#... anyway i hate mothers day its the worst holiday

[lily-blue]

Prince in disguise

☆ characters: crown prince!san & florist!you ☆ genre: modern royalty au, fluff ☆ warnings: mention of a break-in ☆ summary: you like to joke about how San carries himself like a prince; one day it turns out, it’s because he’s indeed royalty ☆ words: 7,9k ☆ a/n: this story was inspired by this video of San ☆ also: merry Christmas to the lovely @restlessmaknae 💕 i wish you a peaceful holiday, so that you could regain your energy and start the new year stronger than ever ☆ massive thanks to: @dat-town for proofreading the story 💕

You often teased San about how he was the embodiment of your childhood crush, Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. There was just something in the way he held himself, with so much effortless elegance and pride, that screamed royalty. However, up until the very moment three grown ass men in suits and sunglasses stormed into your flower shop, undoubtedly looking for him, you had never been able to decipher how he really felt about your lighthearted jokes. He definitely didn’t hate them, that much you could tell. He knew you would have stopped as soon as he showed any signs of frustration or discomfort, yet his most common reaction was a small smile and kiss on your forehead. 

It had never, not even in your wildest dreams, when you let yourself dream about your future, occurred to you that he was an actual prince. Like a real prince with a queen as a mother and a kingdom to rule.

‘Miss, I would like to kindly advise you to refrain from any form of dishonesty,’ one of the men said, his voice calm and collected despite the photo in his hands and the urgency of the issue they were dealing with. You had never given any thought to the qualities a bodyguard (a royal bodyguard!) should have possessed, but you had to admit that he must have ticked off all the boxes on that imaginary list. ‘We have been informed that the Crown Prince, in fact, entered this flower shop and he could not have possibly had enough time to leave before we came in.’

You could feel your heart picking up its rate and your palms getting clammy, but you refused to show how nervous his way of speaking made you. You also refused to think about all the negative consequences your inner need to protect San could bring you. You knew that as soon as you let your brain come up with those worst case scenarios you would fold like a folding chair. And you simply couldn’t afford to be weak.

‘Thank you for your advice, sir. However, I also need to kindly remind you that you need a warrant in case you wish to enter the staff only area,’ you stood your ground, grateful that the owner of the shop wasn’t present, so she couldn’t grant them access to the storage room. That might have put both San and you into an uncomfortable situation. ‘I have already told you that your Crown Prince is not here. You are wasting your time,’ you claimed, impressed by how calm your words came out despite the hurricane of emotions inside of you.

What would you tell your parents if you got arrested for lying to these men? It wasn’t like you were hiding a criminal, right?

‘Disobeying the Queen is considered high treason,’ the royal bodyguard stated firmly and you gulped down the knot in your throat when you realised he wasn’t talking to you. The warning was dedicated to the guy who was currently hiding behind dozens of bouquets of lilies and sunflowers for a summer themed banquet tomorrow.

‘Sir.’ You cleared your throat to gain his attention or more like, to divert his attention from the storage room’s door that he was eyeing with intent. You didn’t know what you could have done if he decided to push you aside and enter the staff only area anyway. He clearly had the muscles for that and he also had backup even if the other two men were lingering by the front door. ‘I am a South Korean citizen and we are in South Korea. With all due respect, your Queen has no power here,’ you reminded him, mustering up all the confidence that was left in your body, which wasn’t too much to be honest. You were a mere commoner standing in front of a royal bodyguard, after all. Hell, you were a petite woman in her twenties against a man who had biceps the size of a smaller melon.

In the back of your head, you wondered how long your protective instincts would take you. For the sake of San and yourself, you hoped you could hold on long enough for these men to give up and leave. If things had gone there, you didn’t know how you would have explained to your boss why you had stayed overtime on a Wednesday night.

It took time, and a horrendous amount of awkward and pressuring silence, but eventually a new customer came in and your afternoon regained some of its normality. You helped the girl choose the most suitable flowers for her confession and gave her a gift card for free partly because she was adorable and partly because you were so genuinely grateful for her presence. Her ramble about her childhood best friend slash crush had successfully taken your mind off the predicament you were in with a prince in your storage room.

Unfortunately, after that, the rest of the afternoon kept you on your tiptoes. Two of the men in black suits left, but the third bodyguard refused to leave the shop and made sure you didn’t have a moment of peace with his countless questions and polite warnings of which quite a few were meant for San. At least, you honestly doubted his intention was to appeal to your emotions when he brought up the people of their nation, their well-being and the well-being of the royal couple. As much as you could tell from the morsels you actually understood - at one point the guard started to speak the same language San spoke when he was frustrated -, San’s parents were healthy, but his father was too drained to keep ruling the country for much longer. They wanted him to go back and be the king he had always been meant to be. They wanted him to settle down and have his own heirs.

The latter felt like a fist in the gut, like a knife in the stomach even though your translation’s accuracy was heavily dependent on context clues, so you might have been wrong.

You hoped you were wrong.

‘Sir, we are closing. I have to ask you to leave,’ you spoke up ten minutes before eight and let out a relieved sigh when he didn’t argue. You could handle his ice cold stares, but you were doubtful whether you would have had the energy to get into a fight after hours of cold war. His presence alone had drained you dry and honestly, the only things that kept you going were the knowledge that you were doing this for San and the cinnamon rolls from the vintage coffee shop across the street. They closed at ten, so they usually weren’t out of sweets when you visited them at the end of your most tiresome days.

A little paranoid that the bodyguard might have been still lingering out there, waiting for the moment when you foolishly let your guard down, you busied yourself with the online orders that came in in the last hour and stock checked the customer area. It took almost one and a half hours before you informed San that the coast was clear.

The boy walked out from the storage room with his lower lip between his teeth and a rather embarrassed smile on his face that - based on the months you had spent getting to know each other more - was meant to be reassuring.

‘Are you okay?’ San asked, warmth swelling in your chest due to his first words. Of course, your well-being was his top priority. His apologies and weak attempts at making excuses, so you wouldn’t have been mad at him always came second. ‘I’m so sorry.’

You clenched and unclenched your fists as you looked at him. Did he seriously believe that you could be angry with him for longer than a couple of minutes? You had gotten to know the truth hours ago. You were over the initial shock and done being sulky.

At that point, you just wanted him to be safe.

Therefore, you destroyed the distance between the two of you and not giving a damn about his title, you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him impossibly close to your body. You could feel your cheek being squeezed as you rested your head on his chest.

‘Are you okay?’ You threw the question right back at him, feeling your heart picking up its rate with each second that passed you by in silence.

San’s lips were soft against your scalp when he kissed the top of your head and wrapped his own arms around your petite frame.

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled against your hair, his tone urging you to pull away and look him in the eyes, hence that was what you did. You pulled away with your hands still around his body and rested your chin on his chest, picking apart his facial expression as you tried to decipher what he was thinking.

Your breath hitched when he pressed his lips against yours briefly.

‘I promise I will explain everything,’ he said, his forehead fitting close to yours before he lifted his right hand and brushed a stubborn lock behind your ear. ‘But first, I need to take care of a few things. Important things,’ he claimed and with that - and another tender kiss pressed against your parted lips - he was gone.

You looked after him in trance for minutes before you shook your head and willed yourself to walk in the storage room to finish the stock checking. There was a cinnamon roll waiting for you at the coffee shop across the street.

You hadn’t heard from San that night, which was a tad bit alarming considering that he was living in your apartment unofficially for over a month. He had his own clothes at yours, his own towel, shower gel, shampoo and toothbrush. You had his favourite plant-based milk in your fridge along with his favourite instant coffee. His mug that matched yours was in your cabinet, waiting for him to come home. So why hadn’t he? The number of possibilities made you anxious.

What if those men had found him and he was already out of the country?

By the time the second night of radio silence rolled by, you were checking your phone abnormally frequently and couldn’t stay focused for longer than five or six minutes. It came to a point where even the Thai series you were currently obsessed with couldn’t keep you on the couch. You had to move around, clean up something, do something, anything that might have been able to take your mind off San’s absence. 

You almost knocked off the half-empty mug of hot chocolate from the kitchen counter, the marshmallows still in your hands, when your front door opened out of the blue. You threw the sweets into your drink with a yelp and grabbed the first potential weapon that you came across: the cutting board you kept behind the knife organiser.

‘I have 112 on speed dial,’ you threatened, lowkey wondering whether you should have been more daring and grabbed one of the knives as you walked towards your bedroom, not turning your back to the front door. There should have been a key in the lock from the inside. You should have been safe once you reached the bedroom.

‘Well, that’s good to know, but why are we calling the police?’ A very tired, very amused San asked from the threshold, walking into the open space of your living room slash dining room with a bag of takeout in his hand.

You could feel the rocks being lifted off your chest.

‘Are you crazy? San! You scared the shit out of me,’ you accused, more relieved than angry. Seeing his tired eyes, you were reminded of the bodyguards and wanted to run up to him and inspect his body for injuries. You wanted to make sure he was okay; however, your limbs were frozen, hence you just stood there like a way too realistic statue from Ancient Rome.

Then, your gaze fell on the plastic bags in his hands again and your brain supplied you with all the worst case scenarios it could come up with: San coming over for a last minute farewell dinner before he moved countries; San asking you to change your relationship status to long-distance relationship; San breaking up with you with your favourite black bean noodles. You weren’t ready to let him go after putting so much effort into winning him over.

‘I’m sorry, petal. I thought you would know it’s me. After all, there aren’t many people who know your passcode and your parents are out of town,’ he said. There was something in the way he broke the situation down to you that made you feel a little dramatic. Of course, you should have known it was him. Other than your mom and your best friend, he was the only one who had access to your apartment.

You pressed your lips together and pouted. He had no right to make you feel silly when your survival instincts were the ones to blame.

‘What are the noodles for?’ You asked as soon as you put yourself together, finally finding the power to move your legs and walk up to him. The furrow between San’s eyebrows and the confusion in his eyes shouldn’t have been so adorable.

‘It’s Thursday. You never have energy to cook on Thursdays and Fridays,’ he explained, like you were some kind of alien who wasn’t accustomed to the local habits yet or a person who had just woken up from years of coma. He must have thought that your question was so damn ridiculous, but it wasn’t what you had meant.

‘You didn’t come home yesterday,’ you said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the whiny edge of your statement and the fact that San had his own place to sleep at. His lease wouldn’t expire for at least three more months, so you hadn’t moved in together yet. You had no right to call him to account regarding his whereabouts and still, after what had happened the day before, you kind of felt like you had.

You took the bags out of his hands and helped him unpack the still pleasantly lukewarm food. You also started to prepare a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows for him, too, without asking whether he wanted some. He never said no for hot chocolate.

‘I was with Wooyoung,’ he said, filling a tray with numerous tiny bowls containing various side dishes such as kimchi and yellow radish. ‘I needed his help to contact my oldest cousin, Seonghwa.’

You nodded along with every new revelation, paying close attention to every detail while you slid San’s drink towards him on the dining table. It was your first time hearing about any of his family members, at least from him, so you were admittedly curious.

Even though the trays on the table made it obvious that San’s initial intention was to have this conversation on the couch, you didn’t move an inch from your poor excuse for a dining room. You just stood there, with your elbows on the marble, one of your soles resting on the inner side of your other leg and dove into your food with a pair of wooden chopsticks. You didn’t take your eyes off San while he told you everything about his situation.

‘I left the country with Woonyoung’s family when I was fourteen,’ he started, assuring you that he wasn’t a runaway prince per se, and that he had never hid from his parents. Both the queen and the king of their country knew how to reach him in case of emergency, teenager San had just convinced himself that that day would never come as his parents had never bothered to contact him after he had moved out of the palace. With years of neglect behind his back, his adult-self never thought about the possibility that things might have changed.

You placed your hand on top of his and squeezed it as a sign of your support. You were afraid that he would interpret your sympathy as pity, therefore you tried your best to keep your emotions in check. Instead, you gave San all of your attention, hot chocolate momentarily forgotten.

‘Would you like to go back? Now that it’s an option?’ You mustered up the courage to tear off one of the band-aids; the unsaid inquiry whether he wanted to become a king in the first place hiding between the lines. Somehow, it sounded such an insensitive question, you didn’t have the heart to phrase yours like that despite your curiosity. Therefore, you decided to focus on the fact that the royal couple was his parents. ‘To see your mom and dad?’

After a few seconds of contemplation, San shrugged.

‘I guess so,’ he said and you hated yourself for feeling disappointed. They were his parents. Of course, he wanted to see them again. Who were you in comparison to his family? Without much thought, you took your hand off his; however, San didn’t hesitate to reach after it and intertwined your fingers with a soft smile. ‘But that can wait until Seonghwa’s coronation. It’s been over a decade since we’ve last seen each other. A few more months is no big deal if it means they will let me come back to you.’

As touching as it was that he was willing to delay their reunion to be able to stay with you, your first instinct was to remind him that he was his own person and no one had more power over his life than him. But then you swallowed down the words as your brain caught up with the situation. You might have been absolutely right about this matter in general, but San was a prince. Clearly, general rules didn’t apply to him.

‘What do you mean Seonghwa’s coronation?’ You tried to fill in the holes that made it hard for you to fully comprehend the situation. You thought he was the next in line to rule. You definitely remembered the bodyguard referring to him as the Crown Prince.

‘Well, that’s the most important part of our plan,’ he started, pushing the food closer to you, encouraging you to start eating before it got cold. Albeit reluctantly, you eventually gave in, allowing him to steal himself a couple of seconds as well as he dove into the perfect mixture of noodles and red bean sauce.

Then, he proceeded to tell you about the plan they had made with Woonyoung and six of their mutual friends including his cousin and Seonghwa’s personal bodyguard, Jongho. Since San didn’t wish to become the new ruler of their country, but knew that his parents wouldn’t back off without a fight, they intended to prove to them that Seonghwa was the better choice in every aspect: maturity, dedication towards his people and the country, connections, political and economical knowledge. The way he presented their idea and backed up each one of his reasons made even you think that Seonghwa was more fitting for the role. It made you feel hopeful.

‘Do you think your parents will let you give up the crown?’ You couldn’t help but ask when it became obvious that he didn’t have anything more to say.

The silence that followed was palpable. Still, you let him drag it out and pull you into his lap, so he could wrap his arms around you instead of giving you a definite answer. Now you knew that he wasn’t close to his parents - that their relationship could only have been described as distant. Making guesses based on childhood memories would have just given you false hope. You much preferred his soothing touches and the desperation in the way he held you close.

‘I love you,’ he murmured into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hinting the soft and sensitive area with feather-like kisses.

You sucked in your lower lip, holding your breath. Even though his actions had shown you, even before you two had gotten together, that you were an important person in San’s life, the two of you had never exchanged I love yous before. As much as you hated to acknowledge, it had a bittersweet undertone to it. You wished you could have told him how precious he was to you under different circumstances.

Nevertheless, you said it back.

‘I love you, too. So much.’

That night you eventually relocated to the living room and got comfortable under your fluffy blankets on the couch. You had two mugs of freshly made hot chocolate with you - this time, without marshmallows to lower your already high sugar intake - and some salty snacks you could munch on while you talked. And you talked a lot. You talked about the day before, how the bodyguards had found him and how serious their threats had been. San was almost sure that his parents would have never imprisoned him for high treason if he had refused to go home willingly. By the way his lips curled upwards and his eyes gouged your reaction, you knew he was only trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but it was too early, hence it wasn’t funny. Life imprisonment with a cheap excuse was exactly how they could have kept him in the country! How could San not see it?

‘Don’t even think about joking about this again, you hear me? It’s not funny,’ you scoffed when he tried to ease you with lingering kisses atop of your head, temple and on your blade bone. Him disappearing on you just wasn’t it.

‘I promise.’ He nosed your temple, holding you in his arms a big tighter to make up for the anxiety he had unintentionally caused. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added, repeating it like a mantra until he successfully coaxed a chuckle out of you.

With the show you had been watching before his arrival as your background noise and his warmth surrounding your body, you fell asleep on San’s shoulder while he was talking about Seonghwa’s bodyguard, karaoke, imported beer and apples. If anyone had asked you, you were sure you would have failed to draw the connection between all four, but you knew your boyfriend would have never used your tiredness against you. On the contrary, he would have been grateful that you still felt safe in his arms.

And you did. You did feel safe. Because for you, he was your home.

In the back of your mind, you were aware that your story wouldn’t end up being a fairy-tale, and that even those had some dark twists to them here and there when they were told by the original authors. Still, coming home for a messed up apartment and no San in sight knocked the air out of your lungs. No matter how much you tried to rationalise the happenings or keep your cool, panic overcame you in a matter of seconds. You didn’t know what to do. Would calling the police have made things worse? What if it had been those bodyguards? You didn’t intend to put San into a tight position in case the pitiful state of your home was a consequence of their family quarrel.

On the other hand, what if he had been kidnapped? You had left work pretty late that night, so there was a possibility that San had been home when things had escalated.

Hands shaking and mind pushed into an overdrive, you fished your phone out of the bag you had previously dropped on the floor and dialled San’s number. He didn’t pick up, so you did the next best thing you could think about without losing it: you called him again. Again. And again.

You called him as many times as it was necessary for him to answer your call, his calm voice breaking something in you as your knees gave out as soon as his greeting reached you and you fell on the floor, crying.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ When you sniffed into the phone instead of answering, his voice lost its calmness. ‘Petal, what’s happening? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

You weren’t hurt, not physically at least. But the chaotic mess your mental state was in was secondary to the fact that San sounded to be oblivious of the intrusion into your home.

‘Please, petal, talk to me,’ he tried to coax you and while it didn’t work immediately, when he started to do a breathing exercise, you automatically mimicked the way he sucked the air into his lungs. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

‘Where are you?’ The words felt like sand on the tip of your tongue, your urge to know for sure that he was in public or at least among people who could help him in case of emergency pushing all your other worries aside.

‘I’m with the guys at Wooyoung’s place. Do you need me to pick you up? Where are you? I will pick you up,’ San said, the distant sound of keys chiming and wood cracking assuring you that he was ready to leave as soon as you gave him the sign. Hell, he might have left the boys without you explicitly asking for it considering the worry in his voice.

But as comforting as the thought was, you didn’t want him anywhere near your apartment.

‘No!’ You objected, maybe a tad bit too vehemently for which you might have felt awkward under different circumstances. Now, emotions like shame and embarrassment were at the end of your priority list. ‘Can I visit you instead? I promise I’ll tell you everything in person,’ you negotiated. Not realising that you were holding your breath, a relieved sigh escaped through your pressed lips when San chose to withhold his questions for the time being.

Some matters were wiser to discuss in person. Matters that could put you in a tight position if anyone found evidence about your scheming. Especially when you were up against an opponent so powerful, they had the resources of actual royalty.

Looking around in your fucked up apartment, without your heart threatening to explode in your ribcage, you knew you didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. You had to be smart about your next move.

You showed up at Wooyoung’s place an hour later with one sports bag packed with your most necessary belongings and was greeted with a worried San who didn’t understand why you would have brought your entire bathroom cabinet to his best friend’s apartment when you loved your home. You definitely had a lot to unpack, both literally and figuratively.

‘I can’t believe they’re willing to go this far,’ a guy with sharp eyes and nose said, the same guy who had taken it upon himself to bring you a mug of herbal tea when you made yourself comfortable on Wooyoung’s couch. His name was Hongjoong or something similar if you remembered correctly. ‘I start to think that we might have underestimated them a little.’

‘A little?’ Two or three of San’s friends asked in chorus at the same time San lifted his head up from your shoulder and said:

‘I doesn’t matter. Our plan is good, they’ll have no other choice but to go along with it.’

Just by looking at his friends, you couldn’t tell whether they actually believed what San had said, but it was clear as day that they believed in your boyfriend, hence you leaned against his broad chest and let yourself relax. Neither San nor you were alone in this. You had allies and strategies. You had a good plan, and even if that failed, you had options. San’s parents might have been powerful, they could clearly break into your home to scare you, but they had no real authority in Korea.

A voice in the back of your head also reminded you that you lived in the era of social media. You doubted they would have risked bad publicity by pushing their son too much and causing irreversible damage to those he cherished. Or so you hoped.

