she hasn’t moved on yet either…”

“I wasn’t--” Santi quickly launched to his own defense but Fish just rolled his eyes and continued uncapping the bottle. 

“He says he’s tried setting her up and she’s not interested.”

Santi scoffed into his bottle at that, trying for another sip and finding it as empty as it had been ten minutes ago when he used it as an excuse to step away from the festivities. 

“I’m serious--” Fish defended but again, Pope scoffed, releasing the hot air deep from within his chest. 

“Don’t do that, don’t give me hope like that.”

“It’s not fake--”

Frankie kept up his dismantling stare even as Santi tried to step past him, finally hiding behind the refrigerator door in pretend contemplation to avoid the daggers being sent his way. “We weren’t some casual fling Fish, we were serious, she’s just taking time.”

The refrigerator door ruse only lasted so long though, eventually he had to reach for one of the last beers and pull back out of the cool air to find Frankie’s awaiting stare. It wasn’t just concern laced in his stern brow, it was a flurry of emotions all jumbled together, as unsettled as his stomach felt even as he downed a soothing sip of beer. 

“I’m just saying… there’s no sense in getting my hopes up like that.” He sighed again, his fingers nervously twitching at the label on the bottle again. 

“I’m sorry,” Fish shook his head, leaning back against the counter as Santi took a similar stance at the island across from him, still tearing at the corner of the label. “I just… I just don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Yeah, well… it’s complicated.”

“You still have feelings for her?” Another scoff echoed out of his chest and Frankie immediately shot his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I get it.”

“It’s just… I bought a ring back in February, you know, it’s just… it’s complicated.”

Complicated was putting it gently. 

He never stopped being in love with you, he never stopped even for a second to consider that he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life with you, even when your fighting was at its worst. He couldn’t think ahead, he couldn’t go on dates, he couldn’t move on, it just wasn’t an option. Maybe you were stuck in the same loop he was, but that didn’t mean anything for him. 

You weren’t ready to move on, that didn’t mean that you wanted him back. Getting his hopes up like that, entertaining any of the thoughts that flooded his head when you lingered on your hug after coffee, it was just cruel. 

He hated the holidays. He missed you. 

Last year the two of you had spent three days away from the world, locked away in a cabin up in the mountains, with nothing but each other and a warm fire, and the first night there was maybe his favorite night of his entire life. The pain from having been sat in a car for so long, even with you driving for most of the way to let him get comfortable in the passenger seat, was still debilitating, and as the vibrant sun began setting over the snowy horizon, he started smoking one of the joints he had somewhat illegally smuggled in his toiletry bag. 

After the first few puffs of smoke, you joined him on the windowsill, bracing the brisk air that poured while he blew his smoke out. Your arrival had been silently sudden, your fluffy socks padding your feet and dampening the sound of your steps until you sat down across from him. Even as you sat, you kept quiet, never once taking your eyes off the dense book in your lap as you mindlessly bit at your nail. 

There was nothing complicated about it, no words, no fighting, just silence and each other. 

The holidays were good when they meant just you and him, snow and simplicity. 

He got you to pull your stare from your book when he stamped out the embers that burned at the filter and leaned forward, seizing your lips. And as his hand found your chin, holding you in for a second, deeper kiss, you forgot the book all together, surging to your knees to hold him in a position that was better for his back. 

“I’m going to make dinner… want to help?”

You nodded, your nose hitting up against his a few times over. 

“I love you,” he sighed, stealing another kiss from you lips, “so damn much.”

“I love you.”

It had been a year. A year that left him in a very different place. 

And it’s been a long December

Getting out of the house had gotten easier. He knew you were going to be there tonight, not just because his elite technical mind anticipated it but also because Benny, Will and Frankie had gone out of their way to remind him. And he needed to get used to being your friend, he couldn’t hide. 

It was hard, hell, it was virtually impossible, but he was trying. 

It was New Year’s Eve and he was trying. 

The laughter was actually flowing from his chest when he forgot about the hole in his heart for long enough to immerse himself in the party atmosphere. The alcohol was helping, but it also hadn’t been lost on him that you were nowhere to be found yet. 

The card game happening at the table covered in snacks and drinks was growing more and more heated, but minute after minute passed, and you still hadn’t arrived yet. The hum of the new year’s broadcast played in the background but music played louder over it and he still couldn’t get you out of his thoughts. You weren’t his to worry about anymore, but he just couldn’t help himself, besides, friends worried about each other, right?

“Hey Benny?” He hummed as Benny rounded the table behind him to go grab more drinks, catching his attention and pulling him back before he could move too far away. “Where--”

The front door flung open, slamming against the neighboring wall with a clang that grabbed the attention of the table, Benny and Santiago included. Except, as violent as it was, the tension quickly dissipated as you reached for the door and shouted, “sorry!” loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You need something?” Benny leaned back down to double check with him, slapping his hand down hard on his chest, but Santi just shook his head, too engrossed in the sight of you at the door, stripping off your coat and shaking the snow from your head and shoulders. “Alright, good talk buddy.”

You were wearing that sweater. That perfect sweater. 

Benny grabbed you before you could make it to the table where everyone had quickly resumed the heated battle over cards, spinning you in his arms before he forced you towards the table so he could continue on towards the kitchen. 

“Hey, everybody,” you smiled, waving to the table as you approached but providing a separate greeting all together to Santi as you turned towards where he sat and smiled, “hey.”

“Hey.” He smiled back, lingering on your brightness even as you turned your attention back to the table searching for a seat to join the party. 

And join the party you did. 

You looked so… happy. Laughing with the surrounding friends, drinking what Benny brought to you, cheering when the crowd in Times Square did on TV following the musical acts. It was fun, he didn’t exactly jump head first with you into the dancing and the partying, but he was having a good time watching you have a good time. 

It was somewhat masochistic, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

He wanted to be happy, like you. He wanted to be happy with you, but that wasn’t an option, so he had to settle for just being happy. 

He drank, he danced a little, not much, but a little, and he even cheered with the group when the drinking game ended and the loser attempted to drink their way out of it. He was trying, honestly trying, and then he saw you again, laughing with Benny as he told another one of his terribly loud jokes and filled your cup with more champagne.  

Happy just wasn’t working. 

The small crowd in the living room was getting louder and louder and he knew it was because the clock was ticking closer to midnight, but the sounds were echoing in his ears, bouncing around in his head and driving him nearly insane with each second that passed. Louder and louder, louder and louder. The drink in his hand was doing nothing to calm his nerves, he needed something more, he needed fresh air and he needed it now. 

Fuck. He just wanted to be happy.

And there’s reason to believe

It was freezing outside, a thin layer of snow coating the entire back patio and dead lawn, the only warmth in his vicinity coming from the burning embers of the joint between his fingers as he sucked in a deep breath. It was freezing outside, but at least, it was better than inside. 