‘Our plan is good, but will princess Yuna actually agree to go along with it?’ Another guy, whose name you hadn’t memorised yet, asked, his question piquing your interest. It was the first time you heard about this princess and with your obsession with Asian dramas, you did not like the first scenarios your brain threw at you as it tried to fill in the gaps. Who was she? Why was she an important part of the plan? Was she interested in San?

‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about before petal came. She said yes,’ San said, the hollering and overflowing happiness in the room making you feel weird, like something wasn’t quite right with the situation: like you were missing something crucial that would have given you a perfect explanation for the odd reaction the news received.

With naturally pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows, you placed your hands on your lap along with the pleasantly warm mug and turned towards San. His smile was so beautiful. He was genuinely happy about the progress they had made now that this princess was on board.

‘Who is she?’ You asked, mentally reminding yourself that you were San’s girlfriend. You had every right to ask him about this girl until you remained clear-headed and didn’t throw a temper tantrum for no reason.

‘She is the most sought out unmarried royalty in Asia. Her family’s country is very small, but their economic power is remarkable.’ Hongjoong said.

‘She is two years older than San, but they’ve known each other since they were babies, so he’s allowed to talk to her informally. Her kindness isn’t just for show, she really is the most warm-hearted royalty I’ve ever met,’ Wooyoung added before his wide grin turned into a frown. ‘She never lets me talk to her informally, though. Like I haven’t known her for just as long.’

‘Yeah, she’s so unfair.’ Yeosang’s voice was teasing as he altered it to sound more mocking: like Wooyoung’s but a pitch higher. ‘It’s not because you called her Yuna in front of a bunch of politicians when she explicitly told you to use her birth name when people other than your family were present.’ The bombastic side eye the blond boy gave to Wooyoung almost made you laugh. Almost.

You had to admit, this princess Yuna sounded pretty amazing. Gosh. You were such a horrible person.

San must have sensed your inner turmoil, because the next thing you noticed was the light touch of the tip of his nose against your cheek and his pillowy lips against your jawline.

‘She’s also Seonghwa’s fiancée,’ he murmured, placing one of his warm palms on the other side of your face, so that he could turn your head a bit more and make you look at him. You gulped, more shy than nervous. ‘That’s what she said yes to. Seonghwa proposed to her a few hours ago.’

You sucked in your lower lip, but before you could have done any damage, San pulled it out from between your teeth with his thumb; the fondness in his eyes simultaneously took your breath away and made you feel unworthy of his love. How could you have seriously thought that he would have included someone in their plan - felt so happy about her joining their team - if she had any interest in him romantically?

‘So it’s not a fake marriage?’ You inquired, coaxing a small laugh out of your boyfriend. His eyes almost disappeared because of the pure amusement on his face. It didn’t take long before you gave into the urge to hide your own in the crook of his neck.

Going easy on you, San semi-successfully bit back a chuckle and put his chin atop of your head, stroking your hair.

‘No, it’s not a fake marriage. They’ve also known each other since childhood, obviously. And they’re pretty much in love,’ he reassured you, letting you have all the time in the world if that was what you needed to be able to look him in the eyes again.

Fortunately, you didn’t need that much to get over the fact that you were only human; a girl with fears and insecurities. The herbal tea in your mug was still pleasantly lukewarm when you pulled away and straightened your back.

‘So cute,’ San whispered, pressing a soft peck against your lips before he helped you readjust your position on his lap, so you wouldn’t hurt your neck too much with the way your body was twisted and turned to be able to be chest to chest to him.

‘Oh, stop that!’ Wooyoung’s frustrated voice came from somewhere beside you, your brain not registering that he was teasing, or that he was talking to you until he said: ‘One royal wedding will be shocking enough for your parents. I don’t think they will be able to handle two.’

Failing to disregard the sudden attention on you, your cheeks became warmer and more pink with each second; however, you refused to seek comfort in the crook of San’s neck because you just knew that would have made things worse. You concentrated on your tea instead, on the feel of the porcelain against your clammy palms, on the fluffy blanket on your thighs. On everything and anything that wasn’t your boyfriend or his friends.

‘You’re making her shy,’ one of the boys cooed and some other joined, pushing your heart to the verge of an explosion. You didn’t realise that your hands were trembling until San slid his fingers between yours around your mug and leaned close to your ear.

‘Let’s kick Wooyoung out of his bedroom. I know where the clean sheets are, and it can be locked from the inside,’ he whispered, his lips curling upwards, therefore grazing along your earlobe. You hesitated only for a split second before you nodded.

You got up from the couch and let your boyfriend lead you towards his friend’s bedroom. As the key turned in the lock the thought crossed your mind that you had never done anything so scandalising before, but somehow the immense amount of guilt never came. Instead, you felt excited.

Excited, hopeful and safe in San’s arms.

You were arranging a bouquet of light pink carnations and peach-coloured buttercups for an anniversary when San walked out of the storage room at your workplace with a new roll of lace wrapping and his phone in his hands. With the way he dragged his feet, walking impossibly slowly, you just knew that his eyes were glued to the small screen; you didn’t need to tear your gaze away from the flowers that had your attention to be a hundred percent sure.

‘Have they started it already?’ You inquired between two twists and turns, holding the whole bouquet together with practised ease even when you had to take the wrapping from San with one of your hands. You still remembered how many you had dropped on the floor during your first few months at the flower shop. The number of flowers that had gotten destroyed in your care haunted you up to this day.

‘No, they’ve been focusing on mother and father so far. Mostly on father, but that’s kind of understandable,’ he said, your lips twitching at the mention of the royal couple.

Prince Seonghwa and Princess Yuna’s wedding had been a week ago and while you hadn’t attended the event, nor had done San, your boyfriend’s parents had made it to their mission to put you through anxiety when they had demanded to talk to you as soon as San had picked up the phone for them the day his cousin had announced the big news. They hadn’t gone as far as to threaten you or bribe you with more money than your type could comprehend, but you were well aware they didn’t think you were worthy of their son. God, they had quite literally told you he could have done much better.

‘Last minutes being a king. I wonder how he feels about that,’ you commented, putting in a bit of extra effort to not sound rude. You didn’t want San to think you hated his father even if, rightfully so, he hadn’t been your favourite person in the world.

‘I don’t think he minds it that much. He was only twenty-two when he took the throne. Three decades is a long time,’ he explained while he leaned the phone against a vase on the counter and put a part of his weight on his palms that laid flat against the marble. ‘The only thing he might be upset about is Seonghwa taking my place.’

You regretted the snort the moment you did it. Your hands froze around the perfectly wrapped bouquet and so did the air, which made it hard to look your boyfriend in the eye.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,’ you apologised, putting the flowers in water before you took San’s hand in yours. ‘They are your parents and I’ll be forever grateful to them for your existence. For sending you to this country out of all the countries they could choose from.’ You shot a small albeit genuine smile in his direction. It might have sounded a little cheesy, but you meant every word. Without them you would have never had him.

‘I’m not mad at you,’ he reassured you, squeezing your hand and pressing a soft kiss atop of your shoulder blade before he turned back to his phone and you reached for the next pieces of flowers. You had five more bouquets to finish before your lunch break.

Seonghwa’s coronation officially started when your bibimbap was still in need of some more mixing, but that didn’t keep you from leaning closer to San’s phone and watching the live stream with more excitement than you had had for his father. You might have never spoken to your boyfriend’s cousin before, but you had heard enough stories about him from the boys to know he would be an amazing king. Mostly, because he cared for his people and because he genuinely wanted the responsibility that came with the title.

‘He looks like a leader. So serious-looking,’ you commented, shoving a huge spoonful of food in your mouth and humming in appreciation because goodness, it tasted just like your mom’s homemade bibimbap.

You lifted a bite in front of San’s mouth, so he could try it, too.

You watched the ceremony in complete silence; sometimes you fed him, sometimes you put your head on his shoulder while munching. It was nice. You hadn’t been so content in weeks if not in months.

‘Aren’t you disappointed?’ San asked you after the crown was put on Seonghwa’s head and the sovereign’s sceptre and the sovereign’s orb were placed in his hands.

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

‘About what? The ceremony?’ You asked, completely oblivious of what was going on in his head. You jutted out your lower lip; you didn’t like feeling as though you were kept in the dark. It made you feel stupid.

San shook his head, failing to hide the fond smile that was in the corner of his mouth.

‘Yuna is officially a queen now,’ he mumbled and despite how embarrassing it was to admit, it took you a couple of seconds to decipher what he was hinting at: you could have become a queen, too, if only he had gone along with a different plan, with a different goal in mind. You were pretty sure, based on your impactful experience with his parents, that they would have let him keep you if the other option was their nephew on the throne.

‘And you’re officially free. I think it’s an amazing day for everyone,’ you teased, gifting your boyfriend one of your happiest smiles, so that he wouldn’t have doubted that you loved him for who he was instead of what he could have become. You didn’t care about the title or the fortune that golden crown came with. Honestly, all you focused on was how heavy it must have been to carry it, especially when one wasn’t keen on looking after an entire nation.

One careful glance at San was enough for you to know that a well-thought-out retort was already on the tip of his tongue - maybe something along the line that his salary was barely enough to save up a decent amount in each month -, but he never got the opportunity to actually put his concerns into words. The bells above the front door cut him off and naturally, your conversation came to a momentary end.

The new customer was a middle-aged man with a little girl on his right, her tiny hand getting lost in her father’s much bigger one before she pointed at one of the peonies and the man let her explore the flower shop on her own.

‘Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?’ You greeted the man with a smile as soon as his steps came to a halt in front of the counter.

Like most people who visited your workplace, the man had only vague ideas of what he was looking for, but you were fluent in the language of flowers, hence it caused you no headache to help him find the most suitable bouquet for his wife’s birthday. He wanted something that expressed his dedication to make the woman smile, therefore, you gave him options like pink tulips and yellow flowers in general.

Meanwhile, the little girl pulled on the hem of San’s tee and didn’t let go of the fabric until he stood up and followed her towards the customer area that you liked to refer to as the jungle. The corner with the spiller plants for example were like a sight from a botanical book or the children’s book with the gorillas and the little boy taken in and raised by said wild animals.

You bit back a giggle when you saw San lifting the little girl up, so that she could see the red roses from up close; however, your subtle smile froze on your face anyway when the little one asked San:

‘Are you a prince?’ In the most innocent voice you had ever heard in your life. She was so pure. She clearly had no idea what she was talking about and yet, both of you needed a few seconds to realise she wasn’t onto something bigger than her - something that could have put her in harm’s way. ‘Can I be your princess?’

The mortification on her father’s face almost cracked you up, and you did chuckle discretely when looking up, you took a better look at the girl. What looked like a summer dress at first glance turned out to be a princess costume. She even had a tiny, plastic tiara on her head.

San put her on the ground and crouched down to be at eye level with her.

‘I’m sorry, princess, I would be honoured to become your prince, but you see, I already have my own princess and I need to treat her right,’ he explained with utmost patience, then took the little girl’s hand in his (with her permission and her father’s approving nod, of course) and pressed a feather-like kiss on the back of it. ‘Will you forgive me and keep my secret?’

You couldn’t see the little girl’s face, but she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, so your best guess would have been that she wasn’t entirely placated. Still, eventually she nodded and made grabby hands at your boyfriend, insisting that she wanted to see more of the flowers. That, you did not mind at all. In fact, you found it rather adorable.

(San with a tiny human being in his arms was adorable. They turned your legs jelly and your knees uncharacteristically weak.)

‘I’m sorry about Minah. They had Occupation day in school today and she insisted that being a princess is a full-time job, so her mother and I let her dress as one,’ the man explained and you shook your head with an endeared smile. You weren’t mad at his daughter nor were you jealous of the attention she got from your boyfriend. If anything, his willingness to humour her made you fall for San harder.

‘Minah is right. Being a princess is a full-time job,’ you said without contemplating whether your words sounded ridiculous, although before the whole royal guard incident, you would have thought she was childish, rightfully so. She couldn’t have been older than seven.

You didn’t talk much with the customer after that, but you didn’t mind the silence. It gave you the perfect opportunity to listen to San’s conversation with the little girl, which was just as hilarious as cheesy, especially when you caught him declaring his love for you with such vehemency as if real-life princes also needed to defeat magical creatures to protect their loved ones. Where was their debate about good dragons and bad dragons coming from?

A light shade of pink crept up your cheeks when the little girl asked San straightforwardly whether he was talking about you, but you tried to remain composed.

‘It’ll be 30,000₩, sir,’ you informed the customer with a customer-service smile and gave him the bouquet before you took his money; the exchange smooth and fast. The prices were written on the board above your head, right behind the counter; however, some people liked to criticise your craft in hope of a discount. Those customers never failed to make you feel anxious.

‘Thank you. It’s beautiful,’ the man complimented the arrangement before he bid his goodbye and turned towards his daughter. ‘Minah-yah! It’s time to go. Say goodbye.’

Albeit reluctantly, the little girl wrapped her arms around San’s right leg and hugged him. Then, like a real princess, she walked up to you and did a curtsy, which you returned with a few-second-long delay. You were too taken aback to react immediately.

You were still a little shocked when the door closed shut behind the two, but then San hugged you from behind and reality caught up with you. You melted against his broad chest.

‘She was cute,’ he commented, coaxing a hum out of you.

Closing your eyes and letting out a content sigh, in the back of your mind you knew that you still had a very serious conversation on hold. A conversation in which your boyfriend would tell you over and over again why he wasn’t enough: how he had barely enough savings, hence how you couldn’t possibly depend on him in financial emergencies. Like money was the most important thing in a relationship! Like you didn’t have your own savings.

Turning around in his arms, you linked your arms behind his neck and pressed your soft lips against his. You wished these gestures were proof that his heart of gold had won you over years ago; that you didn’t wish to become a queen and even if you did, you didn’t need the title because he already treated you like royalty. He was everything - kind-hearted, attentive, loyal and so much more - and you wouldn’t have changed a thing in your lives. 

Crown Prince or not, San made you happy and excited about the future. About your future. Even if you had a long way to go and might have had numerous battles to march into to earn his parents’ approval.

the end.

[batsyforyou]

How Simon Riley was as a Baby

Tags: babies, beer bottles, thunder storms, shouting, school

Warnings: None

Author's Note: So, my understanding of Ghost's past is that his dad was an abusive drunk type guy and later down the line Simon beats him up and his Dad goes to jail. And then while he is in the military his enemies come over and kill his mom, brother, brothers wife, and his nephew. Because this is what I understand, even if it's right or wrong, it's what I based these headcanons off of. Anyway I hope y'all enjoy it and Merry Christmas to those that celebrate! Or happy holidays, either way.

Is the type of baby to giggle with a big happy smile on his face while he pets a dog or cat 

Just loves to try and give them hugs and kisses 

He hates loud noises and cries when he hears shouting 

Thunderstorms is his worst fear 

Especially at night he’ll scream and cry and his mother will come to him exhausted and take him from his cradle and rock him 

Desperately trying to calm him down for sleep 

Most of the time she is so tired so she cries with him during the storms while she hears her husband shout at her to shut the baby up 

Will giggle and clap his hands at breakfast just smiling away 

He’s so cute 

His favorite toy is a stuffed light green dinosaur with dark green spots on its back

He takes it everywhere he goes and loves to cuddle up to his toy at night and when he naps 

He cries when his dad holds him and reaches out for his mother when he does 

Loves it when his mom kisses his cheek and holds him 

His favorite place to cuddle is the rocking chair though

He loves his brother 

His brother will take his little dino and rub it against Simon’s face while making kissy noises 

The classic plushie kiss 

His brother will take him out of the house during the day and sometimes takes him to school with him 

Simon adores the attention he gets from the kids and teachers at school

He has no idea what’s going on but people cooing at him and tickling his feet with happy smiles is never bad 

Bringing Simon to school earns his brother brownie points with the girls lol 

His mother will come take him home before lunch though 

And he’ll spend the rest of the day with her watching her do dishes and clean up beer bottles while his dad is at work

He is with her til his brother gets home and before his dad gets home his brother will take him and put him in his lap to watch cartoons like Pokémon or Yu-Gi-Yo or whatever else might be on the tv 

His mother will come watch for a little bit but she mostly looks out the windows 

Overall Simon is 10/10 level cuteness, a precious baby

Masterlist

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas, its reg kin anon with, unfortunately, an ask not as pleasant as the last

i thought about what you said before, that i should consider going home before christmas, just in case. and i did, in the end, for my mother's birthday a couple weeks ago. it wasnt pleasant, but i went anyway and spent most of the whole three days with her.

in the end, im glad i did. none of my three siblings were home for it, one of them actually went to another country the morning of her birthday, so i was the only one of her kids who was there.

and again im glad i did, because the morning before i got my train home, she told me that shes getting surgery at the start of december. her doctors think they could take some of the cancer out - not all of it, mind, but some - but i cant stop thinking about the risks. i think its because i watch too many medical shows (im a sucker for greys anatomy) but im genuinely so terrified she wont make it to christmas.

i always hate christmas honestly, because its a time that youre supposed to spend with family and i dont get along with mine enough to have a pleasant day, or even a mediocre day. im starting to wish now that id appreciated it more even though id end most of them upset and depressed and wishing i was anywhere else. but at least all of us were there, yknow? what if she doesnt get to christmas?

the worst part is that a bit of me doesnt even want to go home for christmas even if she does get through the surgery. i know itll be shit like it always is and i know itll be even shittier this year so im dreading it with every fibre of my being but if this christmas is barely guaranteed, next year sure as hell isnt. if i go then im going to hate it, but if i dont then i know ill regret it forever.

i know im going to go home for the holidays, and tbh this ask really isnt about that. im really just afraid about the surgery and i havent told any of my friends because theyre still not meant to know about the cancer. ive been meaning to talk to my university about it but it feels like doing that makes it too real and scary, and its already real and scary enough.

i dont know how to deal with the fear, and i really dont know what to do if anything went wrong. im terrified

Hi!

First off, Grey's Anatomy is amazing, I love it

Second, I want to remind you that you're allowed to both dread this Christmas and be thankful for it.

But as far as the fear...that's a harder thing. I wish I could say everything will be alright, but we both know that things are uncertain and you have a right to be nervous. I think in this case, the best thing is to recognize those emotions and remember that they're allowed. You don't have to hide them or stuff them down. You say you can't tell your friends, but I forget- did you say your campus has a guidance center? Could you find a therapist? In the very least, keep venting here. Remember that stuffing down the fear isn't healthy.

Also...I know you don't want to tell your friends but like...what really could happen if you do? Like do you have friends who might be willing to keep the secret? Because I think you need a support system, and you deserve one.

I'm sending you so much love.

[andydrysdalerogers]

He’s A Yankee Doodle Sweetheart, But She’s His Yankee Doodle Girl 

A Following Team Orders One Shot 

Song: Best Day of My Life by American Authors 

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: It's Steve's birthday and he doesn't want to celebrate. He just wants a day with his girls. But he should know, always expect the unexpected, especially on your birthday!

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff; SMUT; mentions of traumatic delivery

Mood boards by me but dividers by @firefly-graphics

AN: A surprise one shot to celebrate Steve's birthday. To the people in the States, Happy Independence Day! To everyone else, Happy Tuesday :)

Taglist - I'm including everyone on the current taglist from Sliding Into Home but if you would like me not to do that, please let me know.

@patzammit @texmexdarling @slutforchrisjamalevans @firephotogrl74 @before-we-get-started @jennmurawski13-writes @tinkerbelle67 @bunnyforhim

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Steve Rogers doesn’t like his birthday.  

Never has.  

Never will.  

Sure, it lands on the 4th of July and there are fireworks and food, but it’s always about the holiday and not his birthday. So why bother? 

He hasn’t been home on his birthday for a few years now anyway, a race is always scheduled during that time.  His mother makes an effort to make it out for said race and Olivia has tried to make it special in the seven years they have been together. But he hates that its always overshadowed.  So, this year, he asked if they could just not.  His mother is staying the states this year and he, Olivia and his girls take a couple of days in Austria.  