“How many of those do you smoke nowadays…” you interrupted his thoughts, stepping out into the blistering cold with nothing but your beautiful sweater wrapped around your torso. 

Another deep breath in and out and he stamped out the butt of it on the concrete beside where he sat. “No more than before.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Let me grab you a coat--”

“I’m fine, Santi…” you hummed, settling down next to him, the length of your thigh pressed to his, your shoulder pressed to his, bringing all the warmth from inside back to him. He could almost forget about the snow and the cold, you were like a radiator all on your own. 

And that sweater… that perfect sweater.

The two of you sat there in silence for a few minutes, neither one of you making a move, nor a sound, just listening to the whispering wind that whipped around the two of you and watching the slowly falling snowflakes melt on the ground before you. Comfortable and quiet. 

“Do you regret it?”

His head fell to the side, but your stare stayed straight ahead as the words fell from your lips. 

“Do I regret what?” He asked back, coughing out some to the side opposite of where you were sitting before looking back at you. Not demanding an answer with his stare, but not turning away anytime soon either. 

“Breaking up.”

Your stare found his this time, mere inches from his face but neither of you blinking away from it. How could he, the alcohol and weed were nothing compared to the rush that your attention gave him, especially as it ignited the fire of hope deep in his gut. Hope was heartbreaking, but in this moment, he couldn't hold himself back from the path ahead of him, the path you were begging him to go down. 

“Breaking up…” He blew out a warm breath as he shook his head, “I don’t know… I know I hated fighting with you, all the pettiness and stupid arguments, it wasn’t how I wanted to be with you, I hated that. But we tried everything we could, breaking up was a last resort, so in that sense, no, I don’t regret it.”

“Is there a sense you do?”

“Hmm?” He turned back to you as you seemed to scoot infinitesimally closer to him, siphoning off some of his warmth. 

“You said ‘in that sense’ you don’t, meaning there's a sense where you do…”

He glanced down to your lips then back up to your careful stare. “I still love you, I’m always going to love you, if that’s what you’re asking, but I think you already know that.”

“Yeah…”

He hit his knee against yours, letting out a huff of a breath, currently using all the heart his chest wanted to put behind a chuckle to open up to you. “So, I regret it in that sense.”

But you didn’t just sigh and keep the silence. Nor did you get up and run away. You just collapsed your head down onto his shoulder and let the next easy words fall from his lips. 

“Me too.”

The silence was back now, neither of you willing to do anything to break it as his arm wrapped carefully around your back to keep in more warmth than your perfect sweater ever could. 

The party continued on inside, booming and echoing like the sparklers and fireworks from all the houses on the block, but the two of you just stayed quiet, breath after breath, the cold air burning deep in your lungs. And then came the count. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. The chorus of their voices chimed out inside, loud enough to burst through even the shut door and ring in your ears as you held your head still against his shoulder. Six. Five. Four. 

“Do you want to head back inside--”

Three. Two. One. 

You pulled your head up off his shoulder and wrapped your freezing bare hand around the warm skin under his collar, at the back of his neck, turning not just his attention, but his lips back towards you. He caught your lips in a soft, chaste kiss, hesitant even as you held tight to his neck, keeping him close. 

“What are we doing?” He hummed, nudging his nose against yours before moving his warm forehead to your freezing one. 

“I thought we’d figure that out later…” 

His lips recaptured yours, and as your hand moved up his neck, into his hair, his hands moved around your waist, one dropping down to maneuver your knees over his. The wind was freezing, the new year was seconds old, but your lips were just as he remembered them, warm and perfect, much like the sweater he gripped so tight, balling it up in his fist and exposing your skin and making you shiver against him. His other hand continued to trail up and down your thigh before ultimately settling in the bend of your knee and keeping you close as your lips grew fervent against his. 

“We’ll talk later…?” He asked, out of breath as your lips fell onto the side of his mouth.

“Yeah.” Your smile was soft as you nodded, knocking your forehead against his again. “Later.”

Maybe hope wasn’t heartbreaking.  

Maybe this year will be better than the last

[splendidly-secret-sick-fics]

Hi!!! Love your writing style you're so cool! I was wondering if you'd be able to write a sickfic focusing on atsumu and osamu-specifically atsumu taking care of his little brother! And maaaybe if you wanted to add some angst before it got better 👀 anyways hope you have a wonderful dayyyyy 😊

Anonymous said:

Can I get an unexpected sick atsumu that is at home from school with his brother after sleeping in. Their mother had the day off and didn’t feel like going anywhere so she allowed them to stay home. Maybe in the middle of the afternoon Atsumu starts to feel strangely sick but he hoped it would pass if he took a nap. He slept on the top bunk while Osamu plays video games on the bottom when he sudden wakes up without warning and starts to projectile spew. Caretaker Mom (cause I need some sweet momma content) and Osamu being supportive and understanding.

The Biggest Idiot of All Idiots: a Miya twins sick fic

Characters: sick Atsumu, caretakers Osamu & Mama Miya (lol)

Word Count: 3,426 (!!!)

Warnings: swearing, heat exhaustion passing out, and Miya-family shenanigans

Part 2

————————————————————

Thank you for the requests and kind words!! I combined it with one from @super-secret-sick-fics

I changed a couple details, but tried to stay mostly true to what was asked for! I hope that’s okay :)

This is gonna be a two-parter bc it got to be way too long. I’m not sure when Part 2 will be up yet.

I didn’t edit this at all (I never do, honestly) and I know I’ll hate myself for that later. But alas, I have zero patience so here it is!

Enjoy :)

————————————————————

Atsumu was rudely awakened by something annoying and probably stupid pushing up on his back.

“Tsumu, get outta bed ya lazy asshole.”

Ah yes, the annoying and definitely stupid thing was his equally annoying and stupid brother shoving the bottom of his mattress up from the bottom bunk.

“Why?” he grumbled and flipped over onto his stomach. He buried his head into his pillow and sighed. There was a subtle ache nagging at him on the left side of his head and he wanted it to go away.

“Cause Ma took the day off to do yard work and chores with us. It’s ‘sposed to be hot today so we said we’d do the yard work first thing. Remember? Or are you really that stupid?”

Osamu’s face popped up over the railing of Atsumu’s bed. His brother’s normal deadpan stare was accented by a single eyebrow raise of expectation.

Atsumu narrowed his eyes at him for a brief moment before groaning. He sat up and the pain in his head spread to encompass the rest of his head. Immediately, he was cranky.

“Fine. Just get outta my face,” Atsumu all but spit. Osamu’s face scrunched up, but he jumped down to the floor.

“What’s crawled up yer ass so early?” He mumbled, pulling on some athletic shorts. Atsumu wanted to respond with something snarky, but the pain in his head muddled his thoughts and he couldn’t think of anything clever enough.

“Screw you,” he settled on and crawled to the ladder to get out of bed. The headache would most likely go away after he ate something, so there was no need to say anything about it and risk getting teased.

Osamu eyed him, a frown on his face for a second. Then he scoffed.

“Alright assface. I’ll be downstairs. Ma made breakfast.” With that, he left the room.

Atsumu took his time getting dressed and ready for the day. He was moving slower thanks to the ache in his skull. The dumb headache also made his body feel tired and achy so he didn’t really feel the need to push things and make it worse.

“Good mornin’, Sweetheart!” His mother greeted when he finally made it to the kitchen. She was at the stove, flipping some pancakes, her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a loose braid. She was already in work clothes. Atsumu had to admit that it was going to be nice to spend some time with his mom. Their father ran a small convenience store, so she had to work full time to help supplement that income. He was excited to spend time with either of his parents when he could, even if it was doing chores.

The twins had, of course, offered to get part time jobs. However, both of their parents shut down the idea quickly, telling them to focus on volleyball and “enjoying their youth.”

“Mornin’” he yawned and sat down across from Osamu at the table. He was already half way done eating and scrolled mindlessly through his phone. Atsumu tried to do the same, but the tiny words and the blue light from his phone only exacerbated his headache, so he sighed and gave up. Instead, he put his head down on his arms and waited for his mom to tell him to come get his food. After a minute, Osamu kicked his shin under the table.

“Oi, what’re ya doin’?” he asked roughly. Atsumu rolled his eyes and exhaled, annoyed.

“‘M tired. That alright with ya?” He glared at his brother. Osamu kept steady eye contact, rising to Atsumu’s challenge. The lights burned though, and Atsumu had to blink. He clicked his tongue and turned his head away.

“Yer bein’ weirder than normal,” Osamu said with his mouth full of pancake. Atsumu’s lip curled in disgust.

“Yer disgustin’.”

“Says the pig.”

“Listen—“

“Tsumu! Come get yer breakfast!” Miya-san interrupted. Osamu smirked at him, smug about getting the last word.

Atsumu sat down at the table with a single pancake, half a spoonful of scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice. His mother gave him an earful about not eating enough and he was sure that Samu would do the same.

Osamu eyed his plate and then eyed Atsumu and then his breakfast again. His twin pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything, shoving more food in his mouth.

While Atsumu was grateful that his brother didn’t comment on his smaller-than-usual meal, he was incredibly suspicious of the lack of insults.

The truth was, Atsumu’s stomach felt...wrong. He wasn’t sure what it was because he didn’t feel sick persay, but he didn’t feel good either. Starting off with a smaller meal and going back for seconds was more appealing to him than having a plate full of food that his brother and mom would force him to eat.

Atsumu ate his meal in silence and hoped that it would help his headache and the strange feeling in his stomach before he had to spend all afternoon doing yard work in the blazing summer heat.

***

Osamu watched his brother weeding the flower bed with a careful eye. Something was wrong. He knew it from the moment Atsumu woke up. His stupid brother wouldn’t tell him anything (if he even registered it himself, the idiot) so the only thing he could do was keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t start crying or dying.

They’d been outside for about an hour and a half now, weeding, mowing the lawn, planting new flowers, and whatever else their mom wanted and it was only getting hotter. The sun wasn’t even directly above them yet, but the heat surrounded them like a thick blanket. It felt like Osamu was moving through a pool of jell-o while he pushed the lawn mower forward.

Osamu was sweating and panting ever so slightly, but Atsumu looked like he just returned from a grueling volleyball game. He was dripping sweat and his shoulders moved visibly up and down with each breath he took. Osamu figured that his brother was probably dehydrated and too stupid to admit it or too stupid to realize it.

“Tsumu,” Osamu called. Atsumu pulled his head up from the weeds and squinted at his brother across the lawn. He was pale, and all of Osamu’s twinstincts told him Atsumu needed to go inside quickly.

“Wanna go get lunch?” He tried, because Atsumu was dumb and wouldn’t admit that something was wrong, so Osamu needed to find some excuse for them to go inside. There, his mother would realize that something was up and force his brother to rest and hydrate.

“We just ate not that long ago. You that hungry, ya pig?” Came the snappy comeback. It had less bite to it than usual. The lack of venom from this and the weak comebacks from this morning only solidified for Osamu that his brother was not alright. That, coupled with the sheer amount of sweat and his continued heavy breaths made it seem like the idiot was dying or something.

“Screw you,” Osamu sneered (because even if something was wrong with his stupid brother he was still an unbearable asshole). “It’s hot and I’m working up more of a sweat. So yeah, ‘m hungry.” Atsumu waved him off lethargically.

“Then you go in. I’m almost done here,” Atsumu all but wheezed and turned back to the flower bed. Osamu took a deep breath and tried to remember that he was attempting to be a good brother and good brothers don’t punch their dying brothers in the face.

“Just come in and get some water then,” Osamu offered, walking to stand behind his brother. Atsumu looked over his shoulder, his ugly face contorted into confusion.

“Why’re you being so nice?”

Osamu squeezed his fist by his side.

“If you get dehydrated, I’ll have to play setter tomorrow at mornin’ practice and I don’t wanna.”

Hopefully the threat of being replaced, even if temporarily, would get Atsumu to see some sense. The longer Osamu studied him the more (begrudging) concern he felt. Now that he was closer, he noticed a glaze over Atsumu’s eyes and a flush to his cheeks.

Osamu surmised from this that his stupid idiot brother caught a summer cold like a stupid idiot.

Atsumu hesitated, but eventually, nodded. He put his hands on his knees to push himself up. Osamu let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. One battle down. Next he’d have to convince him to rest up some.

His relief was short-lived. As soon as Atsumu stood up, his knees buckled underneath him and he fell back onto Osamu heavily. Startled, Osamu just barely managed to keep his balance and catch him, holding Atsumu under his arms.

“What the fu--” he started, ready to lay into Atsumu, only to be stopped by the vacant look in his brother’s eyes. It was different from the haze he noticed just a second ago. It was like Atsumu wasn’t seeing anything. His eyes stared off blankly at nothing, half-lidded and foggy. He was still panting, but it was shallower, if possible.

The next thing Osamu noticed was how cool Atsumu’s skin felt, despite the intense heat and the flush of his cheeks. Atsumu, the dumbass, was indeed not okay.

“Tsumu? Hey, can you hear me?” Osamu asked. Atsumu’s eyes slowly found Osamu’s, but it still didn’t look like he registered anything. The only response he got was a whine.