The night before, his wife lays next to him and they cuddle, exhausted after running after their three-year-old twins. God, he loves his girls, but Davina and Matilda are mini Olivias and well, the world is not ready for them.  

As he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the day when his girls are older and ready to be put into race cars. Liv had retired when they were born, wanting to raise them and allow him to pursue his third championship. They traveled with him now, at least until school starts.  Then they would be based in California. They never talked about having another, Liv saying that what they had was perfect.  Steve always dreamt of having a son to carry on the Rogers/Williams legacy. But he wouldn’t voice that to Liv.  Her pregnancy with Davy and Mattie was difficult at the best of time and at the worst, he almost lost all three. No, he wouldn’t let that dream out. His girls were enough.  

His dream morph in the middle of the night into something more pleasurable.  Dreaming of his sexy baby momma, riding him hard, soaking him to the bone. He moans in his sleep, fuck it felt so real. She slipped off of him and slide down, taking him in her mouth.  She sucked her arousal off of him. Fuck, Livie, baby, such a dirty girl, he moaned.  My good girl.  He reached for his cock to pump it in his sleep when he felt a tangle of hair bobbing on his rock hard dick. He opened his eyes to see his beautiful wife staring at him as she swallowed him whole.  

She popped off as she continues to pump the base of his cock.  “Happy birthday Stevie.”  She went right back on him as he tangled his fingers in her hair.  

“Fuck, Livie, that mouth is so warm, so good,” he praised her like he knew she would like and she moaned, the vibration radiating down over his cock. “Shit, baby, c’mere.”  He pulled her off of him and pulled her on top, kissing her hard.  He flipped them so he was on top. “You are a naughty one, Bug.” 

“Only for you,” she replied with a smirk.  

“Fucking love you, Livie.”  He kissed her as he spread her legs and slid right into her soaked heat. “Favorite place in the world,” he moaned as he thrusted gently.  

Liv sank her nails into his bacl. “More, Stevie, fuck me more,” she moaned.  

Steve smiled as he pinned her hands by her head and thrusted harder and deeper into her. “I love you baby so much.”  

“I love you.  Stevie, shit, gonna come.”  

“I’ve got you Liv. Go on, baby. Give it to me.” 

Liv arched her back as her legs shook and her release washed over her. Watching Olivia cum was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen and always caused him to follow right behind her. He grabbed under her ass to lift her slightly as he chased his end and cummed harder than he imagined.  

Their bedroom was silent, bar the heavy breathing as they came down from their highs.  

“So, good start to your birthday?” 

Steve laughed hard as he held his wife and kissed her head.  “The best.”  

As Steve stirred his coffee, he smiled as he heard the soft sounds of his girls waking up with Liv. He loved his girls, truly, but they were sassy as fuck. Luckily, he did have his nephew, Simon, Bucky and Natasha’s boy, to get his “son” energy out.  A pitter of feet hit the staircase at their vacation home and the girls bounced into the room.  

“Happy Birthday Papa!” 

“Thank you, my Angels.”  He kneeled down to receive their hugs. He pulled back to study his girls. Davy took after him, blonde curls, and his nose. Mattie took after her mother with her dark curls but both girls had his ocean blues. 

“Papa, we go for a swim?” Davy asked.  

“Gonna make me a picnic?” 

“Momma says we will,” Mattie offers.  “Pwease papa?” 

“Its sounds like a perfect day Angels. But let’s have some breakfast before we get ready, ok?” 

The girls scramble to their safety steps to help make breakfast with Steve. He put their bowls out and the fruit they would use.  He loved teaching his girls healthy habits in the guise of helping papa with meals.  Once he had them settled in their booster with their breakfast, he scrambled some eggs and bacon for himself and Liv.  

“Baby, it’s your birthday.  I wouldn’t have done it,” Liv says as she comes in, typing her hair up.  

“It’s just another day, Bug.” Steve smiled. “Buck, Nat, Frank, Sam and Tony are stopping by later for a drink but otherwise is, this is all I ever wanted for a normal, non-celebration day.”  

After jumping and splashing all day with his daughters, Steve relaxed into the daybed chair, his daughters asleep for their nap.  Liv came over, beer in her hands for him, a soda for her. “Hey baby.”  

“Hi love.” He took one of the beers and clinked with her glass. “It’s so calm here.” 

“It is.” She took a slip and laid her head on his chest. She sighed, the sound coming out a little despondent.  

Steve frowned as he lowered his sunglasses. “Livie, baby, what’s wrong?” 

“Been thinking about stuff.”  

“What stuff, honey?” 

“Just future stuff.  Wondering what you would think.”  

“About what?” 

“Just,” she sighed again. “Maybe I just miss the girls being babies is all.  They are going to be four this year and we have to start thinking about school and stuff…” 

Steve smiled softly. “And you miss your babies.”  

“And I miss my babies.” She went quiet for a moment. “We never talked about whether we wanted another after…” 

“After you and the girls almost died,” he said softly. “Baby, I didn’t want to bring it up because you were so scared after. The post-partum was so bad, and I was just scared that you would spiral again if I brought it up.” He pulled her all the way onto his lap. “Do you?” He swallowed.  “Do you want another?” 

She looked up at him and gave a small nod. “I mean, if you want.”  

“Honey, it’s your body.” 

Liv looked at him pensively. “I think I do.”  

“I loved seeing you pregnant, and experiencing all the changes, feeling the girls kick,” Steve said with a smile. “So, let’s try for one more.”  

She snorted. “One more. You and your super sperm gave me two.”  

He smirked. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”  They laughed and Steve hugged Olivia closer to him.  

Maybe this was his chance. 

As Liv went to get the girls ready for their guests, Steve was picking up from the art project the girls decided they wanted to make for their aunt and uncles. He loved that his girls got his art skills. The doorbell rang and he went to let his friends in.  

“Hey punk, happy birthday!” Bucky reach for his best friend to give him a one arm hug as Simon was in his arms.  

“Thanks, jerk.  Hey, my little man, how are you?” He took the 18-month-old from his father’s arms and tossed him in the air.  It made him excited that he would get to do that with his own little one again in the near future.  

“Hey guys,” he greeted as Nat, Sam, Tony and Frank came in.  “Liv and the girls will be down in just a few minutes.  We had an incident with some finger paints.” He pointed to the art on the table. “There is one for each of you.”  

“I’ll take the pink one,” Nat said. “I know they thought of me when they made it.”  

“How do you know they weren’t thinking of me?” Frank asked.  

As the friends began to bicker, Tony handed a bag to Steve. “Here you go.”  

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Steve looked at the bag with a sigh.  

“It’s your birthday, you get a gift.  Them the rules, Rogers.”  

“Thanks Tony.  No Pepper?” 

“She had to head back to the London office early.  Something about an Ultron program going haywire,” Tony waived his arm like it wasn’t important. “Anyway, open it.”  

Steve opened the bag to see a 25-year-old scotch. “Tony, wow.”  

“Figured you might need it with the mini Olivias around.”  

“I heard that Shell-head,” Liv said, holding her daughters’ hands as they walked down the stairs.  All the girls squealed as their company was scattered around the room.  They greeted everyone as they sat to chat and have a couple of drinks.  

Mattie grew restless with her sweater.  “Momma, can I take this off now?” 

Liv bit her lip.  “I guess so, baby.  Have papa help you.”  

“C’mere, munchkin one,” he said as he picked up his daughter and sat her on his knee.  “Let’s get this off.”  He pulled it off and saw a pink shirt with writing.  He pulled it taut and read, ’Rogers #1’ 

“This is cute,” Steve said. “C’mere Davy, let me get yours off too.”  He pulled the sweater off and straightened her own ‘Rogers #2’ shirt.  “Very cute Bug.”  

“I thought you might like them.” Liv blushed.  “I know you said no presents, but I got you something.” 

“Bug,” he sighed, “you promised.”  

“I know but I think you’re gonna like this one.” She handed him a small blue bag. He took it warily and gave a tight smile.  His friends all looked, well kinda smug.  He shook it off and opened the bag.  Inside was a bracelet box and a blue shirt.  He opened the box and froze.  

“Livie,” he swallowed, “baby…” 

“So, remember in Montreal I wasn’t feeling great,” she started. “Turns out, I’m pregnant.” She chewed on her lip as she waited for Steve’s mind to catch up with his eyes.  Eyes that are fixated on the positive pregnancy test in his hands.  

“We’re having a baby?” 

“We’re having a baby.”  

Steve pulled his wife into his arms. “We’re having a baby!” He kissed her hard as the group wolf whistled and yelled out their congratulations.  

“You didn’t see the other thing in the bag,” Liv said.  

“Don’t much care,” as Steve continues to hold his wife.  “A baby.  I can’t believe it.”  

“But Stevie, you gotta look,” she insisted. Steve rolled his eyes and pulled the blue cloth from the bag. Its smaller than he expected but he shakes it open.  

Rogers #3, Like Father, Like Son  

“A b- a boy?” 

“They did genetic testing, everything is fine,” she reassured him, “but they were able to tell me the gender. Now we have our boy. I know it’s what you wanted.”  

“How did you know?” 

“I see the way you are with Simon.  You’re a brilliant girl dad, Stevie but I know you wanted a boy as well. And now we have both,” she said with a loving smile.  

“How far along are you?” 

“Eleven weeks. Been dying to tell you but with our schedule and flying and the girls I just didn’t have the chance. Are you mad?” 

“Mad? No Bug, I’m not mad.” He kissed her softly. He looked back at his friends who were standing to start hugging. “They all knew?” 

“Well, someone, Tony, heard me talking to Mom and your Ma and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. So we set this up because it’s your birthday and…” 

He stopped her with a hug.  “This has been the best birthday ever.”  

“Really?” 

“Really. Thank you Livie.” 

“Happy birthday daddy.” She pat her stomach as his girls came to hug him around his legs. “We love you.” 

Everyone here at the FIA are sending their heartfelt congratulations to Red Bull Racing and their driver Steve Rogers.  The team announced that Steve’s wife, former champion Olivia Rogers, has given birth to a healthy baby boy, Christopher James. Team principle, Andy Barber confirmed that mother and son are doing well, and that older siblings Davina and Matilda are excited to have their brother join the family.  Rogers is set to return to defend his third world championship in March in Bahrain. We wish the Rogers family all the best! 

[one-abuse-survivor]

Hello.

Al anon here with bit of rant.

As you already know I have figured out my family is abusive about four months back during my summer. This means that I have figured it out in the times where no big holidays were about to come.

No big holidays until now.

It will be christmas in a few days and I find it harder and harder to keeo myself together. It is comming more and more apparent that my christmas don't carry the warm christmas spirit and it never truly did.

All the things you should do and enjoy with your family like baking cookies is not there. I don't know if it makes me feel more horrible to hear the guilt tripping my mother does, that I didn't help here despite her never asking for help and me being literally flooded by tests and exams from university that I couldn't really help her out, or if I should take that as a blessing because baking with her never was a good experience. It is so easy for a day to not go exactly as she wants and then she lashes out. I also remember many years When I did help her (Even though sometimes not fully but I put some part in helping) and she would accuse mw of that same thing anyway. When I think about it she did accuse me of nit helping right after I helped her.

Though its just one of many instances that happens. My parents never held closely to any tradition. The older we get the more things are being reduced or we stop doing which slowly makes christmas just feeling like a regular day.

And it feels so wrong. Why am I feeling so sad and overwhelmed hwen this should be a holiday that so many people cherish? And if it makes me sad and propably it would be better if Christmas were just an ordinary day why I am sad that I won't enjoy the Christmas as a holiday?

I was so frustraded when I have entered the survival mode once again especially when it was hurting my chances of passing tests in my university, but I don't know if I hate the blissful ignorance of the survival mode or the unbearable pain and tension that comes when I break out of it for a while, seeing everything my parents do that hurt me and making me emotionally break down over and over again. Especially now when I don't truly want to ruin any of my friends holidays and I try to keep the pain silent so they don't get worried and their day isn't ruined by me having to talk to someone about this.

The worst part is I wont have the chance for any recovery as I will have to do all the exams that I have in january. Reminding me how trapped and pained I feel in university. Not only that I have to bear the pain that comes from the place that should have unrequired love for me, dealing with all the lovely kinds of trauma that my family bestowed upon me, using all my strength to keep my distance and not get hurt by any of my parents remarks but I also have to deal with the fact that When I was surviving m circumstances yet oblivious to the abuse that I was in I wrongly have chosen my degree path.

Now I have to not only fight my doubts and having to deal with the decision if i continue my degree or I change it to a different field but also fight my parents and my family who keep saying that it's stupid to change it and that I deserve what I have chosen.

When I mentioned it my father has set the prophecies that I should have the lowest paying jo that no educated people choose because I will not find anything better and I have to say it still hurts so much that it leaves me paralyzed in the position I am in.

I wish that I could just leave, run away and start living, finding help, therapy and start from scratch but the only thing that I am able to do is break again, over and over before the time I will finally be able to leave comes.

And it terrifies me that this is the fate I will very likely have to be in for years.

Hey again ❤️

This is super late, but I'm really sorry Christmas felt like this for you. I think a lot of us who grew up Christian/celebrating Christmas have a hard time around that time of the year... it's a time that used to feel magical and special, and when it gets warped with trauma, it can be really hard to face. Personally, last year, I also found myself wishing it could just be a normal day, because the alternative was to experience a lot of unpleasant emotions that seemed to be surfacing without my permission. It's especially hard when everyone and everything around you seems coated in this layer of happiness that you just can't tap into, but you also don't want to ruin other people's happy times. So I really get you. And I'm really sorry you felt this way too. I hope your January exams went well in the end!

Also, what your father said was horrible, and so unhelpful and unnecessary. It's completely normal to regret the degree you chose, especially when you chose it under such stressful circumstances and while living in survival mode. It doesn't say anything bad about you. I know so many people who started one degree and then changed to a different one—that's just part of life! Whatever you decide, I really hope you can make that decision willingly. And I hope you know it's never too late to study something else. Even if you finish the degree you started so you can find a job and get away from home, it's never too late to study something else you like when you're older. And if you don't want to finish this degree, I really hope you can find an alternative way to become independent without having to finish a different degree first.

Sending all my support your way ❤️

[ravenouscultleader780]

COTL AU(ATOTL, MLP BaseEdits Series) 2nd Base Edit(Lambx4LoyalistSpouses) Bios Included.

Hello Fellow Cultists & Cult Leaders, I'm Back with another Finished MLP Base Edit of My COTL AU(a Tale of 2 Lambs) with the first one at least getting only 2 likes on Tumblr(so Screw It posting both on Tumblr.com & DA.Com for More Likes(and Follows). Anyways I'm okay with Dislikes(just don't go plan hating on me, or i'll block u from my Blogs in general)

Now I finished this Last Night before bed, since I wanna debut more Characters(in-game) for this Story Comic of Mine, with Lambert(Lamb), his Big Sis Lamberina(or Real Name being Steel Wool,Yes that's her Real Name but changed it to Lamberina) and Narinder(TOWW) in Fanarts with Lambert Before. So This will be a Full Fanart Debut of Lambert's Full Spouse Relationships(or his most Beloved or Most Loyal to Him & his Sister)

Here is The Finished Fanart(had fun with the last 2, P.S forgot to add Lamb's Red Crown(but will redo in future reference)

Lamb & Nari's Darling Children(Bo Peep, Lilith, Saturn & Judas) all were asking their Parents how they all met each, gotten married and their birthstories aswell before bedtime. Narinder at First told the excited little lamb-cat children its late and they need sleep but Lambert being the kind soul lamb he was accepted their foals request only if they go to sleep after the stories were done.

The Children Agreed to their Father's request(Nari is a Mother-Father) and Lamb and Nari both told the Beloved but humorous stories of their first meetings, marriages and etc.

LambxNarinder(Lambrinder by the Cotl Fandom)- "After a Hard and Tiring Battle with The Death God Cat himself,Lambert was already getting tired and serverly injured fighting Narinder after learning his backstory through Shamura before slaying him in Silk Cradle. and Soon enough the final battle with the one who waits was near. Lambert wished his Loyal Loving Followers luck and chose three lucky ones to accompany him during this tough final battle(before he met samantha, lady d. or even m3gan at all)

keep in mind this was lambert's 3rd attempt(actually my gameplay during the battle). at first all hope felt lost for lamb but luckily the heavens heard his prayers and he successfully beaten and defeated narinder(who's true form was a follower, to him was cuter than he thought) and spared him instantly. which to narinder was surprised at his descion.

at first Lamb was hard on Narinder by his punishment being wearing a moon necklace(giving him insomnia forever) and even worst fear "Getting close to Lamb or even Anyone in the cult" which was lambert's ultimate plan with some consequences.

as time went by, days past and more, nari made lamb do some simple tasks for himself and the cult to grow in wealth(for now..) from building skull candles(decorating the cult in general) to building the bishop trophies/memorial graves for Narinder's Grief of his Passed Siblings and Sins and finally getting married against his will. which he easily agreed to and was happy in the long-run.

Now Lambert and Narinder are happily married, and as for their 4 childrens births well long story short nari + pregs + mood swings & sickness = pain, suffering, and uncomfrable love and support from Lamb and his followers. but was happier than ever for their 4 children esp bo peep(bo)

Lamb x Samantha(or Lamantha in my own words of a shipping)

10/24/22(9 days before halloween irl, in-game blood moon ritual event/the meeting of samantha bloodsucker)

"Twas The Night of Hallows Eve in The Cult of The Nightosphere, where it was a new officiall holiday by the gods below called the blood moon ritual. Lamb was very excited to try a new ritual and was very special to him since the meaning of the blood moon ritual/event meant 2 things(new decor, follower forms from below and reuniting with old dead followers spirits and catching their spirits into the book of doctrines)

meanwhile every follower was horrified or scared shitless at the sight and scares of the old spirit followers before them including old first followers from the cult's very early days which lamb felt very sentimental about. after collecting all of the new forms and spooky new decorations, one caught the leader lamb's eyes : a bat demon form(the perfect new spouse) which he found absolutely drop dead gorgeous(in a spooky cultist way) from their 3 amazing variations(my irl reaction to this form and the other 2 at the time) but soon enough the gods above(the player/myself) created the adorkably cute lavender bat demoness and named the succulent creature Samantha Bloodsucker(or just Samantha/Sam for short) and she spawned scared and in fear of what her new leader would do to her either spare her life or instantly kill her. but thankfully she was spared and treated with more love and care by Lambert even by Narinder's instant jealously.

Lambert and Samantha formed a bond quite quickly from her instantly getting everything from many gifts to many confessions in the confessions booth from lamb's choosing to finally gaining a skull necklace(living a pretty long life to 600+ yrs in one timeline to age 90-100+ in another alternate timeline=save files i currently created) and soon enough things got even more interesting with Lambert marrying 2 additional Spouses with Lady Dimitrescu(a noir cold white Axolotl follower with lots of vainity towards herself) and Finally M3gan(based on the movie of same title, yes i watched it and was hilariously great) whom is a Pink psyhic female nightwolf as the brains of the spouses and is a memory of ratuu(due to his death from red fox guy.. i hate him btw) while Lamb loves his 3 spouses he still loves his 1st Spouse with Narinder(and considers him his Best Friend after all has happened and witnessed) which Nari himself really appreciates Lamb for as a Best Friend/Spouse despite not really showing it(almost cried tears but holded them in)

and That's the whole story of this Fanart/Post of The 4 Spouses of Lambert(will update soon if i decide to continue) and will show more Fanarts of my own LambertxNarinder Offsprings(from Childhood-Teenhood-Adult Years(Young and Fully) and even more of the Other Spouses like Samantha(Sam), Lady Dimistrecu(Lady D.) & M3gan themselves In future posts(even by the time the update comes around, whenever that happens)

I hope you all like this Post i made today, will try and copy/paste this entire post on my Da Blog hopefully through some success..

Later Everyone

[etherealskeletons]

LIKE i never know what to fucking say whenever people are like "why arent you close with ur mom??" or some shit bc like,, theres a big ass list?

she use to beat the shit outta me, emotionally and verbally abuse me, gaslight me, make me feel ashamed for the things i like, the clothes i wear, or for things that i couldnt control, she enjoyed getting up close - noses touching - to scream, berate and spit at me. i had to be quiet at all times and be nothing but a pretty object to look at. dont speak unless spoken to, if you make a loud noise or god forbid you cry youre gonna basically see jesus christ himself because oh man the shit im gonna do to you when i pull you aside and into the bathroom!! she use to lock me in my highchair or room so she could go nod off on the couch because for a good while she was a fucking druggie. she was always so disgusted with me i disgust her im disgusting i shouldnt exist because im an absolute embarrassment and abomination to anyone thats ever interacted with me, im fucking putrid im so sorry that i exist and breath the same air as everyone else if i wasnt such a damn coward id kill myself so everyone can breath and live a little easier

jesus christ she let her boyfriend molest me MULTIPLE times growing up because she wanted to blame it on my dad and gain full custody! what kinda person does that? what kinda parent DOES that?? i dont get it! i just dont get it! it didnt work, she ended up dumping her creepy boyfriend and moved on to her next batch of fucking weirdos. but years later when she split from my sisters dad she let him back in, she let ben continue where he left off until she decided “hm! yknow what! im gonna go back to my sugar daddy!” i dont get it! i dont understand!! why would you let him back in why woudl you do this to me

if i tell the whole fucking story of brook to whoever asks, theyll always take her side. always. it doesnt matter if theyre a teacher, a family member, a friend. they always say “well shes your mother and she loves you a lot and she did her best” no, she didnt! she ruined me! its like they dont hear anything i say! its like they dont wanna believe that a woman could do something like that! that a mother would do something like that to her own child. but she did! she fucked me up and wont take responsibility, shes never gonna apologize for all the shit she did to me, as far as shes concerned she did nothing wrong and i made everything up because apparently im bored and love making shit up!

there were family members that saw her do all sorts of shit to me and what did they do? they watched. quietly. they let it happen. and after she was done punishing me theyd make fun of me for crying before telling me to shut up and toughen up because “it wasnt that bad”. if i try to bring it up to them now - when they even bother to respond to me and grace me with their words - they try to rewrite history and it makes me feel fucking crazy because did i make it up?? did it really happen?? why do i have such vivid memories if it didnt happen??

i dont understand. i dont understand why she hates me so much. what did i do?

im sorry im really truly sorry that i was ever born and that i was your child

[barbiewritesstuff]

 Tattoos and Miracles

-- Guys it is so late here but I wanted to write something, so forgive me if it makes zero sense.

Tw. Mention of infertility, unsupportive families, pregnancy, etc.

Taglist: @mavswife @unsurebuttrying @dempy

--

« Right, baby,I’m off »  

Your husband kissed the top of your head, one hand to the back of your head to help him push it towards him.  

« Mwah » He says with a wink as he releases you from the kiss « I love you. I will be back for dinner » 

You walk with him to the door, like you do every morning, and wave him off. As usual, he stops about halfway down the driveway to wave and blow another kiss at you, before he gets into the truck and drives off.  

You hate this bit. You have been married to Jake for thirteen years, after being engaged for two years. You had spent a lot of time together and maybe that was why you had to keep yourself from shedding a tear whenever he left. 

Part of you thought that was good, because it means you love him, but you’ve heard your family whisper things behind your back. Codependent. Controlled.  Wasted potential. They had been furious when you had decided to become a housewife but, they had allowed you to believe for all of two months, they were supportive. Part of you understood why your parents were angry ; they had killed themselves working hard jobs to pay for private education and a damn good university, they had invested in your education in the hopes that you would have a career. But hearing them call you a Waste of Potential had been a hit to your pride, and a bullet straight to the heart. But you had overheard the worst last christmas, it had sent you crying to your room, abandoning your mother with the turkey.  

« What is the fucking point of it anyway ? They don’t even have children »  

Well, it wasn’t like they knew. You hadn’t advertised that you and Jake had been trying for the better part of ten years, but it just wasn’t happening. Doctor’s visit after doctor’s visit told you everything was fine and sometimes it just takes time. But after ten years of time, anything to do with babies just started to hurt. Walking through San Diego and reading in a park had been your favourite thing, but now the holidays had started children were running about, and going out had become a minefield for you.  

You had isolated yourself very effectively, only going out when Jake was coming too. Which, with his schedule, meant never. So, your days were usually spent doing chores. Today was no different. 

After Jake left, you busied yourself with the laundry, shoving clothes into the machine till it was full to the brim. Then came the hoovering, the mopping, cleaning out the pet food containers. Soon enough it was lunchtime and then, your daily dose of pain : A pregnancy test. You had done so many it had become its own category in the household budget. Yet, even though you knew what the test would say, you would wolf down your lunch to get to it faster. And every time, before you saw the negative result, you would feel a little pang of hope that maybe this time there might be a miracle.  

You inhaled the microwaved leftovers and drank half a litre of water before taking the test, then so well-versed in doing this, you didn’t set a timer and just mulled about for fifteen minutes until you instinctively knew time was up.  

Anticipation was making you see double, you were sure of it. You sat down on the toilet lid and took a few deep breaths. A prayer later you looked at the test again. You took out your phone, almost unlocking it to tell Jake but you didn’t. He was working, you would tell him later. You looked at your lock screen.  

Thursday 28th of July, quarter past one pm, you were pregnant.  

 

 

Jake hated leaving you in the morning. He knew you would just stay home and clean. He liked having a clean home, sure, but he liked having a happy wife too. He knew you had stopped reading recently, and watching films was a no-go too, just in case. You were taking things hard, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by it as you but showing you how horrible he felt towards it would just make it worse.  

He pulled into the parking lot inside of the base and steadied his breathing a little. Okay, he could do this. He checked how he looked in the reflection of the rearview mirror and then got out of the car. 

He could see the rest of the team gathered by the door on the far end. Phoenix's sister had had a baby. It had been the only subject of conversation for roughly two weeks and by the way she was parading her phone around the group, today she had pictures. Jake steeled himself for what was to come, but Phoenix didn't bother him and he was thankful for it. 

Their phones rang with a mass text from Mav:

"Beach, 8.am. Meet at Hard Deck" 

"We could carpool?" Bob had suggested. They had all folded themselves into Rooster's bronco and Phoenix's fiat. Luckily, the bar wasn't too far. 

"I hope you all slept well, because this one isn't going to be easy. Today we're working on your weakest ability: teamwork. Dogfight football, offence and defence at the same time." Mav had explained, standing in front of the bar on the wooden steps like Ceasar addressing his people. 

The prospect of football, regardless of rule changes, was making him happy. He played football during highschool, it was his escape then and it still was now, whenever he got the chance to get together with buddies that is. 

They got out of their shirts and Jake wished Mav had thought to ask them to bring swim trunks. But he doubted Mav had actually planned this. Mav was a great pilot but he wasn't even close to being a good planner.

"Didn't know you had a tatoo" Phoenix said as the game started and it took him a second to realise she had been talking to him. He had had the tatoo for so long he had almost forgotten about it. The only time he was acutely aware of it was when he was away, his hand seeming to hover over it subconsciously almost at all times. 

"What does it say?" Phoenix asked, it distracted him enough for Rooster to tackle him to the floor. She winced at the noise of his back hitting the golden sand and knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Y/n" He replied, using her outstretched hand to stand back up.

"Who's that?" 

"My wife"

"Holy shit you're married?!" Payback shouted before Phoenix had the chance to. Everyone turned their heads. He didn't know why this bothered him so much. 

Well, he knew. He knew where this would go, everyone always asked the same questions:

"How long have you been married?"

"What does your wife do for a living?"

"So, when are you going to have kids?"

He wasn't ashamed of the life he had built with you. On the contrary, he loved everything about it. He loved cooking together on date nights, he loved watching crappy romcoms, he loved getting married at 20 years old and knowing he had a lifetime ahead of him to spend with you. But he felt so protective over you. He knew how much you were struggling and how unsupportive your family was. And he just wanted to keep you safe, even if you weren't there to hear those questions. 

"Uhh, yeah" he answered

"When did that happen?" Coyote asked

"A while ago?" 

"Is she like a pilot or something?"

"No, just… civilian"

"Oh nice, you got kids we don't know about too, or just a girl?" Rooster joked. 

While you isolated yourself to deal with the grief, Jake had crafted the perfect smokescreen to hide his pain. To anyone but you and your families, he hated children. Eventually, people stopped showing baby pictures, stopped talking about children, and stopped asking him about when he was thinking about settling down.

He tensed up.

The game ended with his team on top, they walked to the bar's back porch, where Penny was waiting with drinks. Mav asked him to stay behind.

"You alright kid? You looked pretty tense earlier" 

"I just don't like --" He tried to say but Mav cut him off.

"No" it was a assertive voice, telling Jake he knew exactly what kind of excuse he was going to use.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay" he sighed

Jake wondered if Mav knew what it felt like. The man didn't have any children of his own, but with the way he was treating them all there was no denying the man had a very paternal streak about him. Maybe children just hadn't happened for him. The voice at the back of Jake's head whispered that maybe that's why Mav was single. Sometimes, he could feel the strain this desperate need for a baby was putting on his own mariage but Jake pushed any thought of this out of his mind before the urge to run back to his car and drive home to hug you became too strong.

You were agonising over your decision. He was your husband, he should know. But then again, there were so many cute ways to announce it to him. No, he deserved to know. 

You picked up your phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail. You sent him a text to call you back as soon as, and you paced again.

The cleaning had gone straight out of the window the second you found out. Your broom laying discarded against the kitchen wall, your plate still on the table, you had done nothing since lunch.

But, the more you thought about telling him, and the more you grew aware that you were actually pregnant, the more nauseous you felt. It was almost dinner time, Jake would be home soon, you needed to figure something out. You needed to -- you ran to the bathroom and just made it in the doorway before you vomited straight into the empty mop bucket. Once started, it was impossible to stop the urgent need to be sick. Luckily, or not, you hadn't eaten much and soon vomit was replaced with dry retching. 

"I know the feeling" Mav had cornered him by the car. Jake looked at him, debating whether or not to pretend he didn't know what he was talking about. But it would be cruel. Clearly Mav was desperate for someone to talk to. 

"It's so isolating" He confirmed

"Yeah" Jake let out a sad chuckle "I try to keep it together for her. I don't do a very good job, I think."

"I'm sure she appreciates it, but if it's weighing on you, you need to tell her."

Jake felt a question on his tongue but he stayed quiet. It seemed like Mav was talking from experience.

"Maybe I would still have Charley if I had told her" The older man mumbled

"But you wouldn't have Penny" Jake said

"No. You're right" he sighed, with a sad smile on his face "but I might have had kids"

"You got Bradshaw"

"Hmm and what a great job I did"

He wanted to say something to comfort him but the words he had planned came out as something completely different

"What if I'm not ready when she does get pregnant, you know?"

"I don't think you will be, I don't think anyone is ever ready"

"Yeah but we have been trying for ten years, what if we have a child and I fuck things up?"

Maverick hugged him. His embrace bone-crushing and comforting. Eventually he let go, and Jake drove home.

He turned his keys and the door and went looking for you. The cleaning supplies discarded in every room worried him. Jake was about to shout out your name when he caught a glimpse of you kneeling over the toilet bowl. Your eyes were closed, your cheek resting against the toilet seat. 

"Baby, are you okay?" 

He pet your head, trying to feel for a temperature. You were okay, clammy with cold sweat, but okay. Your eyes fluttered open and before he could say anything you retched into the toilet bowl again. 

"Did you eat anything wrong? Do you want me to call a doctor or an am--" he lost the rest of his sentence as his eyes rested on your hand. Or rather, what you were holding. 

He removed it from your grasp and looked at the test. 

Was he seeing double? 

He shook the test. No. He wasn't seeing double, you were pregnant. They had waited ten years for this.

All of his previous fears flooded his mind, but as he gazed into your eyes right then, Jake felt on top of the world. He felt that with you he could do anything.

When it came time to tell others, Jake called Maverick first. 

[hargrove-mayfields]

Everyone likes to pretend Billy was never even there. Life goes on, people change, the past gets forgotten.

A year isn’t enough time for Max though. Right now it feels like the rest of her life wouldn’t be enough time, but Neil and Susan, they were doing just fine.

It’s almost like they like not having him around, that extra burden they couldn’t shake. The plan only Max knew was that Billy was going to stay at home until she was old enough to go with him so she’d be safe.

She knew he was fed up and looking at some local apartments within walking distance of Cherry Lane anyways, but then July happened, and Billy died.

Now it’s July again, and her hair is in twin braids of red with pure white ribbons on the end, and her and her mother are wearing matching blouses. There’s bruises under the bangle on her mothers wrist and one under Max’s own sleeve, and she just wants her brother back.

It’s a holiday they told her, her father (he’s not her fucking father, they never made her call him that when Billy was around) is a veteran, they have to celebrate. Better just dry her eyes and get over it.

Her mother invites all the family they have in the area over to their house for a little get together picnic, and they do their little happy family routine for a while, but Max can only handle so much of it.

Billy should be here by her side, flicking watermelon seeds at her face and putting ice cubes from the cooler down the back of her shirt, being an asshole to distract her from the reality of her family.

And that was that she didn’t really have one, a family. It was always just her and Billy.

Even at these events made for bonding with family, they were off to the side, messing around while the adults talked like they weren’t even there, and she knew she was a little naive then, but it stung more than ever, knowing that even after she’d lost her brother, nobody even stopped to say hi or check up on her, it was just straight into gossiping about the neighbors and those disrespectful bastards across the street who weren’t flying a flag for the holiday and family members who couldn’t be there.

But Max never heard Billy’s name come up even once, and not even in a respect to the dead boy and his grieving sister type of way, but rather, in the way that they just didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. None of these people had come to his graduation in May of last year, or his funeral two months later.

Billy was a taboo that the Hargrove-Mayfields didn’t dare taint their celebrations of freedom and justice with. The irony made Max sick to her stomach.

Or that was at least, until Neil couldn’t help himself.

His words are slurring already, with an excuse to party he’s on what Max would guess to be his fifth or sixth beer that afternoon, and someone just made the mistake of mentioning their own son, Billy and Max’s third cousin or something, and it spurs Neil off on a tangent about his.

“That boy was always good for nothing anyways. It’s almost the same now that he’s dead, ‘Cept maybe now I get some more quiet around the house.”

Nobody knows what to do when he says that, there’s a couple awkward laughs and one shocked gasp, that one was probably from her mother, but Max knows exactly what she wants to do.

What she wants is to watch Neil choking on his blood instead of her brother, his body being lowered into the ground instead of Billy’s, and in the moment she feels like she could be the one to make that a reality, but instead she just stands abruptly, a plate of the food her mother worked so hard to prepare for them she’d been too queasy to eat falling off her knees to the grass, and she says everything she’d bottled up for the past year.

“Don’t talk about Billy that way!

“Now, Maxine-“ Neil starts, but Max is livid, can’t hold back all the things she wished she had said before Billy died, when she got grounded after the funeral, when Neil started beating her, “No! I’m not going to let you do to me what you did to my brother! You don’t get to control me like you did him, it’s your fault that he’s dead!”

It’s her mother’s turn to try to stop her, slender hand covering her mouth painted red, “Maxine..”

“Stop trying to reason with me! I’m sick of pretending to be a family when I had to watch my own brother die! And I’m sick of being treated like I’m crazy for being the only one that cares about Billy!”

More than one person chimes in on that one, offended by the notion they don’t care about family, though it’s Neil that insists, in that faux calm, close to snapping voice of his, “We do care, Maxine. We’re all grieving in our own ways.”

She fires back, “Grieving what? The loss of your punching bag? You hated Billy! You don’t care that he’s dead, all that matters to you is having someone to hurt, and you no trouble adjusting to beating up on your wife and step-daughter instead!”

She catches a backhand to the face for that, and all the background chatter comes to a halt, Neil gritting out through his teeth, “Inside. Now.”

There are tears in her eyes that sting almost as much as the knuckle marks on her cheek, but Max feels like she won, getting her step dad all riled up in front of their family, she feels almost invincible, and she sneers all smug like and bitter, “I can’t go inside yet. I’m celebrating your service to our country, dad. You know, as a family.”

But when Neil's face turns as red as the blood that dripped from his wife’s nose the night before and he stands from his chair and drags her inside by the wrist himself, she realizes that it wasn’t exactly a win.

And when her brain goes numb trying to focus on both the repeated slaps and punches that explode like firecrackers across her skin and the way Neil is yelling and lecturing her until his voice is raw, giving her the same lessons her brother had burned into the back of his mind, she feels like she’s lost everything instead.

When she has to choke back her tears and apologize for embarrassing Neil and for making him hit her as punishment, she realizes, this isn’t a game that can be won or lost at all.

Max isn’t allowed to go back outside to the party. That rule goes unspoken, but words aren't necessary with the way Neil storms off without another word, slamming the back door behind himself. She’s slowly starting to figure out what the things her step father does instead of says mean.

She misses being allowed to be clueless, having someone to protect her or take what punishment she had earned. She wishes she wouldn’t have asked so much of Billy though.

Her own room isn’t safe anymore, what once had been the place she’d be ushered off to when Neil got bad had become more like a trap, the place Neil went to first when he was angry. Everything that had been hers felt wrong, so she goes to Billy’s room and doesn’t come out for the rest of the night. Even now that he’s gone, he still kept her safe.

There’s a welt on her face and fresh bruises forming everywhere, hot tears wetting her sunburnt cheeks and the pillows that smell like Billy, or at least used to before Susan decided his room needed cleaned and washed away every trace of her brother.

All night long there are fireworks going off, a big show put on by the city downtown has her shaking, unable to close her eyes for fear those distant explosions would take her back to the mall, bring back memories she’d never forget, and covering her ear with her hands.

The cracks and booms that shake her windows and her entire life, a headache and a heart break even stronger.

She tries her hardest not to think about Starcourt though, so instead she thinks about how Billy would’ve been proud of her for standing up to Neil. He would’ve called her an idiot, but he would’ve cleaned up her scrapes and held her through the panic attack after, and he probably would’ve liked to see the person Max was becoming too.

That makes Max’s heart hurt, the fact that he won’t get to. She cries harder, and she feels so alone without Billy.

Some part of her knows that she isn’t though. She isn’t the only one that lost somebody last July.

Hawkins’ cemetery was alive with flowers and wreaths and decoration, and more than anything the grieving. All of the victims had families, or in the case of the Holloway’s where their whole family was killed, they had friends and neighbors in the tight knit community who remembered them. El was still grieving Hopper, and Max knew Billy had people like that too.

Billy was popular, his death had a huge impact on the younger population of the town, but not only that, he had his closest friends, Steve and Tommy and Carol and Nicole and Adam from the pool, and of course Heather couldn’t be there, but those people were all keeping her brother alive.

As much as it felt like everyone was trying to forget him, they weren’t, and that brought Max a little bit of hope.

Hope that Billy would be remembered for the things he did right, and who he was behind the boy he had to be to keep them safe.

Hope that with his memory kept in the hearts of so many, the burden of grief wouldn’t fall solely on Max forever and make things a little easier.

Hope that the wound would someday heal, and she could look back on the time she did have with Billy, those seven too short years, with a smile on her face.

For now, she wraps herself in Billy’s jacket and comforter, listening to his music to drown out the distant fireworks, and dreams of the day when things won’t be like this, when she can leave Hawkins and all it’s bad memories and the “family” holding her back to live a life her brother would be proud of, a life that would honor his.

Max decides then with determination, flinching when a bright flash lights up her window, a loud echo through the quaint neighborhood, that she was going to do what Billy hadn’t been able to and break the cycle.

Tomorrow, she’d tell the school counselor she’d been assigned when her depression was at its worst all about Neil Hargrove.