“Shit. Yer so freakin’ stupid, you dumbass,” Osamu muttered. Atsumu groaned. There was no way he could get Atsumu into the house without help. Thankfully, the flower bed was near the front door, so he wouldn’t have to take him far, but the door was shut in an attempt to keep the hot air outside, so he needed help.

“Ma!” Osamu yelled, “Ma! C’mere, quick! Tsumu’s sick!” Atsumu winced at his brother’s volume.

“Sorry, ‘Tsumu, I’m sorry. Fuck. I can’t believe you--” Osamu said frantically, despite himself. He really didn’t like his brother, but he still loved him and this was still very scary.

Their mom was at the door a second later, concern already painted on her face. Upon noticing her one son all but unconsciousness, leaning on her other son, the concern grew to panic and she was outside and beside them in no time flat.

“What in the hell happened?” she asked, brushing Atsumu’s hair back. Her eyes widened when she no doubt picked up on the abnormal cool temperature of his brother’s skin.

“He’s been actin’ weird all mornin’. Then he came out here in this heat and I just convinced him to go inside for some water when he passed out. He’s so freakin’ stupid.” Osamu explained.

“Of course, the stubborn idiot. Let’s get him inside and cool him off,” his mother said, still holding Tsumu’s face.

“Yeah. I can do it, I just need yer help with the door and getting him on my back,” Osamu replied. The longer they were in this heat the more dangerous it became so they needed to move as quickly as they could without making things worse.

Together, they managed to get Atsumu on Osamu’s back.

“Hold on, idiot,” Osamu commanded. Atsumu buried his face into his brother’s shoulders. He weakly grabbed onto his wrist to keep his arms wrapped around Osamu’s shoulder. Relief trickled in to meet Osamu’s panic when he realized that meant that Atsumu may be coming to just a little. Yeah

As soon as they were inside, their mom went to the kitchen to get some water and wet rags while Osamu took his imbecile brother to the couch. He laid him down, putting his feet up on the arm rest (all the boys on the volleyball team knew how to deal with heat exhaustion) and brought the fan closer. He sat on the floor beside Atsumu’s feet and waited for him to come back.

Miya-san came back a second later with a sports drink and several wash cloths. She placed one on Atsumu’s forehead and he sighed (Osamu was once again relieved that his brother seemed to be registering at least a little of his surroundings). The others she used to pat down his arms and legs.

The next few minutes were tense and silent as they waited for the idiot of the bunch to cool down and return to the land of the fully conscious.

“Sa-Samu?” Atsumu breathed. Osamu’s head whipped towards his brother. Atsumu was squeezing his eyes shut, a deep frown settled on his face.

“Tsumu, thank god,” Osamu exhaled heavily.

“Atsumu, baby, can you hear me? How’re ya feelin’?” Their mother asked gently, sweeping his hair back and sitting on the floor beside his head.

Atsumu’s eyes trailed lazily to meet their mother’s and he took a second longer than Osamu would have liked to respond.

“Head...head hurts,” he whined and closed his eyes again, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“Mhm, that’s to be expected when yer a dummy that got heat exhaustion. When yer ready, I need ya to sit up and drink something, okay?” She said, cupping his cheek. Her words, though seemingly harsh, were always soft. They never failed to comfort the twins whenever they were upset about something.

Atsumu visibly leaned into her touch.

“H-hot,” he murmured.

“No, shit, idiot,” Osamu responded. His mother shot him a glare. He rolled his eyes at her hypocrisy.

Another few minutes later, and they eased Atsumu into a sitting position and handed him the green sports drink (which Osamu found gross, but was his brother’s favorite). He took small sips and deep breaths.

“I’m goin’ to go get ya a little something to munch on, alright baby? Call me if ya need something,” Miya-san said. She kissed the top of his head and left the room.

Osamu watched his brother with a careful eye. He took in the flush of his cheeks, the paleness of the rest of his face, his shaking hand that rested subtly on his stomach. Sure, he just passed out and these things should be no surprise, but something deep in Osamu’s bones told him that Atsumu was hiding something; that something more was wrong.

“‘M gonna go help, Ma. Don’t do anything stupid.” Osamu stood and Atsumu nodded. The lack of a return insult, the lack of any verbal response at all from his obnoxious twin set all of Osamu’s nerves on edge.

“Ma,” he said as he entered the kitchen, “I think Tsumu is really sick.” He leaned against the counter where she was getting some crackers to put on a plate.

“He just passed out from heat exhaustion, Samu of course he’s sick.” She smiled at him softly.

“No, no. I mean… he’s been weird all mornin’ and I think somethins’ wrong,” Osamu pushed. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but his whole body told him that Atsumu was being a bigger idiot than either of them realized.

Miya-san glanced over at her son. Osamu tried to convey on his face how strongly he felt about this, how she needed to believe him. She studied him for a second before nodding and turning back to the plate.

“Okay. We’ll keep an eye on him, alright?” Osamu’s shoulders relaxed minutely.

In the living room, Atsumu was lying down again, his head pillowed against the arm rest and his legs curled into his stomach. He was still frowning.

“Tsumu, you should eat something,” Osamu tried. The frown on Atsumu’s face morphed into a grimace.

“Don’t wanna…” he replied, petulantly.

“Just a few crackers, please?” Miya-san asked, sitting by Atsumu’s feet. He looked between the two of them and sighed.

“Fine,” he relented. Too easily, for Osamu’s liking. On Osamu’s list of Things To Hate About Atsumu, stubbornness was easily in the top three.

Atsumu nibbled on a few crackers until their mother seemed satisfied and left the room. As soon as she did, Atsumu collapsed heavily back onto the couch.

Osamu paused for a second before he gave in to his baser instincts as a brother and twin and sat beside Atsumu on the couch. Almost immediately, Atsumu repositioned himself to lean on Osamu’s shoulder.

Osamu felt the tension ease out of his shoulders when his brother exhaled slowly and shakily, closing his eyes.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on? Or are you gonna continue to be stupid?” Osamu asked after a moment.

His ill twin tenses again and Osamu almost feels bad. Key word: almost.

(If Atsumu was going to continue being an asshole, he would not feel bad if this came and bit him in the ass.)

“...I don’t know. Just been feelin’ odd all day,” Atsumu relented and Osamu’s eyes disappeared behind his hairline.

“Must be feelin’ pretty bad if yer admittin’ it so easily,” Osamu teased. The guilt pooling in his stomach was not something he’d share with his brother easily. His pride wouldn’t let him.

That didn’t take away from the fact that it was there though. Of course it was. Osamu could tell something was off the second he looked at Atsumu’s face this morning, yet he let him go on and work in the scorching sun all morning.

“Mmm,” Atsumu hummed, easing further into his brother’s side.

“Can ya tell me what’s wrong?” Osamu rested his head on Atsumu’s.

“Head hurts. Stomach’s been feelin’ weird,” Atsumu yawned. Osamu nodded.

“Wanna go take a shower and lay in bed?”

“Can’t move even if I wanted to.”

“I’ll help ya, stupid,” Osamu scoffed.

“Why’re you bein’ so nice?” Atsumu asked again. Osamu wouldn’t acknowledge the twinge in his chest that came when Atsumu didn’t believe that Osamu could be nice to him when he needed to be.

“No one else is gonna be,” he said instead.

“Ma’s here,” came the rebuttal.

“Let’s just go upstairs. You should get some rest so I don’t have to sub for ya at practice tomorrow.”

“Hate to admit it, Samu, but I don’t think I’ll make practice tomorrow,” Atsumu grumbled.

And well. Fuck. If Atsumu was already thinking that way, if he wasn’t fighting him about practice, wasn’t convinced he’d go tomorrow, then he must be really sick. The rock in Osamu’s stomach got a little heavier.

“Let’s go,” Osamu said. Atsumu nodded.

“Ma! I’m taking Tsumu upstairs to shower and get in bed!” Osamu called to their mom.

With that, Osamu eased his brother to stand, trying to ignore the way his face paled when he was upright, and slowly they made their way upstairs.

Osamu made Atsumu take a cold shower before he allowed him to settle into bed.

(Atsumu protested and whined the whole time. Osamu kept to himself that the argument that ensued made him feel a little better about Atsumu’s overall condition.)

Atsumu fell asleep almost instantly, curled into a ball around his pillow. Osamu gave him a sweatshirt and some athletic shorts to wear because he kept complaining about being cold. Convincing him that it was just because of the shower and that he’d warm up proved completely fruitless, so in the end Osamu relented.

Looking at his brother now, Osamu could tell that the worst was yet to come. Again, it was just a gut feeling. It set him on edge and kept his shoulders tight by his ears.

When Miya-san came to check on them, Osamu apologized, and though it meant showing his concern for his idiotic brother, asked her if he could skip their chores for the rest of the day and hang out in their room to keep an eye on Atsumu.

(Their mother was the one person they couldn’t lie to; she’d see past their proud facades and break them down with her eyes until they relented and told her what was really happening. Eventually, they stopped trying to lie to her.)

She agreed easily and told him she would run out to the store to prepare for the worst case scenario (see: Atsumu being a whiny little pissant). Osamu shouldn’t have been surprised that she believed him about his weird gut feeling. Thinking back on it, the two twins always knew when something was wrong with the other.

Miya-san left and Osamu took one last look at his brother sleeping on the top bunk before settling on the floor in front of his own bed. He grabbed an X-Box remote and turned on some game he’s played a thousand times, the volume low, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

[outerbankspreferences]

Boat Day

2197

JJ MAYBANKS x READER (PRE RELATIONSHIP)

WORD COUNT: 2197

WARNINGS: underage drinking, drugs, language.

A/N: Y/N stands for Your Name and Y/L/N stands for Your Last Name. This is my first story, so send me some request!

.

.

.

.

.

Summers in the Outer Banks are the best. The days are long, the water’s warm and the fun never ends. The best thing about living here are my friends. We call ourselves the Pouges. A handed down name on this island for as long as I can remember. The Pouges are the poor kids. Work for a living to help your parents, cause trouble to have great memories to look back on when you’re older, but most importantly, a family. A lot of us don’t really have one of those. Our parents are to busy working for the Kooks to have time to spend with us.

It was another typical morning on the banks. I was getting ready to go out on the boat with my friends. It was a rare day that we all had no work and nothing to do. I was packing my cooler full of food and drinks because it was my turn to feed everyone. I was wearing my favorite t-shirt dress and I had my hair in a low ponytail and sunglasses on, my go to when it was this hot out.  I was walking onto the back porch the led to our dock right as the boat was pulling up.

“Top of the morning to ya’ sailors.” I greeted my friends. John B was at the wheel slowing down so I can hop on, Kiara was taking the cooler out of my hand and Pope was still reading. I turned to the back of the boat and saw JJ laying there, hat over his head. “What’s his problem?” I ask motioning to JJ. “He drank a little too much last night, and is now nursing a hangover.” John B explains. “Isn’t he always hungover? Here JJ I have something that will fix you, it’s my moms favorite cure.-“Oh yeah, what is it? Advil? ‘Cause I already popped like three of those before you got here.” JJ responded not moving the hat. I pulled another drink out of my cooler. “No silly, it’s to keep drinking. Can’t get a hangover if your always drunk.” JJ moved his hat slightly, looking up at me squinting, sits up takes the drink and smiles. “can’t argue with that logic.” He responds.

I finish passing the rest of the drinks out as John B steered towards the marsh with sun on our backs warming up to be a good day. As we get to our usual spot, Pope throws the anchor down and looks at me “What kinda’ sandwiches did you pack Y/N?” as he rummaged to the bottom knowing I kept them there so they would stay cold. “I packed PB&J for me and you, cucumber for our dear vegetarian Kie, and ham and cheese for these dorks.” He smiled, I always pack everyone’s favourite snacks. “That’s why we keep you around” Pope responds. I gasp, “what?” I ask dramatically. “and here I thought it was my charming personality and good looks.” Everyone starts to laugh, “Sorry sweetheart, but I already took that roll” JJ says to me with a pat on my back. I can’t help but laugh out loud. “Yeah whatever helps you sleep at night J” Kie says laughing with me. “wouldn’t you like to know” he says with wink. My heart flutters. That wink kills me every time.

I’ve had a thing for JJ since we started hanging out together. My family moved here in the eighth grade and I became friends with Kiara. We met volley ball tryouts, quickly becoming friends as if we’d know each other our whole lives. She introduced me to the Pouges, and the rest was history. When Kie started her Kook year, Pope helped me find my way around the school, and lucky for me, JJ always not to far behind.

After we’ve all had something to eat and smoked a couple of blunts it was time to go swimming. Everybody starts taking there clothes off, and jumps in. As I’m taking my dress off I can feel JJ’s eye on me. That’s when I remember I’m wearing a new bathing suit. It’s a simple pink bikini but it shows a bit more of my cleavage then normal. “That’s so cute Y/N! Where did you get it?” Kie asks while my head is stuck in my dress. “At that boutique-for fuck sakes-you know the new one-“Here let me help” I feel a pair of hands grip the dress and a small laugh, and I know the second I hear it , that JJ is coming to my rescue. My breath hitches when his hands brush against my back side. The heat of his hands linger for a minute, “You’re a dysfunctional mess Y/L/N, probably lose your head if it wasn’t attached.” JJ spoke, everyone laughing along with him. “Real comedian you are Jim Carry, I’ll have to come to one of your shows-anyways as I was saying, I’m borrowing it from the boutique that just opened on Main Street.” I tell Kie, “Do they know you’re borrowing it?”. She knew me too well. It was small habit of mind to shoplift clothes. We couldn’t really afford new ones, and I hated asking my parents for one. “No they don’t know I’m borrowing, but I’ll fix the tag when I’m done with it and return it. No one will the wiser” She scuffs at my answer. I take that opportunity to jump in the water with them.