[marktuansvevo]

baby fever

warnings; sexual content, slight cursing, lapslock, jinyoung is a gentleman

word count; just under 1,500

author’s note; im back with a little jinyoung fic!! i’m on week 12 of the semester so once the holidays roll around im going to try to be more active on here ♡ (also, if you want to check out my masterlist, you can find it here!)

you were putting yourself in a bad mood.

plain and simple.

it all started when jinyoung had accompanied you to your mother’s house for a family get together - your nephew’s 7th birthday party. it was hard getting over to your family home alone, nonetheless with your boyfriend. three of his castmates had gotten a stomach bug from a fancy restaurant they went to, so the whole crew got a weekend off. it was perfect timing for the two of you to enjoy a weekend off together  at your family home.

the two of you mingled with your extended family, your family being more intrigued with jinyoung than with you. you couldn’t blame them - being in an actor was so much more exciting than being a sleep deprived college student. you absentmindedly listened to him tell stories from when he was on set that you’ve heard a million times. you didn’t mind, but he was always scared he was boring you, so he squeezed your hand as a way of saying thank you.

it wasn’t just all about him, though. jinyoung would always praise you about the grades you were earning; “did you know y/n got a 102% on her latest exam? she really is the smartest woman I know,” he would praise, making you blush as your relatives congratulated you.

you sat by jinyoung at the dinner table, feeling so at home. you knew he belonged with you. in years prior, you had always felt funny bringing significant others into your house — none of them ever fitting in right. now, sitting at the dinner table as your father laughed at one of jinyoung’s joke, you had never felt so complete.

you loved him so much.

dinner was over shortly, your nephew, siwoo, getting antsy waiting to open his presents. “auntie!!” he giggled. “come sit with me and read the cards.”

“siwoo, you’re a big boy now, you can’t read?” you teased him as you let him climb into your lap, handing the presents to him.

“this one is from you!!” he squealed, tearing the iron man bag open and yelling in surprise at the iron man costume, all your relatives giggling at him. “can I put it on??”

“sure, baby, after you open the rest of the presents!”

“oh yeah!” you giggled at him, looking over at your boyfriend who was taking pictures of you with siwoo. he winked when he realized you were staring.

the evening was winding down, a couple of your other younger cousins, siwoo, jinyoung and yourself were hanging out in the sunroom, watching iron man 3. siwoo sat in jinyoung’s lap (so you almost died of had a heart attack of cuteness). you giggled as your boyfriend dozed off, taking a picture of him to embarrass him...or maybe for your lock screen.

“jinyoung,” you cooed. “why don’t we get going?”

“what?? you guys can’t go??” siwoo groaned, his eyelashes pooling with tears. you frowned, you knew how tired the poor baby was.

“siwoo, honey don’t cry. me and uncle will be back tomorrow morning. hey, jinnie, im gonna go get my purse.”

“okay,” he kissed you, making the poor birthday boy wail harder.

“i hate you, jinyoung,” siwoo cried. not going to lie, that hurt, jinyoung thought to himself.

“hey, now what would auntie think if you heard you said that to me? she’d be so disappointed, sweetheart,” siwoo frowned, and muttered a small but sincere sorry. “it’s okay, siwoo.”

“its just that, grandma says you take auntie y/n away from us. that she doesn’t have time for us because she’s with you,” jinyoung didn’t think his feelings could be hurt anymore than earlier when the boy admitted his hatred for him, but kids were honest. it was` brutal. it hurt him because he knew your mother was saying this in front of your cousins, and very impressionable nephews.

“well, siwoo, did you know that your auntie,” he pauses for dramatic effect and lowers his voice. “did you know she works for iron man? and, as iron mans number one fan, you know they have very busy schedules right? y/n has to travel, all the while saving the world. does that make sense?” siwoo nods his head, eyes as big as saucers, taking in the information. “when I grow up, I want to be just like auntie!!”

jinyoung didn’t even know you were lingering in the doorframe, listening to his conversation. your heart and tummy were flooded with adoration for this man. no one else in the world could handle being verbally stomped on by a seven year old quite like jinyoung could.

you left, bidding siwoo a happy birthday, promising to come back in the morning, kissing your relatives goodbye as well.  

the car ride home was met with comfortable silence, you staring out the window at the night sky and wondering how the hell you got so lucky.

you were going to pounce on him tonight.

as soon as you got into the hotel, you kissed him, soft and tender. “you’re so perfect, jinyoung,” you purred. his cheeks flamed up. “you know exactly how to work a room, but you never make it about yourself. a seven year old says he hates you and you take it in stride.”

“that actually made me want to cry,” he chuckled, letting you kiss him again.

“you’re perfect. i don’t know how i got so lucky....i love you so much, jinyoung,” his eyes softened.

“i love you too, baby...let me show you how much.”

your perfect boyfriend whisked you into the suite and onto the queen sized bed, taking his time removing your clothes. it was slow and passionate at first, and then became more feral, jinyoung whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he pounded into you, making you cry out. it was quite the contradiction, but it was delicious and you loved it. “y..y/n, i need to cum baby,” he warned as he was about to pull out. the two of you were too excited to be going on a weekend trip together that you forgot to bring condoms. sure, you were on birth control, but with his acting schedule and you still in your master’s program, it just wasn’t the right time for a baby.

jinyoung was about to pull out when you wrapped your legs around his torso, keeping him in you. “cum in me, jinyoung, please,” you begged him, smiling when he obeyed your request, moaning into your shoulder as he rode out his orgasm. he went limp against your body.

“i love you,” he muttered before falling fast asleep. you giggled, letting him doze off while laying on you. you didn’t mind, you wouldn’t be up much longer, anyways.

~

you woke up before jinyoung, pushing his sticky body off of you. he smiled, kissing your face. “you’re still afterglowing,” he mused. “my baby is the prettiest.”

“and you’re the most handsome,” you giggled. he smiled. “did you bring your birth control, baby? i can’t believe we forgot condoms.”

you stayed silent. his comment pissed you off for some reason. your smile was long gone. “because that would be the worst thing in the world, knocking me up?? god, jinyoung you can be so insensitive,” you cried as you sat up in bed, facing away from him.

“hey, y/n....what did i do?”

“you’re so fucking mean, jinyoung,” you were crying now, burying your face in your hands.

“why are you so upset with me, baby? i can’t help you if you wont tell me,” he said gently.

you did not deserve this man.

“I...i want our own siwoo, jinyoung. i want a mini jinyoung moving around in my belly. i want you to give me a baby, jinnie,” you were crying into his chest now.

“oh...baby...i can give you a baby...but i thought we agreed it’s too soon?” his eyes were as big as saucers now. “hey...talk to me baby.”

“i just want to be done with school. i want to get our lives going. i feel like im slowing us down. i just want a family with you. you are my family.”

“oh, honey...don’t wish our lives away. you’re right where you’re supposed to be. you’re not slowing anything down....hey look at me,” you did. “everything will fall into place. i will give you all the babies you want, love, okay? i love our future children, but i want to enjoy our time together, okay?”

“i know you’re right i know...i was literally blinded with baby fever seeing you with siwoo last night.”

“you’re going to be the best mommy, honey. look at this picture of the two of you,” he showed you his lockscreen — a candid of you with your nephew in your lap with your head thrown back in laughter. “you’re my whole world, y/n.” he smiled sincerely. “now, let’s go day drinking at your mom’s house!”

[papipopsicle]

HANDMADE HEAVEN PART ONE

Pairing: Steve Harrington X Hargrove!Reader

Summary: In which the new Queen of Hawkins High finds herself falling for the fallen king.

Song: Easier by 5 Seconds of Summer

Warnings: swearing, asshole parental figures

Words: 1.7K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

The house itself was fine, not pretty and polished like the one she grew up in, but at the very least she was grateful not to be sleeping in another motel bed filled with broken springs and anonymous stains. Susan greeted her like a good little home maker, tightly waved hair bouncing against her shoulders as she walked down the steps of the porch.

"How was it, sweetie?" The ginger woman waited with pursed lips while her step daughter stood from the vehicle. She really hated that car, it stood out like a sore thumb next to her husband's silver SUV, especially when her brothers parked alongside the two.

"Not the worst." Y/N shrugged. She missed the silent solace already, "Has Max decided which room she wants?"

Susan nodded, leading the blonde into their new home, "She's at the back opposite your father and I. William hasn't arrived yet so you have the choice of the one next to hers or ours."

Without hesitation she chose the one next to Max's. Her father helped unload her heavier furniture from the U-Haul currently fixed to the back of her red muscle car. The room was in the shape on an 'L', mirroring her step sister's. Her small double bed only just managed to fit in the crook, creating a cosy space to drift away in.

Hours of rearranging the room passed before a navy blue Camaro could be heard pulling up onto the curb and a muggy sunset made itself present in her bedroom window. Emptying out her socks into the small drawer of her dresser, Y/N dropped the empty black bin liner behind her and rushed to greet her brother.

"Billy!" She squealed, attacking him with a hug. The two would roughhouse and swear at each other like drunken sailors, but their love for each other would always be the first thing anyone noticed about the twins. He picked her up with ease and spun her around, quickly dropping her to the floor again.

Y/N's twin would sometimes forget the rude masculine persona he put on and actually behaved like himself, but it never lasted long with their father close by.

"See that hunk of crap didn't kill you on the way here then?" Billy joked as they both carried a bed frame into his new room. His distaste for the nineteen-sixty-eight Mustang Cobra was evident whenever it came up in conversation, only due to it being left to her rather than him in their mother's will.

"Not just yet." His sister hummed and the two let out a huff as they dropped the mattress onto the wooden frame. They talked about the bullshit of finishing their senior year at a completely different school and what that we're going to dress up as for Halloween. It was their favourite holiday and this year she planned on being Tom Cruise from Risky Business. Nobody would understand it but it was better than Billy's 'slutty teen boy' costume he wore most days anyway.

"Y/N/N honey, could you come into the lounge!" Susan's sugary tone rang through the house. The twins shared a look that always subconsciously found their faces when she attempted to play doting step mother.

Fucking doormat of a woman.

"Coming." The blonde shut her brothers door on the way out and walking down the hallway into the small living area. By now any remnants of the sun had long hidden away from Hawkins and only warm ceiling lights lit up her face.

Susan appeared from the kitchen door with a tray full of oatmeal cookies, grin etched into her features like puppet strings pulling at her cheeks, "Try one, would you?" She gleamed, pushing the metal tray out for emphasis, "I'd ask your father but he'd just say they were nice, never wants to upset me. He's too good."

Not wanting to answer, Y/N took a small crumbly cookie and bit into it, eyes bugging out at the statement only able to nod in response.

The step mother watched in anticipation, hair bouncing at her shoulders as usual, "So, gorgeous? Be honest with me, how are they?"

"Really good," She didn't like the woman, but couldn't deny her ability to copy a recipe, "I think these may even top the peanut butter ones."

Susan's sterile smile managed to stretch further and Y/N was scared her lips may crack and bleed from the force, "Perfect! We're handing them out to our new neighbours tomorrow. Which reminds me, I need you to get some new trainers for Maxine tomorrow, nothing expensive though, they're just for gym class. She's a four now.

The blonde resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and instead nodded while an idea popped into her head, "I drove past a giant superstore on my way here, I'm sure they're still open I can just go now."

"Are you sure, honey?" Susan sounded concerned, but Neil didn't share the same feelings, "Curfew is eleven until you start school on Monday, same rules apply here."

"I know, Dad." She nodded curtly and turned on her heel, not wasting a moment grabbing her brothers old khaki bomber jacket and her car keys. The front door shut just as quickly as it opened, leaving the small U Haul sitting on the driveway next to Billy's Camaro.

It had been her brother's favourite jacket since he was sixteen, but he'd gained so much muscle his arms couldn't slip into it anymore. Although Y/N was tall for the average girl, the material still managed to shroud her frame.

Y/N felt amazed after managing to get to the store fairly easily, she picked up some plain black pumps and paid for them with cash, pocketing the receipt to make sure Neil would reimburse her. That took less than fifteen minutes. There were still over two hours until she needed to be back at the house and she needed to make the most of any freedom from her father.

She was her mother's daughter and the opposite of Susan Mayfield-Hargrove; if someone showed themselves as a thorn and not the rose they seemed to be, they were a thorn. She could accept it and move on, which is difficult when they own the house she calls home. Her step mother was a fixer, finding wilted petals and taping them up against the thorn to appear more sightly. If Neil was the thorn, Y/N the rose, then Susan was a daisy in a field where she didn’t belong.

The younger Hargrove twin decided to explore her new home, driving around cul-de-sacs and roads which mirrored one another. After a while of aimless driving, Y/N parked up at the side of a quiet road, seeming to back onto a rich neighbourhood. She locked the muscle car, Ellie, and began walking on the edge of the road.

"Stay put, El." She whispered to herself, echoing her mother's voice. Meredith Hargrove always swore her car changed parking spaces whenever they went somewhere together.

Y/N couldn't imagine having so much space, no family was big enough to make use of it all. Her feet brought her into the small forest area, passing a few more eccentric gardens before finding one which intrigued her. The lights were all off, moonlight bouncing off the unmoving water in the centre of the garden.

Swimming had always been something the Hargrove girl not only loved but turned to in uncertainty. Billy would surf alongside her a long time ago, but he hadn't for years now. Her eyes danced around each room, unable to see any kind of life within the mansion. Against Y/N’s better judgement, she left the tall trees and let her toes edge onto someone's private property.

It seems a shame not to.

Fallen leaves stopped crunching under her brown boots as they found concrete slabs. The family must have employed a cleaner and gardener as nothing seemed out of place or dirty. The water was clear and not a single leaf or bug lay on its surface. Crouching down, her fingers drifted along the water, creating a small ripple, confirming her suspicions of how cold it would be.

She didn't care, stripping down into her underwear in the cool autumnal winds, anyone would've thought she was a crazy person. Y/N ignored the small ladder next to her and gracefully dived into the pool, swimming down to the bottom until she needed to come back up for air. The blonde lay on her back, staring up at the stars wondering what her friends were doing on the other side of America. Probably at Sadie's getting high.

Y/N wasn't sure how much time had passed, her fingertips were now wrinkled but it didn't bother her. She was in her element, so much so she didn't register when the kitchen light turned on and alerted the homeowner of someone in their pool.

Steve's body was overcome with terror as he did a double, triple take out of the kitchen window at the figure in his garden. He only wanted some leftover lasagne. Grabbing his nail punctured bat, the home alone teenager unlocked the back door, and against his own better judgement, creeped towards the intruder.

As he came closer, he was thankful to find a girl than a demogorgan, a girl he certainly didn't recognise. Her blonde hair lay on top of the water like a halo as she floated in her own world.

"Hello?" He questioned, bat still firmly in hand, "Why the fuck are you naked in my pool?"

Y/N left her mini trance, flailing in the water as her eyes found a teenage boy wielding an odd weapon, only a scream leaving her lips in response.

part two?

want to be tagged? just send in an ask!

[padfootagain]

A Very Rose Mistake (III)

Part 3 : How You Told Your Parents

 Here we go with a new chapter! I know that today is Golden day as the music video dropped this afternoon, but I had planned to post the chapter, so let's go anyway! It just means more Harry for today, and who can pretend like there is something like too much Harry? Certainly not me!

So here is another cute and light-hearted chapter! I hope you all like it! No warnings of any kind!

Please, tell me what you think of this new chapter!

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count : 3535

                                                              I

                                              Holmes Chapel, 2003

 "HAAAA!"

"HARRY SLOW DOWN!"

"I CAN'T!"

"WE'RE GONNA CRASH!"

"WE'RE GONNA CRASH!"

The next second you were disappearing into a pile of fresh snow.

You shuffled away from the sledge and out of the snow to stand on your feet again. You looked for your best friend in the messy white powder, but couldn't see him anywhere.

"Harry?" You called. "It's not funny! Come on, we need to bring it back up the hill. We need to move out of the way or Gemma is gonna crash into us!"

But you were met with silence, and started to be properly worried.

Was he hurt? He could have hit his head on something... what if he had broken one of his bones!? Your friend Daniel had broken his arm a few months before and he had spent weeks wearing this cast around his arm. It seemed very serious. What if Harry was hurt and would need one of these too?

"Harry? You're okay? Come out now, it's not funny!"

And then something coming out of the snow was grabbing your ankle, and you cried, jumping away in fear.

You would have recognized this ridiculous laugh anywhere.

"HARRY!"

He finally crawled fully out of the snow, laughing so hard he had to hold onto his painful belly.

"You scared me! It's not funny!" You protested.

"You should have seen your face!" He replied between hiccups, unable to stand for now because of how much he was still laughing. "And you shouted so loud!"

He doubled in laughter, and you noticed how his lisp was coming back as he wasn't making a conscious effort to repress it. You thought it was rather cute. And Harry's laugh was contagious. These were the only reasons why you were smiling then, because you were still mad at him for playing this trick on you.

"You're so annoying!" You shook your head, crossing your arms before your chest.

"Oh come on! Even you have to admit it was funny!" He replied, eventually calming down a little more.

"Not one bit!"

"It was. It was hilarious. Didn't know you could jump so far!"

You huffed, offended. No matter if you were still little, from the top of your nine-year-old self, you still turned away from him and pretended to refuse to acknowledge his presence.

Instead, you leaned down, as if to tie your shoes.

"Y/N... are you really mad?"

This time his tone was a little more uncertain. After all, if there was one thing that he hated, it was seeing you sad or upset. And especially so when it was because of him.

"Don't be mad! It was just a joke!" He went on, this time being the one who sounded annoyed, when in reality he was more worried than anything else.

But instead of hearing your reply, he was hit straight in the face with a snowball, while it was your turn to be laughing at him.

He chased away the snow dripping over his face with his gloved hand, a mischievous smile appearing on his features as he did so.

"Oh... are you sure you want to play it like that?" He asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

You let out a giggle, shrugging.

"You're the one who started it!"

"Alright, then!" When you saw him bending to scoop some snow in his palm, you let out a shriek and ran off towards the nearby tree where your mother and Anne were keeping an eye on all of you, chatting and trying to stay warm in the cold weather while you played.

"HAAAA! HELP ME! I'M BEING ATTACKED!" You dramatically called the parents, while Harry ran after you.

You got protection by hiding behind your mum, gripping at her long coat, making her laugh.

"Alright, alright! Calm down you two!"

While Gemma was sliding down the hill over the outskirts of Holmes Chapel, laughing on her sledge, Harry was trying to aim at you but you kept on running around the adults. Until he took his shot and hit you on the knee, the cold sensation making you cry through your laughter.

"Alright, calm down! Both of you!" Anne tried to admonish, but she was laughing as well at how silly you and Harry were.

As Gemma was joining the group pulling her sledge behind her, you and Harry were lost in an intense battle, your mothers sometimes getting caught in the crossfire.

"Gemma! Help! Team up with me!" You called while Harry was managing to grab your arm and shove some snow in the space between your scarf and neck, making you shriek.

And the older girl didn't need to be asked twice. Soon enough, both Gemma and you were chasing after Harry, who was now the one hiding behind the two mothers.

"Mum! Help! It's not even fair! They're two against one!"

"It's true that two against one is hardly fair," she agreed through her giggles.

"Then help!"

As she got caught in the crossfire again, Anne gave in and started to participate to the fight too. When she accidentally hit your mum right in the face, she also joined in. And then there were no teams, just three children and two mothers having a snowball fight and laughing too much for their stomachs.

Later that afternoon, you got home to change into dry clothes and get a warm and well-deserved hot cocoa at your place. You reckoned that the last thing you would need to make the day perfect was building a snowman, so you teamed up with Harry to build one in his backyard and make it as big as you could.

"We need eyes for him!" You noticed with horror that he was still missing those as you wrapped your scarf around the snowman's neck.

You had used a little twig for its nose, and Harry had found pebbles for its smile, but you just had the best idea.

"I know! Hold on!"

You ran off to your house and Harry patiently waited for you, placing his beanie on the snowman's head.

When you reappeared, you had two green marbles in your hand, that you planted in the snow to give your new friend eyes.

"It looks nice!" Harry agreed with a professional nod.

"Like that, he has the same eyes as you do!" You told him with a grin, and Harry wasn't sure why he was blushing, but he was.

"I like it," he nodded.

Your mother called for you, and you had to part with Harry for the rest of the holidays as you would both be travelling to see your families during the rest of the break.