After swimming and another round of snacking and smoking the sun is starting to set, and we are turning the boat around to head home. “Hey Y/N, do you work tomorrow?” JJ asks me. We work at the country club together. I work in housekeeping, and he works in the kitchen doing a little bit of everything. “Yeah I do, 8 to 4 cleaning the discharges. What about you?” I ask him knowing where this is going. I always pick JJ up on my way if we’re working the same shifts. Someone was to make sure he makes it there. “I go for 9 and work a 12 hour shift, think I can bunk at your place? Is your mom working night shift?” My mom is a nurse at the E.R. and when she’s not home I let him spend the night with me. My dad is away on a fishing trip so no one would know he’s there. “Yeah she’s leaving for work at 7 if you want to sleep on the couch. Just don’t smoke in the house this time. My dad could smell the weed when he got home” “sure thing”.

John B stops at Kie’s first, she’s the only one with a curfew for being out late one to many times. “Alright losers, thanks for the day, I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow. John B are you still coming by the wreck in the morning?” Kie asks him and I look at Pope, I can see him roll his eyes under his sunglasses. I was under strict orders from him not to say anything about his crush in her. “Of course, do you think you’re dad will still want me picking up shifts there, it’ll get DCS off my case for a little while.”. Kiara’s dad offered to help John B out after Big John went missing a couple of months ago. DCS was been on his case about his uncle and the bills. “He said he needed the help with the summer season starting, Charlie Hanson quit last week for his band so we’re short a dish washer” Pope finally looks up from the book he’s reading, “I’ll sleep at your place tonight and help you write resume out for him.” John B smiled at Pope. “Thanks man, I really need your wisdom” Everyone laughs. Kie gets off the boat and waves goodbye to everyone. “Next stop the Y/L/N home” JJ says, “I’m so tired I could fall asleep right here” He motions to the front of the boat. Dramatically laying across the hard plastic. It’s grown colder now that the sun has set and with that wind picks up. I’m only in my dress from earlier, cursing myself for not bringing a sweater. “Christ John can this bucket of bolts go any faster, I’m freezing my ass off” I ask with a hint of sarcasm. Moments later I watch JJ sigh deeply and throw a towel over in my direction. “You’re lucky I was too hungover to go swimming, that should keep you warm. We’re almost there.” After a short distance and many laughs we’re finally pulling up to the dock. I look up to my house, and see that my mom left the light outside on, she knew me to well. I hated walking up the yard in the dark. JJ grabs the cooler and waves goodbye to Pope and John B as they sail away.

I wave goodbye to them and turn around to see that JJ is already half way up the yard. “JJ wait up, I only have little legs!” It was our inside joke, we both love watching full house, and he was quite taller then me so I could never keep up. He was quiet the short walk up to the house holding the door open for me. As we walk into my kitchen, I lock the door, and turn the outside light off. “Do you want the first shower J?” I ask him walking to the closet to pull out the extra blankets for him to sleep with. I could hear him opening the fridge. “No, you take the first shower and use the hot water. I don’t want to listen to you complain about me using all the hot water again.” I couldn’t argue with that. My house had shit warm water. Normally enough for a quick shower, and then taking forever to reheat. After putting the blankets on the couch, I look at JJ coming out of the kitchen with just his swim trunks on. “I’m taking a cold shower anyways, it’s hot in here.” He comments taking another drink of his water. I smile and nod to him, walking to my room to get some clothes. I grab the towel from the closest hallway and a pair of pajama’s walking into the bathroom. I start the water and hop in washing my hair and body. Once I’m done I get out of shower throw my hair in a bun and get changed. I walk into the living and JJ is siting there rolling a joint and watching tv. “Did your mom upgrade from cable because I don’t remember you having this channel” he asked not looking up from his joint. Eyebrows knitted together in concentration. “Yeah she complained about the bill being to high, and they gave some extra channels for being loyal customers or something like that” I look at what he’s watching. National Geographic. “JJ since when have you liked national geographic? What are you even watching? Is that Naked and Afraid?” You hit the guide to confirm that he’s actually watching it. “Yeah, I thought it was actually going to show them naked, not blur all the good stuff. Too PG if your asking me. What’s the point of calling the show Naked and afraid if you don’t actually see them naked?” He did make a good point, honestly I never watch any the television, always opting for Netflix. “I don’t know why the call it that. But you should go shower, its getting late and we both have to work early. Do you want me to wake you up when I get up?” I ask walking into the kitchen to get myself a drink. “No you wake up at the ass crack of dawn, just wake me up before you go I’ll sleep in the car until its time for work” JJ calls as I hear him shut the door to the bathroom. Once I hear the water running, I sigh and start making the couch up for him. I grab some of the pillows from my room, and take his rolled joint and put it in baggie with his other. I put his book bag by the couch and a clean pair of shorts he left from last time.

As I’m getting into bed, I can hear the shower turn off, and shortly after the door open. As I’m lying in bed thinking about the day staring at the ceiling, I can hear JJ rummaging around the living room. My heartbeat quickens thinking that he’s in the other room. I wish I could get the courage to tell him how I feel, but the rules say other wise. When Pope told me about his crush, that’s what he said to me. “remember those stupid no pouge on pouge macking rules.” A small mantra as to not ruin our friendship together. As I’m slowing drifting off to sleep I can hear JJ call from the other room, “goodnight Y/N” and I fall asleep with a smile on my face and pain in my heart knowing the man I love is another room and not with me.

[evening-starlight]

Warm Beers

Taglist is Open! Dm or comment to be added!

Posting Schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday

Set before season One!

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

5

Word Count: 1284

    Kenzie skips into the chateau, making pointed eye contact with Kiara. "Kie, kitchen?" Kiara was already off the couch and on her way to the kitchen before Kenzie could finish. JJ had spilled that she was going on a date after work, and Kiara knew exactly what that meant.

    "Girl talk?" JJ asks, following Kenzie into the room with a smile. "I never get to be a part of those." He whines when Kiara points for him to leave. "Please? What are they even like? Do you talk about boys? Sex?" JJ continues while McKenzie ignores him, grabbing two beers from the fridge.

    "Maybe one day, J, but tonight's not the night," Kenzie says as she pats JJ on the shoulder and turning him to leave. He scampers off like a scolded dog, head hung low and shoulders sunken. Both girls sit on opposite corners of the counter, knees bumping slightly.

    "Okay, what's up?" Kiara asks, looking over her friend. Kenzie's cheeks are pink, and her hair is conveniently placed to cover her neck, held down by JJ's hat.

    "Dude, you will not believe the hookup I just had," Kenzie starts. Kiara laughs as Kenzie moves her hair, revealing her hickeys. "Kissing was a four out of ten. Way too much tongue and not enough lip." She starts to judge the escapade. She doesn't know when she began rating her hookups, but Kiara was always willing to listen. "Dick work? Zero." Kiara covers her mouth to stop from spewing beer over her friend as she chokes. "Couldn't feel a god damn thing, and he came in like three seconds flat, I swear to God." McKenzie finishes her rant with a chug of her beer.

    "Overall rating?" Kiara prompts, eager to hear how well he ranked. No one has ever placed over a five on Kenzie's scale. Maybe it was the types of boys she went for or the high expectations Tumblr stories had set for her sex life.

    "Four out of ten, only because he indulged the vampire kink," Kenzie rationalizes, shrugging at Kiara's snort. "Eh, wait, no. Three. Three out of ten because I can't forgive the three seconds." Kiara laughs loudly, pulling the boys' attention to the girls.

    JJ watches closely as Kenzie laughs and leans into Kiara. He wished he could be in there to hear exactly what they were talking about. The curiosity was killing him as McKenzie snorts at something Kie said. Was it about her date with that stupid touron in his leather jacket? A dark feeling fills his stomach as he watches Kenzie shift her hair to the side, revealing a black and blue neck.

    The door slams behind him as JJ leaves, needing to smoke a joint to combat the feeling growing inside. His hands shake as he tries to light the blunt, groaning in frustration when the lighter flickers and snuffs out.

    "Was I the only one who thinks JJ sounded mad when he left?" McKenzie asks when she and Kiara join the boys. While the boys shrug, Kiara nods in confirmation that JJ seemed irritated. With a small sigh, Kenzie follows after her friend, worried about his small outburst. "Need a hand?" She asks when JJ toss the black lighter out into the yard with a frustrated sigh.

    "No, I got it," He bites, not looking towards Kenzie as he rummages through the sunroom for another lighter. McKenzie clears her throat as she pulls out her favorite yellow one that's covered in little stickers Kiara bought her. JJ looks at her and gives a pressed smile when he takes the Bic and lights the weed.

    He takes a seat on the steps, ignoring the fact that Kenzie sits next to him, shoulder pressed to his. They sit in silence as JJ smokes, watching the waves crash to the marsh. The heavy feeling coating JJ's heart slowly lifts the more he smokes. "Want to talk about it?" She asks, reaching for the blunt in his hand as she lays her head on his shoulder.

    "About what?" JJ deflects, watching Kenzie's cloud disperse into the air. The sweet smell of her coconut shampoo mixed with weed fills his lungs. Kenzie sighs and takes another hit of the blunt. They continue to sit in silence while Kenzie waits for JJ to answer her question. "Just feeling off, I guess." He finally divulges, feeling safe and secure with Kenzie next to him.

    It was like she had a spell on him. McKenzie could make JJ tell her everything in just one look. John B. was his best friend, sure, but the deputy's daughter was his personal secrets holder. She knew things about JJ that he's never told anyone, some of which he won't repeat again in his life. The deputy's daughter was the town's bad boys' safety person.

    "I'm sorry, J. Had too many warm beers?" She jokes, pulling a chuckle out of JJ as he steals the joint back from Kenzie. He shakes his head before laying his cheek on her head. "Everything going okay at home?" She asks, knowing it's a loaded question. Nothing was ever fine at the Maybank house, but some days were better than others.

    Somedays, Luke was too drunk to remember his own name, let alone his hatred towards his own son. Other's he was already passed out by the time JJ got home from work. Nothing was ever 'fine' in JJ's house. Somedays were just easier to handle.

    "As fine as they can be, I guess." JJ shrugs and changes the subject. "How'd the date with Leather Jacket go?" Kenzie giggles and shakes her head.

    "It wasn't a real date. I gave him a three out of ten." JJ makes a disapproving noise and shakes his head.

    "Poor guy didn't stand a chance. The scale is brutal," He jokes, elbowing Kenzie gently as she giggles. It only took some weed, and now the friends were back to their usual banter.

    "Whatever. You think you could beat a five, Maybank?" Kenzie laughs, looking up at her best friend. He stares down at her, and something inside of him took over. Something devilish and confident.

    "I know I can, Princess." He whispers, leaning into her. Kenzie stays still, practically paralyzed by JJ's words and actions. Kenzie can feel his breath fanning across her lips, smelling of weed and beer. His blues eyes are glazed over but captivate Kenzie as they stare at each other. JJ continues to slowly lean in, hesitant to bridge the gap.

    The trace snaps when JJ realizes just how close he is to her lips, mere breaths away. What the hell was he doing? This was his best friend. He wasn't supposed to be having these feelings towards her. She was practically family to him. An extremely hot and sassy family member.

    JJ kisses her cheek sweetly before getting up, passing the last of the roll to her. "I'm gonna go get a game started. Come in when you finish the blunt," He announces. But, really, he just needed to get out of that situation before he did something irreversible.

    Kenzie sits in shock on the stairs, watching as the sun starts to set to the west and casts beautiful warm colors onto the water's surface. She couldn't decide if she was angry because he even tried to kiss her or that he didn't follow through. That was her best friend, and she wasn't supposed to want to kiss him, but goddammit, she wanted nothing more than to kiss his perfect pink lips.

    As the water turns orange, Kenzie rationalizes that she was still frustrated after Theo's three-second and projected onto JJ. A night's sleep would fix it all.

Taglist: @gwenlovesharrystyles​ @x-lulu​

[mmvalentine]

Home is Where You Are pt 1 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. Part 2 now up.

Rhys hadn’t seen Feyre in over ten years. It was strange for him to think about, because they had always been so close. They had grown up next door to each other, and had been best friends as children. As they got older, Rhys had flown into fits of jealous rage when Feyre suddenly had a hundred other friends and he was left behind. Then there was that one night, when they were thirteen and camping out in the Archerons' back yard, and giggling in the tent, they had decided to find out what all the fuss was about kissing.

They had leaned in, pressed their lips together, and held their breath. Five seconds went by, and then Feyre pulled back, laughing.