"Today was so much fun!" You smiled.

"Yeah! The best!"

"I can't believe we're leaving tomorrow to go to my grandparents' for Christmas," you sighed with a sad pout.

"I'm gonna miss you."

"But you'll spend tons of time with your dad! It's gonna be great!"

Harry shrugged, clearly saddened now.

"Still gonna miss you. It's not as fun when you're not around."

You hugged him, promising to tell him everything that had happened during the holidays when you would be back.

"I'll get your scarf and your marbles once the snow has melted. No worries!" He promised, and you gave him a smile again, but this one was a little shy.

"You can keep the marbles if you want. They really do look like your eyes. Feels like they should be yours."

"You sure?"

You nodded, walking backwards towards your house, and waving at him.

"Merry Christmas, Harry!"

He waved back at you, laughing, even though he wasn't so sure why. He guessed it was just because of you.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N!"

                                                           II

                                            Loch Lomond, 2020

 Seeing your parents in the large hall, you suddenly weren't so sure if this whole ordeal was a good idea or the worst piece of madness that had ever flashed into your brain. But you were leaning towards the second option as you stepped in the room.

You took in deep breaths, and tried to calm down. One quick glance at Harry told you that he was just as nervous as you were.

For a moment though, all your fears vanished as your mother spotted you, her lips breaking in a bright grin, and she moved away from her spot by the window, abandoning the gorgeous view in favour of hugging you tight.

"I've missed you so much, my baby!" she squealed, hugging you so tight you could barely breathe, but the gesture only made you cackle, and you hugged her with the same urgency.

"It's so good to see you, mum!"

"You live way too far away! When are you coming back home?"

"After my PhD, promise."

"You'd better. Cause I'm tired of being alone dealing with your father."

"I heard that!" your father complained, and both you and your mother laughed at him, before you would break the embrace to hug your dad instead.

"Your mother is right though, we've missed you," he told you, kissing your cheek.

Your mum only then seemed to notice that Harry was standing a few steps away, unwilling to disturb your reunion.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, hugging him just as tightly as she had done you. "I didn't know you were invited to the wedding too! I mean… of course Cassie knows you, but she wanted a small venue and very few guests…"

"Uhm… No, I… I wasn't invited. I came with Y/N."

She blinked a couple of times at him, her expression blank, before realization glowed across her features.

But… not realization of what was actually happening…

"Oh, she asked you as her plus one! But why? I mean… it's just our family, you wouldn't have been alone, Y/N! There was no need to bring a friend along!"

Harry and you exchanged a glance, as you freed yourself from your father's embrace.

"No, actually… uhm… we're…" Harry began but fell silent as your father slowly turned to him.

"You're what?" your mother asked, completely lost.

"We're together," you announced as fast as your lips would allow. "He came as my boyfriend."

Harry offered your parents a bright smile.

"Together? What… what do you mean 'together'?" your mother stuttered upon her words.

"I mean that… he's my boyfriend now. Not… just a friend."

Her glance travelled back and forth between the two of you, and you were certain to have broken her brain by now.

It seemed impossible for her to process the news.

"So… you two are a couple?" your father asked, turning fully to Harry, who nodded in response.

"It's quite new," the young man explained. "We just… realized that we both wanted to try to take our relationship a step further."

"I see…"

Your father finally offered Harry his hand to shake, which your best friend hurried to take. You noticed the wince that distorted his features though, as your father crushed his fingers.

"We're going to need to have a talk, young man."

"Yes, sir."

"Dad!" you admonished, pulling him away from your frightened friend, who seemed terrified by now. "Stop it! What are you doing? It's just Harry!"

"Yes… it's Harry. Harry who used to spend entire nights in a sleeping bag in your bedroom when the two of you were children!"

He turned towards your fake boyfriend, waving a threatening finger at him.

"If you think I've forgotten about that day you closed her door when the two of you were 14…"

"No, I promise you, nothing happened!" Harry defended himself, absolutely terrified by now as he took a step back. "We… nothing happened for years, it's only been a few months, and nothing had ever happened before that. You have my word."

Your father huffed, not buying it, despite your friend's words being the truth.

"Oh come on, honey!" your mother forced her husband to calm down. "Y/N's right, it's just Harry. We know he's a respectable young man. So quit the tough act, would you?"

Your dad still mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but your mum was shaking her head, amused.

"Ha… we knew it would happen eventually," she affectionately patted Harry's shoulder. "And if I'm being honest… it took you long enough!"

"Darling!" it was your father's turn to admonish your mother.

"What? I'm perfectly right, don't play innocent! By the way, who made the first move?"

You looked at each other… you… hadn't really discussed that…

"Well… uhm… I… did?" Harry answered with much hesitation.

"I mean, we were a little… inebriated," you started to explain, but your father quickly interrupted you, glaring at your 'boyfriend', and if a glance could have killed, Harry would have been violently murdered there and then.

"Inebriated?! What happened?!" he snapped, but Harry raised his hands in a soothing gesture.

"Nothing happened between us, don't worry. I would never do that!" he replied, a little offended that your father would think him able to do something like this. "We just… confessed things we wouldn't have discussed while sobber."

"I swear to God, son… if anything happened between you and my baby girl while she was drunk…"

"No, dad, nothing happened! Relax, would you! And even if something had happened, trust me, I would have been wholeheartedly all for it!"

"Really?" Harry asked with surprise, clearly slipping out of his acting role, and it was your turn to glower at him in response. He caught your idea quickly, but you were the one to speak first again anyway.

"Look, we just… realized that we both… wanted to take our friendship to the next level. We went on a couple of real dates, and here we are!"

"Yes, but who made the first move," your mother asked again. "Who kissed who first? Who confessed first?"

"I did," you both answered at the same time, sharing a panicked glance.

This whole thing was a disaster and was just getting worse and worse by the second…

"I mean… I… confessed first," Harry clarified, but his tone was a little too hesitant as he kept on staring at you, waiting for validation, and you gave him a small nod. "And she… she initiated the first… physical… contact…"

"Physical contact?!" your father interjected, and your friend was burying his face in his hands in embarrassment this time.

"No, I mean… she kissed me first. I meant kissing, just kissing."

"Look, dad, please, stop being like that!"

"Oh, so… now I can't take care of my daughter anymore?"

"It's Harry!" you replied. "Can't you trust him?!"

"When it comes to you, I don't trust nobody. And he's lucky we're not alone in this room," he replied between his gritted teeth, making you roll your eyes, and Harry lost all traces of colours all over his face, going as white as sheets.

"Look, you know I would never do anything to hurt Y/N…"

"Son, for your own good, you should stop talking now."

"Yes, sir."

"So… Harry made the first move, in a way," your mother considered your story.

"I guess, yeah. Why?"

Your mother beamed at you.

"Well, that means Anne owes me a 20!"

"What?"

"I was sure Harry would make the first move, but Anne has always thought that he would be too slow with his emotions and you would be the clever one to figure it all out first. So, I've just earned 20 pounds!"

"You… bet with my mum about Y/N and I getting together?" your fake-boyfriend asked in confusion.

"The bet has been on since you were both 14, sweetie!" your mother laughed, making your father roll his eyes. "It sure took both of you long enough to realize that you love each other! We've known for over a decade."

Both you and your best friend exchanged a confused look.

Were your two mothers… rooting for you… being… a couple?

"What?!" you both exclaimed at the same time.

But your mother merely let out a chuckle, pinching both your and Harry's cheeks.

"It's about time that the two of you finally come to your senses! I need to call Anne and tell her the news!"

You both stared at each other with wide eyes, panicked once more.

"No, please," Harry stopped you as your mother reached for her phone. "I… I haven't told her yet, and I'd like to be the one to tell her. I… it's important to me."

Your mum gave him a disappointed pout, but obliged nonetheless.

"Alright. But tell her I haven't forgotten about our bet and she owes me 20 pounds!"

"I will. Promise."

You were interrupted though, by your grandmother entering the hall and calling for you. And both you and Harry welcomed the chance to escape your parents.

"Gran! How are you doing?"

"I'm so happy to see you, darling," the old woman gave you a warm hug. "It's been too long."

"Me too, gran!"

"I'm relieved you could come for your cousin's wedding! I was afraid you wouldn't get a flight. Or wouldn't take the time to come."

"Of course, I came! It's Cassie's wedding!"

"You're spending too much time working…"

"Gran," you tried to interrupt her, your voice full of warning.

"You are forgetting everything else in your life. Including your love life, even though it's important!"

"Gran…"

You had barely said hello, and she was already diving in this topic.

"You know, I'm sure there will be some lovely young men at the reception…"

"Gran!"

"I'm just saying that weddings are the perfect place to meet new people."

"Well, I don't need to meet new people, because I came with my boyfriend!"

Her eyes grew round, and yet a smile formed on her lips.

And you were reminded all too well why you had asked Harry to come in the first place. Some members of your family really weren't interested in anything but your love life…

You silently asked Harry to come closer, and he approached the two of you with a shy smile.

"Hi!"

"Do you remember my friend Harry?"

She gave both of you a suspicious look.

"I do. You lived next door. Always the mischievous type!"

He chuckled, shrugging.

"I was a child, for my defence."

"So you two are together? Or you just came as a friend?"

"No, we're together," you answered, standing a little closer to him.

But she didn't seem convinced.

"If you say so…" she mumbled under her breath. "And is it anything serious?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry nodded with a smile, but again, your grandmother looked at him with eyes full of doubts.

It was hard to tell if she was unsure of your taste in men, or if she doubted that the two of you were together at all. All the same, she didn't seem so happy about the news.

She was distracted by your mother behind you, and you released a shaky breath as she walked away.

"We're not doing so good, are we?" Harry asked even if he knew the answer to his question already, in a shushed whisper that would allow no one else but you to hear his concerned words. "We haven't even talked to five people yet, and one of them doesn't seem to believe us, and another wants to murder me."

"Well, perhaps if you weren't acting so stiff around me, they would be more convinced!" you snapped back at him under your breath.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not acting like you're my boyfriend at all, Harry!"

"I am doing my best! What would you have me do?"

"Touch me? At least a little bit. I don't know, hold my hand or touch my back, or whatever."

"Well, you could do the same, babe."

You gave him a fake smile, before wrapping your arm around his waist.

"I am."

He threw a scared glance at your parents, and indeed, caught your father glowering at him, and he moved away from your touch as a consequence.

"Well, I'm sorry to be a little 'stiff' when your father looks at me like that! Besides, PDAs aren't my thing, in case you didn't know."

You rolled your eyes at him.

"My dad won't do anything, you know him. A lot of talks, but in the end, he's a teddy bear."

Harry heaved a sigh in response, and took another look at your family. They seemed lost in conversation, and judging by the glances they threw at the two of you, Harry guessed that your new relationship ought to be the main subject of gossips.

"Maybe you're right though."

He reached for your hand, and you were surprised that his gesture was slow, a little shy. His cheeks were flushed and he turned away from your family so they wouldn't notice his burning skin. You intertwined your fingers together, standing a little closer to him.

"You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable," you reassured him.

"No, it's… it's nice, actually."

"What is?"

A smile appeared on his lips, but he didn't look at you. Instead, he watched as your aunt and uncle entered the room, bracing himself for the next introduction. His smile didn't falter though as he whispered his next words.

"Holding your hand. It's nice… holding your hand."

**************************************************************

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[dresupi]

Adore Me - Dramione

for @evolution-of-magic​ Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger 1,556 words Rated T

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’d love to.

Draco had set a dangerous precedent.

Or at least, to him, it appeared that way. Nearly a year before, he’d been biding his time, working with Granger, and slowly showing her that he was a changed man. Or really, that he was a man with differing ideals from the snot-nosed brat of a child he had been.

Merlin, when he thought about himself in school, he visibly cringed. Never mind what happened when he saw the dark mark on his arm.  He wore long sleeves to cover it up, but sometimes, the very knowledge that it was there at all kept him up at night. He’d been working off an evil, fascist delusion, brought on by godlike worship of his father.  A father who rotted in Azkaban as he, himself, stood free.

A father who would likely never know his son’s heart. Or see his son truly happy. Draco was fine with that. Lucius deserved nothing of the sort.

But it was still there. Still heavily present as he approached Granger long ago, on that day, exactly one year before. He’d known there was a very strong possibility that she’d turn him down. But he had to try. She smelled so good, and she was so beautiful it hurt. He’d known it was imperative that he at least make the attempt.

So he’d asked Hermione Granger to dinner. Draco’s words hung stationary in the silence for what felt like ages before she responded. With a smile, she nodded. “I’d love to.”

Ever since that day Draco had felt as if he were living someone else’s life. Someone who was good. Someone who deserved to have this goddess of a woman to wake up next to every morning. Who deserved to choke down her awful pancakes that she refused to make with magic. Who deserved to have her forgiveness surround him like a warm blanket in the middle of a big freeze.

She felt warm. Her love was warmth, and he wanted nothing more than to give her something half as warm as she was.

That was why he’d planned this proposal. It wasn’t the way wix had done it, well… ever. They were usually small affairs, an agreement made in the company of both party’s parents. They’d agree upon marrying, set a date, and let their parents know all in one go.

It had become a sort of spectacle in its own way over the years, with one partner or the others’ parents trying to plan more and more opulent settings for the discussion to take place.

Pansy’s, for instance, had taken place at her parents’ holiday home in Maui. Which hadn’t necessarily won over Neville Longbottom’s grandmother, but he supposed they all got a nice holiday out of it at any rate.

But seeing as their circumstances were different than most everyone else, he had decided on a proposal to match. One that was decided more muggle in nature.

It was why he’d rented out the very same restaurant where they’d had their first dinner together exactly a year before. It was also where he’d stolen a kiss on the sidewalk outside while they said the world’s longest good night.

And it was where he was going to ask her to be his wife.

Every time he thought about it, he felt like he had bats swirling in his belly, flapping their wings and tickling him from the inside. His wife. Her husband. For the rest of their lives.

Merlin, it was a lot. Not too much, mind. It was something they’d both discussed in the way of the vaguely distant ‘someday’.  It was Draco who’d taken it upon himself to define someday as today.

He’d hired a band. Well, he’d hired a bunch of enchanted instruments to serenade them throughout the meal. It was just as good as a band.

Draco had even thought to order the same food they’d each ordered that night.

And he had a ring.

Another muggle custom that wix didn’t take part in. Well, there was a ring. But it was a ring with the family crest on it. The ring that indicated you were now under the protection of the other’s family. And both partners received one. It wasn’t anything old or antique usually. It was the trend now for the mothers to design crest rings for their child’s partner.

But considering his family were the Malfoys, he didn’t want to assume that Granger would be stepping under their canopy of protection. If anyone was being protected, it was him.

He couldn’t imagine his mother was too broken up about not designing a ring for Hermione. Not that she didn’t like her, because she did. A lot. Took her on shopping trips all the bloody time. On weekends when Draco would rather have his witch all to himself.

But his mother had gone back to her maiden name and started giving away so much of her family money left to her via inheritance, that the name Black now incited passivity, rather than heavy cringing.

Mum would likely agree with him that to place Hermione under the protection of either name would only tarnish hers.

So that left him with the ring he’d chosen from a shop in Muggle London. One he’d found thanks to Hermione’s best friend and his old nemesis, Potter.

The ring was done in rose gold, and Potter had said something about blood diamonds and wrinkled his nose in a grimace. And even though blood diamonds sounded fascinating as hell, Draco ceded to Harry’s judgment and opted for a different stone. He chose a purple one that glittered in the light, an amethyst, according to the jeweler.

He’d been very patient with Draco as he’d chosen the setting and the cut.  And now that the finished ring was in his pocket, he found he could scarcely breathe.

Hermione arrived promptly at seven but didn’t realise that he’d rented out the entire restaurant for the evening and thus, waited outside for him to arrive. The Maître-d’ informed him of this snafu, and once he went out to meet her and insisted that the restaurant was indeed open, they were swiftly seated at the table he’d chosen.

She looked around for a long moment. “You rented out the dining room.”

“You always were a clever one, Granger,” he deadpanned.

“This is the place where we first ate together,” she continued. “I obviously remember that. And since today is our anniversary, you decided to make it special?”

“Indeed.” He waited to see if she’d guess the rest of it, but instead, she took a sip of her wine and looked round.

“It’s rather quiet when there’s no one else, isn’t it?”

“Would you rather there be more noise?”

“Almost. I can hear your thoughts. I can’t make them out, but I can hear them.”

“That would make you the world’s worst legilimens.”

She peered at him but had no more guesses.  It was then that their food arrived at the table.

“Wait, I never ordered--” Her quizzical face broke into a grin when she saw what slid in front of her. “This is what we ate last time.”

“Is it?”

“It is, you romantic old sod.” She nudged him under the table with her foot.

He was going to wait until dessert arrived, but he just couldn’t any longer. He reached for her hand.

“Granger?”

“Malfoy?”

“You know you’re absolutely the best--”

“I’d love to,” she interrupted.

“What?” He frowned, looking down at her hand. What had he said?

“Move into your flat? That’s what you’re asking? I mean, I practically live there anyway--”

As much as he loved to wax poetic about Granger, she never failed to take flying leaps from the pedestal he placed her on and kick his arse on the way down.

Merlin help him, he adored her.

“You insufferable know-it-all, I’m trying to ask you to marry me, Granger.”

She froze then, looking down at their joined hands and back into his eyes. “What… here? What about your mother, and my parents? Isn’t this supposed to be--”

“A symbolic pile of garbage, yes. But instead, I thought the better way to do it would be to insult you and then propose. I nailed it, didn’t I?”

She laughed and squeezed his hand. “You absolutely did, you horrible prat.”

“So will you?”

“Will I what?” Her smile was infectious and he pulled the ring out of his pocket, holding it out to her.

“Marry me?”

“Of course I will, bloody git.” She took the ring from him and slid it on her finger. It looked fantastic, glittering in the low light. “Can I kiss you now, or will that mess up the dancing flatware bringing out our second course?”

He stood and she practically leaped into his arms, wrapping hers around him as their lips found each other almost by instinct. “Hate to break it to you, but there’s no dancing flatware.”

“Damn it all, and to think this was almost a perfect evening,” she teased.

“I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you, Draco.”

He kissed her softly once more. “I could enchant the dishes to do a little dance for you at home.”

She chuckled. “I’d rather if you did a little dance for me at home.”

“I’d love to.”

[georgemackayhey]

Silver Lining: Chapter 4

In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time…

w/c: 6k

a/n: This is the second to last chapter, guys! Ah! It's been such fun to write, and as always I'm looking forward to hearing all your thoughts and feelings! ♡

taglist: @etherealallure​ @maria-josefin​ @shelbygirlsclubx​ @loulouloueh​ @clarkewithameme​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @weyheyavengers​ @queen-bunnyears​

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───※ ·❆· ※───

The halls of the resort were immaculate, the sound of your hurried stomp echoed through them. You had hardly taken the time to appreciate the well-lit space with the way you zoomed up to the third floor- fist clenched at your side. You knew exactly what to expect, holding no hope for any other possibility.

And as you hurriedly knocked on the soft cream door of room 500, you hadn't even really noticed how George was hot on your trail; though lagging a bit behind to catch his breath on a winding staircase.

There was muffled chatter from behind the door you approached, the sound causing your patience to wear thin. So you went on knocking until the sound of a lock being turned proceeded its fateful opening.

"What? What is it- oh."

Colin was stood in the sliver of the open door, dressed in a sloppily tied hotel robe. And even though he seemed unprepared to greet anyone, a wicked grin painted his lips, as if he'd somehow been expecting to see you, all the same. The sight of him was enough to set your blood to a boil and the sound of his stupid grumbly voice nearly drove you to a psychotic break right then and there.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a growl through your teeth. As soon as the desk attendant shot you a pitiful glare, you knew what was going on. You weren't surprised to see your almost ex-husband guarding the entrance to the room you booked for your honeymoon. But you were well and truly seething that he had the gall to enjoy any kind of leisure time during the period he should have somehow been paying for his moral crimes.

"Well, darling, as I recall it, I wanted to come here. You wanted to go to Rome. Looks like we've both gotten what we want, hm?"

"Don't call me-" You spat, glaring at him with a look you wish could kill.

"Alright- alright, It's been a lovely visit but I've had quite enough of you," Colin moved to shut the door, but in some odd reflex, you moved to stop it. You didn't really want to see much more of the guy. You didn't even realize you had more to say. But curses and blames started spouting out of you, pent up for too long.

Colin wasn't listening though. Why would he?  He did his own talking, right over top of you, complaining about the things he always hated about your life together, how much time he wasted on you. You were arguing the things you both always knew but were never brave enough to say in the stability of your mediocre romance.

"It's just like you to show up and ruin the only bit of good life has thrown my way in the past week." You hissed.

"Oh please, I gave you more good than you'll ever get again." Colin boasted, always one to make mention of wealth and status, no matter the situation or topic.

As you stood trying desperately trying to think up a comeback, you were too blinded by anger to say anymore.

That's when another voice, strained from hurrying after you, floated around the corner.

"Y/n? What's- oh" George's concerned expression morphed into some surprising glare when he turned to see who had already taken residence in the room you booked. George stalled in place, managing to steady himself in a flash even with all the momentum he'd gained on his race to catch up to you.

"Who the hell are you?" Colin asked in a condescending snort of a laugh that made the meter tracking your rage fly up and over the ballistic marker, sending you to short circuit.

But there was nothing more to say or do. Colin likely wouldn't give up his stay if you demanded, and even if he decided too, you wouldn't have wanted to stay in a room your ex-fiance had just been occupying. You knew he was only blocking your entry so he might have some kind of last laugh. And he got it, didn't he? With a frustrated groan, you spun on your heels and stormed away in the same fashion you'd hurried up here.

"Enjoy your holiday" You heard George offer Colin some semblance of a goodbye, though his tone was strained and withholding, he was still polite. But you were too busy fuming to admire the little ways George fascinated you.

You didn't have time to meet the desk attendants worried gaze as you stormed past his desk and out of the resort doors. You didn't have the sense to feel sorry for breaking up a group of birds from enjoying someone's discarded cup of ice cream as you paced toward a row of tall trees at the edge of the car park.

You knew the fun would have to end soon, but you were ignorant to the possibility of this trip ending in the same frustrating manner the night before your wedding had. Colin was at the worst place at the right time and he got just what he wanted, leaving you to pay the price once more. But you probably deserved it. You were really beginning to wonder if life could be lived in the dreamlike haze that Rome provided. You should have known better.

And just like always, when you least expected it, George slowly sauntered toward where you lingered kicking rocks at trees.

"Only you would run into someone you know on holiday in Barcelona" He echoed the same wry joke you gave him in Rome, but now was different. Now was ruined and you were struggling not to cry.

"I'm sorry, George. I thought this was going to be endless fun, and I don't know what I was thinking, dragging you along, and now its all ruined and I just-"

"It's not ruined." George gently cut through your monologue in that marvelously confusing way of his; pointing out the bright side that you really couldn't see, especially right now. "It doesn't have to be anyway." You just kept your befuddled gaze on him as he went on...

"He can keep the resort. It was far too posh anyway. Why don't we find a place on the beach and make the best of it?"

"You.. you still want to?" You breathed a humorless laugh. Your shoulders relaxed as you attempted to come away from your anger, and tried to understand why on earth George was still on board this wild ride.

"Well, we're already here. And... you promised I could choose our next adventure." George teased, offering a grin and reading his brows, coaxing you to smile too. You just stared at him, taking note of his relaxed disposition, his gentleness. It practically radiated from him.

"I'll go fetch our bags if you find a cab?" George nodded, already beginning to walk backward toward the entrance of the resort. And with the way he took the action you felt no option but to agree to join in, nodding on your turn to hail a ride.

The cab driver you flagged down was almost sickeningly helpful. She listed off a few dozen places to stay adding her personal favorite perks of every place. She waved goodbye when you and George stretched out onto the pavement of a hotel a decent number of miles away from the resort you'd come from.

The hotel you'd chosen was right on a golden beach, a quaint little stucco styled building. Inside was decorated in natural tones and plants and flowers. George insisted on splitting the cost when you wouldn't let him pay for the whole thing.

You thought of renting two separate small rooms four floors apart, but that seemed silly since you were basically on this trip together. So because the price was the same, you booked a suite with two small rooms joined by a galley kitchen and called it a day.

So after lugging your bags into the spot you'd keep them for the next week, there was nothing left to worry over. The mini bar in the lobby was serving drink specials; you decided since it wasn't quite time for dinner or bed, the day you had called for some form of immediate indulgence.

The bar was full of seasoned vacationers, sharing finger foods and margaritas. A kind bar keep managed to take your order before you'd even settled at the bar top. "You know what, I better just get this over with." You decided, pulling your phone from your pocket. You'd promised to call your mother often, and you knew you had to tell her what had just gone down. The sooner the better, you realized, because you didn't want to dwell on Colin or anything you had to endure hearing from the guy. You wanted to forget everything that had happened and spend the rest of your vacation having at least a little bit of fun.

You pushed past a door into the warm afternoon, settling against a wooden post of the patio where families lingered to shake off the sand from the beach before heading back inside the hotel.

Your mother answered the phone as she had days ago, worried before you'd even gotten the chance to say hello. So you didn't even try to mask your greeting with fake charm. You headed straight into the details of your upsetting encounter. How the start of your stay in this beautiful city was permanently soiled with the memory of Colin.

"I tried to warn you." Your mother spoke theatrically. You wondered if she could hear your furrow your brow, because she went on to explain herself. "I heard from Shirley, who heard from Dr. McCarther, that Colin's mother said he left for the airport a day ago."

So that's why she'd been so frantic on the phone, before.

"I tried to warn you, deary. I know how much you wanted this trip to be some kind of escape." She commiserated in the way only mothers know how to best.

"Yeah, I'm determined to keep it that way. We're staying at the beach now, instead." You spoke decidedly.

"Well, now that I've got your attention might I suggest coming home?" Your mother scolded. "I understand what you're going through but is taking off with some stranger really-"

You blocked out everything she said after that. Your mother meant well, you knew, but she had no idea what you were going through. She'd been happily married for decades. And she didn't know George.

You just couldn't go one talking about this situation. Sure Colin did his best to rain on your parade, but the heavens gave you one last shot to go a little wild. You were here, with George and there was no changing that. So you ended the call with the promise you were safe and sound and planned to keep it that way. Then you marched back inside repeating the mantra to yourself.

"What your mother must think of me," George pulled a face as you eased into the seat at the dark wooden bar, next to him. "I cringe to wonder."

"Oh, you think I'm calling home to report about you, Mr. Movie star?" You joked, jabbing George in the arm with your elbow. At this point, the little gesture felt familiar and you'd only wondered if you'd been to forward after the fact. If George was put off by it, his broad grin was only contradicted by the smallest shake of his head, eyes averted to a waiter who happily served your drinks.

___

The next day you woke up early and headed to see Casa Batlló. In fact, in just the first couple of days, you managed to see the majority of Gaudi's creations. It was divine, taking the time to admire the buildings and listen to other tourists yammer on about what they'd come to see and why they were so excited to be in the city.

There were fleeting moments, for the first day or two, when you worried Colin wasn't finished sabotaging your trip. That he might pop out of nowhere and pretend he was the one who was once so excited to take a tour of a modern art museum. But you realized he was never keen to your well-planned list. In fact, you planned most of your trip with the knowledge that Collin would be off meeting business partners and making deals. You needed something to occupy your time, and you never imagined having anyone to experience each little adventure with you.

That's what made George's presence all the more exciting.

Besides that, you'd seemed to have fallen into a familiar routine with George. And not just in the way you'd gone about planning out your days. You'd began to predict each other's lunch orders and what you'd both might have enjoyed most about each little adventure, and why. You'd began to pick up on many of George's little quirks...

Like how every place you went, people noticed George, but he didn't seem to notice their lingering gazes. You could never be sure if passerby recognized him like you once had, or if they were only struck by his perfect features like you often were.

But this didn't mean he gave anyone a cold shoulder. No, George was as friendly to the people running market booths and passerby as he was to you, offering smiles and asking about the details of the flowers they were selling.

He brought up serious things at the strangest times. Like how he told you some deep dark secret in passing over midday coffee, just as you'd come away from raving about the cup you held in your hands. George would ask intense questions as you stood on the edge of a garden watching a street band play where children danced near the makeshift drums. His timing always seemed strange and unexpected; but as you went on talking about whatever might have been brought up, you realized you felt completely comfortable sharing your own answers and hearing his in turn.

George gave answers that were well thought out, even if they were just yes or no. And he listened when you did the same, nodding and laughing at every right time.

Then there was how you shared silence together. Even when there weren't words to trade, the glances and nods you passed to each other seemed to speak for themselves.

And when you lied on the beach, breathing in the salty air while the sounds of scattered laughter were dulled by crashing waves, the silence between you and George was easy.

George looked perfectly comfy with a new ratty paperback held above his face. You wondered how many tiny storybooks he's backed away, and how many times he'd read them, with such worn covers.

When you pointed out boats on the far off horizon, George wasn't upset to be disrupted his reading. He indulged every one of your passing thoughts before turning another page, reading on till one of you had reason to speak up again.

But when you closed your eyes to soak up the warmth of the sun, your peace was broken when George uttered a strange noise. You lifted your sunglasses, turning your head to find a hard plastic frisbee had invaded the space you set up.

"I'm so sorry!" A girl rushed toward you, apologizing in an accented squeak. Her hair was flowing honey brown, her bathing suit was sunny yellow. She was the kind of picture-perfect girl that when mirrored against your own image, alerted you to the things you liked least about yourself.

"We're just learning how to play," She shyly reached out for the frisbee George had taken into his clutch, after it hit him on the knee.

"It's not too hard. Keep your eye on the prize next time, aye?" George extended the plastic disc to the girl.

She giggled. You feigned a chuckle in response as you slid your sunnies back on.  George spun off into some story about the correct frisbee stance and how it was tougher than it looked.

"Care to lead by example? We're hopeless." The foreign girl bit her lip with a hopeful gaze and that was all it took to get George to his feet.

Before he left, though, he handed his book to you with a smile. "Safe hands." He gave you a look as you settled back into your spot, giving him a similar expression before watching him skip off to meet the group of girls, showing them all the perfect frisbee stance, whatever the hell that even meant. How hard could it really be?

You only turned your gaze to the book in your possession, pretending to read it, but more so admiring the pages as you tried to understand what made them so important to George, what he valued. Wondering what tomorrow might bring.

___

Four days in, a heavy downpour halted your plans to frolic through the streets of Barcelona. You had become absolutely taken with the city and every time a new adventure died down, the pair of you would dream up what to do with the rest of your time.

So when dense pelts of rain woke you up, you frowned, but George seemed at ease, of course. He was just as excited to plan a day in.

He ordered extra from room service and found a foreign movie channel on the television in his room. The pair of you kicked back on the decently-sized bed he'd made up and added your own commentary to the films you couldn't quite understand. You ended having a blast making up storylines of your own as movies passed by the screen, and you shared plates of fruits while the rain poured on.

It was easy to get lost in George's company, no matter what you were doing. You realized you were treading dangerous waters, letting yourself feel so engulfed by his presence. But you let yourself all the same, determined to make the most of this rare occasion that would soon become nothing but a fleeting occasional memory.

Then it came time to attend the cooking class you'd signed up for. The website where the sign up sheet came from encouraged everyone who did to make time to visit La Boqueria beforehand. The market was only just around the corner from where the cooking class was held, and it was the place all the ingredients you'd work with would have been purchased.

You and George roamed around stalls for almost too long, exchanging favorite recipes, kitchen horror stories, and successes. You'd nearly forgotten where you were on your way too and had to hurry around a couple of corners to make it to the class on time.

When you arrived in a rush, the people who'd made it there on time were mingling inside a building made up of big tall windows and white brick. Most of them stared, bewildered by your hurry inside. There was still time to spare it seemed.

And as you eased in to join the group who'd already been waiting, past a few warm welcomes, you recognized one greeting out of the rest.

It was the girl from the beach who couldn't manage to get the hang of throwing a frisbee. Though you had a hunch she'd know exactly what she was aiming for, that day.  And there was no doubt she'd recognized you now, or rather, George.

He greeted her warmly, with kindness, like George did best. You gave her a smile and a shrug, accepting that she wasn't keen to give you the time of day. In fact as she greeted George in turn, she mentioned only signing up for this class after he mentioned something about it during their impromptu frisbee lesson.

Luckily that was about the time the instructor made his grand appearance.

A tall slender man with dark hair tousled and big green eyes slid into the room with a perfect smile. He introduced himself as Aureo, and you were nearly blinded by his beauty. He was just the right amount of good looking, a little intimidating, but all too well-spoken, he was like a male version of a siren.  

As Aureo spoke enthusiastically about the wonders your cooking class was about to embark upon, it seemed everyone was just as smitten with the instructor. Even George seemed dazzled, his wide eyes entirely fixated on the fellow.  

As Aureo went on explaining the class and began to delve into the foundations of cooking and the joy of food, his forest-colored eyes kept sweeping over to meet yours. His smile never faltered as he helped each attendant set up their kitchen. You and George were meant to stick together, as most of the people who'd come had brought a friend or two in tow. But the frisbee girl was all on her own.

Aureo was quick to assign her to join up with another pair of ladies, who were more than happy to accept her. But as you watched the slim girl move further toward the back of the room you watched her smile falter.

Soon, you got to cooking a basic version of paella with some fun added twists, and some pa amb tomàquet. Between demonstrations, Aureo made rounds to help everyone set up and start in.

You and George settled into your usual comfortable banter, shoving each other out of the way while you playfully bickered over the cooking instructions. George compared the duty to The Great British Bake off, laughing at how some of the other mini kitchen's were fretting over doing the exact right task at the exact right time.

The room made up of windows was full of warm sunlight and delightful smells. And in between everything was Aureo. You swore you felt your heart stop each time you caught him glancing your way. Never before had you felt so drawn to someone but simultaneously cautious of the same thing.

"Are you going to flirt back or leave that man hopelessly gawking your way the whole afternoon?" George wondered after you'd been caught averting a prolonged gaze with the guy teaching you to cook something new.

"Oh, I can't he's way out of my league." You fretted, searching for a certain spice on the rack in your cabinet space. "Plus I just got my courage up to say something and he's not even looking over here anymore." You pouted while George chopped up a lemon, chucking at your disposition.

You looked over to find Aureo leaning over a woman's shoulder as she offered him a bite of a cut-up pepper. He seemed to have forgotten all about you, actually, admiring the pretty, starry-eyed girl he was circling now.

"It's because he watched me shove fresh bread in my face like a monster and now I'm totally unkissable and he'll never even look my way again ." You joked. As much as you'd liked the attention the instructor kept giving you, there was something holding you back from giving in all the way.

The man was a walking angel, a vision, and he kept looking right at you with something undeniable burning behind his gaze. That was pretty nice.

"You're perfectly kissable, now let's get you that man." George raised his hand, polite as ever, even while scheming.

But you couldn't tell if he meant it, or if he was just trying to shift your attention elsewhere so he could flirt back with the hot girl who'd been shamelessly swooning over George all afternoon. She would shoot her smile across the room, laughing a little when George happily grinned back.

Low and behold, when Aureo came over to ask what you needed, and you made up some excuse about confusing measurements, the frisbee girl took a chance to come prancing over too. Her name was Renee, and her excuse for invading your kitchen was honestly to borrow some sugar. No one needed any sugar. It was a bloody free for all, and all you could seem to focus on was Aureo's warm hand trailing across your lower back as he went on telling you exactly what to do next.

When he left you, his glances somehow became more persistent, and you felt certain you were living in some kind of fever dream. And he kept coming back.

At first, to ask what music you'd prefer played over the background speaker, insisting if you said the word and he'd waltz back to change the song. Aureo was cunningly persistent, and you didn't mind his brief but blush filled visits. Especially since George had an admirer of his own.

Renee waltzed over, asking George about his stay in Barcelona so far. He kept mentioning the things you'd enjoyed together, asking you how you remembered certain things, and Renee would cast a glance your way. It was empty and unfeeling, just for show before her focus settled completely back to George.

And you couldn't blame her. He was so easy to observe.

You thought you'd started to figure George out by now, but of course, you hadn't. He still laughed about things you didn't realize he'd even noticed. He still looked at you in a way you couldn't understand. Even while he was talking to Renee.

As all the food started to come together, everyone went around trying each other's dishes. Renee made herself at home on your countertop, gushing over George's skills in the kitchen. As they got to talking about their favorite foods, she took a shot at asking him to someplace in the city with the best coffee he absolutely had to try.

Renee was serious, her big doe eyes gazing up at him with her fingers crossed behind her back. As George hesitated to respond, the girl was called back to her kitchen when their food had finished cooking.

When she sulked away with a glance over her shoulder to George who had already turned his attention back to the wonderful pa amb tomàquet you'd managed to create, you felt for the poor girl.

"Are you afraid of trying the best coffee ever and ruining your taste for every other cup for the rest of time?" You chuckled, leaning against the counter while George happily snacked away.

"I suppose we could stop in if you're so keen." George shrugged, none the wiser.

"Wouldn't you want to go with Renne?" You pushed, giving the guy a little laugh as you reached for one of the bits of bread on a silver platter.

"I've only just met her." George started off chuckling, but as he spoke he seemed to realize what it was he was saying. You shared a look, considering how Geogres soft smile remained, but turned into an expression more serious that you couldn't quite understand. But your smile blossomed into a burst of a laugh.

"You didn't even know my name when you gave me your phone number." You pestered, doing your best to ignore how speaking about it made my stomach fill with butterflies. How thinking back to this whole thing started seemed crazy, but in a good way.

"That was different." George searched your face, his brilliant blue eyes full of something he wasn't saying. Something he thought, or maybe hoped, you understood.

Somehow, after a few silent moments passed while you went on lazily tidying up your kitchen,  George said something about how he'd come here with you, and didn't want to leave you out of anything. He said that if you made plans with Aureo, that he'd make plans with Renee. But It felt like a dare. It didn't feel like a change of plans. It felt like some kind of game.

And the next thing you knew, you motioned Aureo over toward you and asked his favorite place to go dancing.

___

You slept in the next morning, content far from home. You stretched slowly into the morning, taking your sweet time getting ready for the day. As you padded into the galley kitchen to kick start the automatic coffee machine, you didn't expect any company.

"Goodmorning!" George greeted, coming from around the corner with an empty teacup in his clutch. You gasped, taken aback by his sudden appearance for once.

"I thought you were supposed to be drinking the world's best coffee with the world prettiest girl, today?" You sighed a laugh, relaxing against the counter as your heart rate eased back to normal. You had thought you heard him make plans before leaving the class, last night.

George set down his cup turning to face you while the coffee machine crackled to life.

"I decided against it. I'm sorry, I thought I told you so."

"Oh," You frowned in realization, wondering when he went about changing his mind.

Yesterday, as you'd lost yourself in a giggle-filled conversation with Aureo before the class ended, George seemed to be getting on well with Renee in the corner. What had happened?

"Well, now I'll feel bad about leaving you later." You spoke up, searching for a mug in the limited cabinet space.

"Oh, you shouldn't. I trust you'll have a good time. Renee was sweet. Just..."

"Yeah, yeah..." You pretended to understand, having no clue what George was being so weird about. "Want some of the world's most mediocre coffee?" You laughed, pouring yourself a cup to enjoy the morning, well, afternoon by this point.

The weather was a bit gloomy again, but the rain held off, giving you the perfect chance to whip out a set of playing cards on the balcony barely big enough to fit either of you together. When the time came to start getting ready, you were conflicted.

"You won't feel bad if I go?" You asked. Because George had basically been following your lead this whole trip, even asking if you were happy with the little things he thought up to do, before going about doing them.

"I'll be perfectly happy so long as you are." George did little to persuade you one way or another, which was funny considering how he'd coaxed you into giving Aureo a little attention the day before.

Ultimately, you got ready to go out. The cooking instructor had given you an address to meet up with him after his workday ended, and after a quick google search, you found it was a pretty popular night club. As you slid into an outfit, you almost wondered if you should invite George along. But as soon as the thought passed through your mind, so did a million other reasons why that was a bad idea.

"How's this?" You genuinely worried over how you looked, rushing to stand still in the doorway of the room you'd been occupying. George was stood in the kitchen, sporting joggers, holding a glass of water in one hand, and a new, old tattered book in the other.

"Oh.... you, well..." The guy looked you up and down, failing to come up with an assured answer. That was what you'd expected, a simple yes or no, maybe even a reason for whatever answer he'd chosen. Like always. But he just stated different conjunctions while you pulled at the hem of a dress you weren't sure how to feel about.

"Well, it'll have to do. I'm late." You sighed, hurrying to fetch your room key from the counter and fasten your shoes on. Aureo was probably already waiting up for you outside of the nightclub he insisted on showing you too, after you'd asked.

"Right well, see ya." George watched you scurry out into the hallway with a quick wave.

On your speed walk down the stairs, you couldn't help but kick yourself for not giving George a proper goodbye, even if you were in a rush. You'd felt so conflicted, leaving him. You didn't have a doubt he'd be happy on his own, but you'd come to function as some kind of team on this trip. Leaving seemed unnatural.

///

Aureo was standing in a well fitted, casual suit jacket with matching short cuffed trousers. His already brilliant features lit up when he saw you hurrying to cross the street.

As you met up with him you apologized for being late, feeling a bit bashful as he stepped even closer to hear you speak. His accent added something even more enchanting to his already velvety voice, when he assured it was fine and how excited he was to show you to his favorite club in the city.

The way his emerald green eyes traveled across your figure before he complimented your dress made you weak in the knees. His warm hand across the small of your back as he guided you inside.

There were three levels you could see, people dancing close to massive speakers, leaning over the rails of each floor to wave to their friends above and below. The lights were dim except every now and again when they flashed to the beat of some decently enjoyable pop music.

The bar wrapped around three corners, liquor decorating the walls of the lower level. That's where you headed first, insisting Aureo order you something he enjoyed best since this was his scene.

Some fancy mixed drink slid across the counter soon after he'd ordered as if they'd been expecting him. It wasn't long before your own drink came, some electric blue liquid in a crystal glass.

That's how the night started, taking some time to enjoy your drink before Aureo pulled you toward the dance floor. He was good, of course, and you didn't even have time to worry over the steps you were missing as he guided you along. It was stupidly fun, spinning around, bumping into people who'd laughed because they'd just bumped into you as well. Spirits were high, and between songs, you kept going back for more drinks.

Every pause, Aureo talked about cooking. You happily listened, trying to soak up everything about your surroundings at once.

You were a few drinks in, and the room was already close to spinning. But you were having so much fun. You slammed back another electric blue drink and twirled back to the dance floor.

There was something about the bass line in the chorus of Justin Timberlake's "Filthy" that you couldn't resist. And the floor was packed with dancers who must have felt the same. As you went on trying your best not to lose Aureo in the crowd while simultaneously losing yourself to the music, you felt your alcoholic haze turn into a fever of sorts.

As you raced away from the music, there was a mile-long line to either restroom, so you headed straight for the back exit.

You spilled out into a long dark alley where dumpsters lived. There were distant bouts of laughter coming from smokers at either end, so you spun between a trash can and a discarded broken shelf and proceeded to get sick.

It was an unceremonious end to your efforts to have a blast. And what was worse, how you still felt dizzy and down.

It wasn't long before Aureo came to check on you. He was the perfect gentleman, holding your hair back for round two and asking what you needed.

You apologized several hundred times for ruining the fun when you decided it was best just to go back to your hotel. You asked Aureo if you could make it up to him in a day or so. You were drunk enough to speak without considering your offer but sober enough from your episode that you managed to pull yourself together to go back where you came from.

Aureo insisted on giving you a ride back, fretting over getting you home safe. You were drunk enough to accept his ride without worry and sober enough to give him directions.

The guy put his number in your phone when you pulled up to the hotel because you felt the need to make up for the way you ended the night. You wanted a redo. And this way seemed like a common courtesy by now...

Aureo insisted on walking you up to the room, he seemed truly worried over your well being, and that endeared you to him more than you already had been.

"I'll call you, okay?" you promised the guy while you unlocked your hotel door, after thanking him for being so kind and bringing you back. He nodded, those pretty emerald eyes searching yours as you slipped inside after saying goodbye.

The lights were off in the tiny common area, and you focused all your energy on creeping back to your room without disturbing the peace. You failed by running into the corner, steadying yourself with a whine as you opened your bedroom door.

"Are you alright?"

You were caught.

"Sorry if I woke you up." You spoke low, even though there was no point in keeping quiet now that George was standing near your side, speaking gently to you.

"You're back quite early," George went on, seeming worried over how you sulked in the doorway after pushing open your bedroom door.

"Yeah... I just don't feel good." You admitted. But you didn't feel sick anymore. You just felt tired. You actually felt a lot like you had when you'd drank too much before, when your head filled up and nothing made sense.

With a gentle, "Come on." George pushed you further into your bedroom. You slumped onto the unmade bed, unlacing your shoes in an impressive hurry. George was gone when you looked up again, tossing each shoe across the room. You fell against your pillows with a sorry groan, shutting your eyes, and wondering if you'd made some kind of mistake tonight.

That's when George shuffled back in, quiet as a mouse. You kept your eyes shut, but heard him rest a glass of water on your bedside table. The sound of your door creaking shut made your heart sink.

When you thought to yourself how badly you wished George would have stayed by your side, you realized the depths of the shit you were in. You realized exactly why you felt so bad. You couldn't ignore it anymore.

You wanted so much more from George, and he was already giving you more than you deserved.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[marginalgloss]

bb

How to describe the experience of expecting a first child in 2020? In some ways the pandemic made no difference at all. Most of the time we have been at home, waiting for things to happen, and that would have happened anyway. In terms of health we have both been quite lucky to have had no immediate concerns or difficulties, but what should have been routine visits to the GP and hospital became slightly more complicated. Our local doctors in particular seemed entirely inert — almost all appointments were over the telephone — and on the one occasion my wife arrived on time for a scheduled meeting with a doctor, it turned out that they’d booked it on the wrong day, and the GP in question was at home. Not ideal.

The staff at the hospital were better. I count myself lucky in that I was allowed to all of the ultrasound scans except the first, though for some reason this didn’t extend to any other appointments. Otherwise my experience with hospital so far has been limited, and strange. Mostly I’m just waiting in the public areas outside the maternity ward, listening to my headphones, waiting for something to happen. And that’s fine, and to an extent I understand why it needs to happen. The hospital itself is not even especially scary. The first time I went there I imagined it would be in some sort of state of perpetual emergency, but in the lobbies and halls everything happens mostly as normal. Only everyone is wearing masks. 

The first thing I have come to understand about being a father in waiting is that expectations of you are very low. What exactly was required from me from the health service, or from my employer, or from anyone else outside my household? Very little. Next to nothing. I’ve had no appointments with anyone. My employer signed off on my paternity leave with no fuss, plus a little extra time from my holiday allowance. The midwives asked me nothing, and I asked them nothing, because usually I wasn’t in the room. Only sometimes I was a quiet presence behind a mask in the ultrasound appointments. None of this was very difficult.

There is still so much scrutiny afforded to the mother’s role. In theory, society expects more from fathers than it ever has in the past – which is good – but in practice nobody seems to have very much to say to them about it. In our antenatal classes (conducted exclusively over Zoom) the focus of every presentation and every discussion was on the mother’s experiences during pregnancy, labour, and afterwards. Everyone who attended my classes came as a couple, but the only mentions of the partner’s role were in the context of how they could assist the mother. Bring snacks to the labour room; remind her to go to the bathroom; figure out the best route to drive to the hospital. All of which is fine! But that’s all it was.

I am trying to avoid the suggestion that it should all be about me. I appreciate that antenatal classes have a practical purpose — they aren’t group therapy. But all this fed into the sense I already had that the expectations of me were so low as to be almost non-existent. Nobody asked how having a child would make me feel. Nobody wanted to talk to me about it. A thought occurred to me from time to time: I could be anyone! In the eyes of the world, I could be any kind of father at all, and nobody would ever know! Except me. 

Managing this feeling is a strange sort of juggling act. In most aspects of life I would be happy to accept these diminished expectations as relieving a certain amount of pressure. But in the context of expecting a child, it leads to a corollary: nobody wants to know what you think about being a dad, therefore it doesn’t matter how you feel about it. I am sure that isn’t true. But it doesn’t always feel that way. The world seems to want a lot from fathers but at the same time it expects almost nothing at all, and certainly not in the same way it expects from mothers.

Recently I was reading samples on the Kindle ebook store for books aimed at new fathers. Almost everything I could find was entirely useless. Most of them are written in a kind of ‘strap in, bucko’ style that insistently reminds the reader of their responsibilities at every juncture, in the most patronising voice possible. Again: I get it. It feels churlish to complain too much about this kind of thing. I understand that these books have a purpose, and I’m sure they have an appreciative audience. But they told me next to nothing about what it would feel like for a new father to understand that they were going to have a kid, and what it would feel like for that kid to arrive, and what it would feel like to have to look after that new presence in a person’s life. I don’t know if these questions are too big or too small to be worth an author bothering with.

Popular culture is weird for models of fatherhood. I hate the term ‘beta male’, but TV and film is preoccupied with images of sidelined men who fit that trope. We’ve been watching a Canadian sitcom on Netflix called Workin’ Moms, which is enjoyable, if a little one-note — the basis of most of its jokes is that the mothers of the show behave just as badly as fathers used to in terms of philandering, over-focusing on their careers, and neglecting their children, whereas the fathers are relegated to keeping the boring practicalities of family life ticking along in the background. It’s fun, but – well, there are many other shows like this. 

Elsewhere I stumbled on some useful stuff. Some of it is slight. I love the ridiculous baby in a bottle in Death Stranding, though I’m at a loss to explain what it means beyond being an unexpectedly tender portrait of babyhood in one of the strangest video games ever made. In The Last of Us: Part II I liked the short sequences late in the game where Ellie is carrying a gurgling potato-shaped baby around a quiet farmhouse; that, plus her subsequent panic attack in the barn, seemed relatable. (Ellie is absolutely the dad of that particular story.)

Recently I found myself listening repeatedly to Spalding Gray’s monologue It’s a Slippery Slope, where he talks variously about learning to ski and learning to become a father for the first time at the age of 52. It is oddly calming, not least as a reminder that there is no entirely right way to go about these things. Gray’s example is certainly not ideal — his first child came as a result of cheating on his long-term partner, and he’s frank about his initial wish that she not keep it at first. But it’s still kind of beautiful, and one of his more optimistic efforts.

A couple of weeks ago we happened to be watching the movie Parenthood. It is a gentle and straightforward Ron Howard movie, but no movie with Steve Martin was ever wholly unlikeable; and more to the point, it feels like an earnest portrait of a dad who is neither entirely feckless nor a figure of distant grace like Mufasa in The Lion King. There’s a line in it where Martin’s character snaps at his wife: ‘Women have choices. Men have responsibilities.’ Encountered today it sounds kind of MRAish, though the film goes to some lengths to undermine the logic of this (“Well, I choose you to have the baby” is his wife’s rejoinder); at any rate, the point is that when you’re in the middle of this stuff it doesn’t feel like you have any choices. There is probably something in this. But the point of the movie is that insisting on personal ‘choice’ as a measure of anything worthwhile is at best inconsequential, at worst destructive. Nothing that ever really mattered in life happened because you chose it.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 30: Keep Us Warm

Sometime, the most precious thing, is time to be yourself.

Also, how does one discuss future children with their child spouse? Asking for a friend...

First  Previous  Next

Keith stirs, uncomfortable. He’s freezing. The frigid air bites at his cheeks and the thin cartilage of his ears. The tip of his nose stings, and his fur is cold when he tries to rub warmth back into his face.

What the utter fuck? It definitely wasn't this cold when they went to sleep last night. His eyes flutter open to spot Lance sleeping a few dashes away.

Keith pulls the insufficient comforter over his ears, trying in vain to warm himself.

“Lance… Lance…” He reaches over, pokes his spouse.

“Mnh.” The Altean stirs, more protesting than anything else.

“Lance, why’s it so cold in here?!”

Lance blinks awake. It is indeed freezing. He can see his own breath when he exhales. “Keith? Beloved? Did you leave the garden doors open last night?”

Keith peeks out from the blankets to check. “Fuck.”

“They’re wide open, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the worst. Okay, stay here.” Lance throws back the blankets, rolls his eyes at Keith's subsequent outcry. “Baby.”

“You’re the baby!” Keith curls into a ball, freezing.

“What was that? Leave for breakfast and let you deal with our freezing cold bedroom?”

“You’re the best?”

“Damn quiznaking right.” Lance closes the garden doors, latches them shut. “I’ll even get a fire going.”

Keith listens as the crackle builds. After a moment, Lance crawls back into the bed, right up against him, curled around his smaller frame. “Don’t even complain. You leave the doors open, you deal with clingy Lance and his cold, cold toes.”

Keith snuggles down into the blankets, not minding a bit as their shared heat begins to build between them. “Please don’t let me do that again,” he mumbles. “I honestly hate the cold.”

“Hm. I love it. I like to be warm in it, but I do love it.”

“Disgusting.”

Lance giggles, settles in, face pressed right up against Keith's neck. He has to nose away locks of hair and the line of thick fur running down Galra prince's neck and back so he can breath, but it's a small matter.

The truth is, Lance has missed this proximity. Going from promiscuous and never without company to married to Keith has been a transition. Never mind the beating his libido has taken; that doesn't really matter in the long run. But he misses being close to people. He misses feeling the warmth of another body. And Keith is very warm. His heat sinks into Lance's bones with every breath.

Unbeknownst to him, Keith doesn't mind the proximity either. It reminds him of his den back home, curled up with his littermate or with his mother. It feels like family, like kinship, like Lance has filled a bit of that gap in his chest.

When the room is warm again, Lance reluctantly shakes Keith out of his doze. “It frosted in the night. Do you want to see?”

Keith sighs, reluctant to move, reluctant to leave.

“Might as well.”

Keith’s hatred for the cold is quickly forgotten.

Frost actually is beautiful. Everything -the ground, the singing tree, the bumblemoths clinging to the branches- is covered in frost, the water leached out, crystallizing into a fine layer of white.

Keith’s ears twitch, tail swinging back and forth, eyes alight with curiosity as he crouches at the edge of the frosted earth. He reaches out to tough the frost, but it disintegrates beneath his warm hand, the delicate formations fading before they can even meet his skin. Keith giggles, delighted, and tries it again.

Lance leans against the doors, smiling as he watches his spouse enjoy something new. He wishes there were more moments like this, where Keith can be a kit, be himself. He looks lovely, even if-

“Your hair looks like a nest.”

“Oh, fuck off. Silly prince.”

Lance just snickers, tugs on a tangled lock of dark hair. Keith tries to smack his hands away, but Lance simply catches one, presses a kiss to the back of it. “I’m glad you like the frost, beloved.”

“Hm.” Keith smiles, eyes averted. Then they light up again. “I wonder what the grotto looks like right now!”

“Wanna go see? Vetroneius is probably done with our cloaks by now and first frost is an unspoken holiday. Nobody will be working, so we have an excuse.”

“Okay!” Keith bounces up, practically dancing inside to find some clothes.

Lance grins, turning to watch him go. He lifts his eyes to the Ancients. Just for today, he prays. Just for today, let him be himself.

Keith does his best not to skip, wrapped up in thick clothes and a new cloak, the layers of fine leather and cloth trapping heat close to his skin. The frost crunches beneath his boots, clings to his clothes where they brush against the ground, against the trunks of the trees.

It's so still. He can hear Lance's heartbeat, hear his quiet laughter as Keith admires the ice crystals dangling from the tree branches.

The grotto is covered in a layer of white frost, the small creatures frozen in the ice. The pool is completely iced over, frozen over the past movement, solidified during the night. Keith’s first instinct, naturally, is to stand on the ice, which Lance indulges even though he knows it will only end with Keith slipping and falling.

Which he does. Almost immediately. Lance grins, leans over his fallen spouse. “Having fun?”

Keith laughs, laying back on the ice, braided hair trailing over the ice. “Yes, actually. I’ve seen frost before, when it gets cold at night. It’s normal. But this.” Keith raises his arms, hands gesturing to the crystalline structures glittering on the ceiling. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Lance settles next to his spouse, lowering himself carefully onto the ice, his cloak offering a protective layer. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Altea is beautiful… Daibazaal is beautiful, too, you know. It’s violent and inhospitable and the kriinli’i turn their prey inside out and hang them from trees, but it’s… natural. Everything here feels cultivated and artificial. On Daibazaal, everything feels wild. It grows how it wants.

“This frost reminds me of that. It does what it wants, and nothing stands in its way. It’s so delicate, but so stubborn. Like home.”

Lance smiles. “I can’t wait to see it. I’ve wanted to for a long time now. Maybe we’ll go there for your season. Adam says you’ll need rest after, so we could stay for a few movements. Maybe a phoeb.”

“Really?” Keith turns his head to look at him. Lance has spoken of this before, but Keith hadn't put stock in it at the time. “You- You’d actually do that? You’d let me go home?”

“I’m not letting you go home. I want you to go home. I want you to be happy and hold onto the people you had the leave behind. I imagine you feel like a prisoner here.”

“Not- Not all the time! Not when it’s just us,” Keith mumbles. “Or our friends,” he adds hastily. He doesn’t want to make this harder.

Lance hums, staring at the ice curled over the ceiling of the grotto. He’s not sure how to respond to that. There’s a few minutes of silence, then Keith speaks again.

“I-” Keith’s throat tightens momentarily. He finds Lance’s hand, grips it tight. “I’d really, really like to go home. Just for a little while.”

“You will.” Lance squeezes back, shifts to press that hand to his lips. He can hear the heartache in Keith’s voice. “I promise, beloved. Just hang on for me, alright? A few more phoebs; that's it. We need to get through the winter, and then we’ll go.”

“Okay. I'm here. Whatever you need.” Keith means that. He means it with ever beat of his hearts.

On the walk back through the frozen forest, Lance keeps an arm around Keith’s shoulders. It does absolutely nothing to help against the cold, but Keith leans into it anyway, grateful. He just has to make it through winter. Then his final growth will start and he’ll be able to go home for a while. All he has to do is make it through the winter.

"Allura will be so excited to see you," he whispers.

"I know. I can't wait." Lance grins. "And I'll get to meet your mom. That'll be so cool. I bet she'll hate me."

"Oh, she will," Keith mumbles, smiling sheepishly. He can't help but think of his mother threatening to slaughter the overbred little whore. "But I think you'll grow on her. Y'know, like a wart or maybe a cancer."

"Wow, thanks so much, beloved. You're rotten to the core, you know that?"

"Nah, I'm just honest. She really will grow to like you, though. She likes good people."

"Aw, thanks beloved." Lance gives his spouse a squeeze. "If she's anything like you, I bet I'll like her, too."

"She's better than me," Keith whispers, allowing Lance to help his through the gap in the wall. "She's braver, and fierce, and she's so loyal."

"Loyal to what?"

"Freedom. That's what she wants. She wants more freedom for my people. They're expected to birth at least five kits in one centaphoeb, required to serve two centaphoebs in the military-"

"Wait. Five kits? In one centaphoeb? That's insane!"

"Expected. They're encouraged to try for eight. It is a lot, especially since the physical output for a season is already immense. But you need people to expand an empire, and kits don't birth themselves."

"Hm." Lance knows they need to discuss these things, and soon. But this day is for Keith. He wants it to be stress- and worry-free. Just one day.

The Galra prince hurries ahead, clearly eager to get warm again. He turns to Lance with a grin. "Are you coming or what, Altean?"

Lance chuckles, hastens his steps. Just one day. Thank the Ancients for just one day.