“It’s kind of... wet,” she had said, wiping her mouth of the back of her hand. But Rhys been too stunned to say anything. He followed Feyre’s lead as she lay back in her sleeping bag and launched into a story about a particularly annoying boy at school, and Rhys had pretended to listen. But all the while, his fists were clenched tight at his side, as he fought to get in control of the strange, hot sensation that had started where Feyre’s mouth touched his and had somehow pooled in his stomach like lava. More troublingly, it was moving further south, and the young teenage Rhys was baffled by the apparent autonomy the lower part on his anatomy had lately been growing.

And then the next day Feyre’s mother had a stroke in the kitchen, and hadn’t survived the ambulance ride. And her father, grief stricken and barely functional, and up and moved the whole family to the other side of the country to avoid any reminder of his dead wife. Hadn’t actually managed to sell the house, just abandoned it and let it sit empty and decay over the years. And Rhys, Rhys was left alone with his drunk, bitter father, and he never got to tell Feyre that he was sorry her mother had died, that he knew exactly what it felt like and wanted to be there for her, that he was pretty sure he loved her with all of his thirteen year old heart.

Over the next decade, Rhys’ father got older but not more sober. His arm weakened, thankfully, although his aim somehow never did. Rhys cared for him the best he could until he died- liver failure of course- and then up and moved to the city using the money from his fathers estate. There was a surprisingly large amount of money for the frequency with which Rhys had been fed hot meals as a kid.

He had looked Feyre up on social media, but she was working as an artist now and her photos were all of her work, very rarely with her in them. He had wanted to message so many times, but when he saw how well she was doing, it hadn’t seemed right. Not when he felt like a stark reminder of such a bad time in her life.

And then her father had passed away, leaving them both orphans, and she had reached out to him.

By email, for chrissake. Like some kind of professional courtesy.

Hi Rhys,

Long time no see. I’m guess you’ve head the news by now. Cancer, in the end. But I think he was sort of waiting to die for a long time. Anyway, Nesta and Elain have pretty much checked out of the situation, and so I’ve taken over the big job- selling the old house. My sisters basically said just do it and send us the money.

The upshot is, I’ll be travelling back to the old neighbourhood in about a week. I know it’s been forever, but you lived in that house most as much as we did. I was wondering if you wanted to come down and hang out, before we sell it. I’ve been talking to realtors and I’ll probably be there just a few days, and then leave it to them. I don’t know how any of this works to be honest.

You’re welcome to come with me if you want, but no pressure.

Feyre

Rhys had written back straight away, and before he knew it he was on a plane. Back to that sad little suburb, with its malignant houses and crumpled people. To his father's house, where there were cracks in the wall that Rhys' younger bones had bade. To the Archeron home, where he had found refuge after the old man had passed out, drunk.

To Feyre.

He had no idea what to expect. Had spent the whole flight full to the brim of jitters, and wondering what it would be like to see her again, and cursing himself for letting it get this far and then to not have been the one to reach out first.

And then his feet marched themselves down the crooked streets, knowing where to go instinctively, so before he knew it he was standing before his old house. And hers.

Actually being there was like a punch in the gut. Rhys suddenly felt eight years old again, and even the anticipation of how his old house smelled had nausea rolling in his gut. He didn't think he'd be so affected by it. He wondered if anyone had moved into the house- there were no cars or toys in the front yard, but the garden wasn't overgrown. Not like the Archeron house.

His old neighbour's place looked terrible. Mould was growing over the peeling paint, a few of the windows in the front were cracked, and weeds reigned over the garden. So different from when the girls had lived here, and Elain had been so dilligent with her botanical care.

Rhys remained in silent contemplation for another minute or so, and then, taking him quite by surprise, the front door opened. And there stood Feyre.

Rhys eyes threatened to throw themselves out of their sockets. He worked to keep his jaw shut, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the sight of her.

Feyre was gorgeous.

Little girl Feyre had white blonde hair, skinny arms, and blue bug-eyes. Little boy Rhys had loved her exactly how she was, and had thought she was the most perfect person in the world.

Grown up Feyre was astounding.

Her hair had darkened to the colour of gold and honey, and now curled gently over her shoulders. Her frame had filled out to accommodate softly curving hips and a modest cleavage. She had grown into her eyes, the delicate grey-blue of them like rain-clouds on the horizon. Rhys had been waiting and waiting to meet Feyre again, but this... this was ridiculous.

Since leaving his father's house, Rhys had to admit he spent a lot of time on his body. He never wanted to feel so weak as when he was six years old and unable to protect his mother from his father's rage. Thankfully, as a teenager he started to pile on muscle quite easily. And then after moving out, he made sure to tattoo over the scars on his chest so that his father had no say over what his skin looked like.

And yet now he felt tiny again, and devastated that this Feyre was completely out of his league. He didn't know what to say to her.

Turned out, he didn't have to.

"Rhys!" Feyre said, seeing him standing there. She crossed the yard in a few strides, and before he got so much as a 'hello' out, Feyre had wrapped her arms around him. The smell of her neck right under his nose floored him. She pulled back, with her hands still on him.

"Rhys, I can't believe you're here!" Feyre looked him up and down, and laughed. "Well you got big, huh?"

God, her laugh. He didn't remember it being so musical.

"Hey Feyre," he said out loud. "I'm sorry about your dad." Feyre squeezed his arms. "Thanks. And thank you for coming. It's really good to see you." "It's good to see you," Rhys said. "I'm so sorry it's taken so long." "Well, we're here now," Feyre said, and in that moment Rhys was determined to never let her get that far away from him again.

"So how have you been?" Rhys started to ask. But at that moment, the door opened again, and a man with a blonde man-bun stepped out. He looked like one of those surfer dudes Rhys had never liked.

"Babe," he said. "There's definitely termites in there. It's gonna lower the price point for sure."

Rhys stared. Babe?

Feyre rolled her eyes. "Great, just add it to the list."

It was then that the man noticed Rhys. He extended a hand.

"Hey buddy, I'm Tamlin," he said. "Hey... buddy," Rhys replied tersely. Feyre jumped in. "Tamlin, this is Rhys, he used to live next door when we were kids." Feyre put her hand on Tamlin's arm, and smiled a heartbreaking smile at him.

"Rhys, this is Tamlin. My fiancé."

****

So okay, it has been one week since I hit tumblr and spewed my story telling guts all over you lovely, sweet, kind people.

I know you connected really well with Lockdown Lovers, and it seems maybe a bit less well with Circus of Dreams? So I am throwing out one more AU, a little darker this time. I will keep posting CoD, but please let me know what you think and what you guys want to read.

Anyway I have been uploading manically over the last 7 days and at the moment I feel like I'm bombarding you with my filthy daydreams, so I'm going to try very hard to take a couple days off writing and let people actually read the damn things!

Finally, thank you so, so much for the support and love. I've been using this place to escape from personal problems and you have been outstanding. Hopefully in a few days I'll post at a more reasonable rate and from a better head space.

Thank you, lovers.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies