#I don’t like to get mad at bad internet takes but I slow blinked so . new record

[detective-piplup]

I think I just saw someone not know what the “rare” in rarepair meant. they tried to say rarepair =/= uncommon/unpopular ship. im too tired for this

[writingbeary]

Ice cream Incident

Note: Set around Year 2019

────────── ♔ ──────────

The members were on VLIVE to hang out with fans before the fan meeting in the afternoon. They all had an icecream of their choice in hand as they share stories with Atiny to pass time. Minyoung, seated beside Jongho and Wooyoung, was so focused on what Hongjoong was saying that she didn't notice Wooyoung take a bit of her ice cream until it was too late. She gasped, looking at her hand with the cone to find it almost gone.

San who noticed what happened across the table laughed while Wooyoung munches on his loot. Minyoung kept quiet and started eating her icecream, suddenly feeling down.

Hongjoong noticed a flood of comments asking about Minyoung as fans saw what happened and the visible change of her mood was apparent even when she is far from the camera.

Hongjoong sighed turning to Wooyoung “Wooyoung-ah, what did you do now?”

“What?” Wooyoung looked around confused

San snickered bearing witness to all that happened. “He took a big bite out of Minyoung's icecream."

Jongho looked at Minyoung noticing her eyes getting teary “Oh no no. No crying. Young-ah... Should we buy another one?” he asked using his sleeve to tap on her lower eyes, as if to wipe the tears threatening to fall.

“Minyoung-ah, here you can have my icecream” Seonghwa offered the cone to the girl hoping it’ll cheer her up while shook her head finishing hers.

Wooyoung finally realizing that Minyoung wasn’t in the mood to play along with him and the severity of the situation he caused panicked, immediately going over to the girl rubbing his hands together begging for forgiveness. “I was kidding. Oh no. Please dont cry. I was just kidding around! Minyoung-ah. Don’t cry please. Oppa would buy you a new one. What do you want? I’ll run to the store and get it for you.”

Yeosang shook his head at his long-time friend as he thought his jokes finally went overboard. “Get her the same one and apologize to her.”

Fans were amused but also concerned why a seemingly harmless joke and a simple situation made Minyoung upset. Some were saying she was overreacting for a joke while others defend her by saying she is still young and something that seems simple to one person might impact another differently.

“It’s okay Wooyoung-oppa. No need to buy a new one.” Minyoung shook her head, blinking the tears in her eyes. Jongho looked at Wooyoung frowning a bit as if scolding the older guy for making Minyoung upset.

“Sorry. Here you can hit me and then I’ll get you new snacks.” Wooyoung turned Minyoung’s chair towards him as he crouched down offering his arm for the girl to hit. “Or...if you want you can have Jongho flick me on the forehead.” he winced a bit at the thought but gaining your forgiveness is his top priority right now. 

The live long forgotten by the members as they watched the scene before them, half amused that Wooyoung would even offer to get hit by Jongho and half curious how Minyoung would react. Minyoung shook her head and hugged Wooyoung instead and patted his arm motioning for him to go back to hi seat. Confused and concerned that the girl is still mad at him, he returned to his seat but kept on glancing at her.

Yunho who was seating beside him said loud enough for Wooyoung to hear him but soft enough to not be caught on the camera “You bad person. If you will be feeling this guilty then why did you do it?” Wooyoung whipped his head to Yunho’s direction to find him grinning teasingly.

“I didn’t know she wasn’t in the mood to joke around. If I knew, I wouldn’t have done it either.” Wooyoung argued back under his breathe

The rest of their live went by fast as everyone changed topics and directed the focus on the fan meeting that is happening later. Minyoung was still oddly quiet, her head leaning against Jongho’s arm while Wooyoung felt bad that he made her upset, wracked his brain on what he’ll do to cheer her up.

As soon they ended broadcast, Wooyoung immediately ran off with one mission in mind: Buy Minyoung snacks she likes and ask for her forgiveness. He wouldn’t consider the mission a success until she smiles and laughs along with him.

The rest of ATEEZ surprised at what happened chuckled before checking on the girl making sure she is doing okay.

“Bun, is everything okay?” Hongjoong approached the girl patting her head lightly.

“Mhm. I didn’t really mean to be upset. It’s just...it just happened.” Minyoung sighed rubbing her hands nervously “Sorry. I kinda ruined the live. I’m really fine though, oppa.” 

Hongjoong smiled reassuring the girl that she didn’t ruin anything “As long as you’re really feeling okay.”

Wooyoung came back with a bunch of strawberry-flavored snacks and just in time before they had to move to the hall where the fan meeting will happen. Minyoung’s seat is in between Wooyoung's and Jongho's so it was easier for him to hand the bag to her. 

“Minyoung-ah~ Here I bought you a lot of snacks. They’re all yours.” Wooyoung placed the bag on her lap, before taking his seat beside her glancing at her reaction. He wasn’t sure if the girl is still upset and he doesn’t want to risk anything by starting a conversation. Minyoung mumbled a thank you before opening the pack of pepero. She wasn’t really upset at Wooyoung anymore. She was more embarrassed that she reacted as she did, and infront of a camera with their fans bearing witness to the scene.

Noticing Wooyoung’s obvious glances, Minyoung giggled poking his cheek and placing a pepero stick on his mouth. “It’s okay oppa. I wasn’t really upset with you anymore.”

Wooyoung’s face lit up upon hearing that as he munched the snack fed to him. “Really? Am I forgiven now?” 

Nodding, Minyoung smiled and was surprised when Wooyoung enveloped her into a tight hug. “Sorry. I won’t do it anymore Minyoungie~” he said in a voice laced with slight aegyo, the girl only laughing and hugging him back

The rest of the members were relieved that the two made up before the event started. They really didn’t want to deal with a desparate Wooyoung trying to gain the attention of Minyoung, in addition to their busy schedule today.

Fans melted when they saw the interaction between Wooyoung and Minyoung, both on the event itself and people who saw clips on the internet. 

Comments:

[+92] Our baby bunny (mintokki) is forever our baby

[+35, -5] So they already made up? I saw the live and I’m reminded of when my sibling and I fight kekeke

[+40, -2] Jongho looked ready to flick Wooyoung when it happened too lol

[+136] Let us protect these precious babies.

[+5] our minyoungie making 7 men panic when she teared up

[+42, -56] another nickname get for MINYOUNG: UlboYoung (crybaby + minyoung)

This incident would forever be remembered by ATEEZ and the fans as the day where Wooyoung continuously clung unto Minyoung being really affectionate with her while the latter just lets out a smile, giggling from time to time. It is also a moment that the members would bring out as an example, calling it icecream incident, whenever they get into a discussion on who Minyoung likes the best among ATEEZ.

────────── ♔ ──────────

ATEEZ Minyoung Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. Any portrayal of real people is a combination based on what we could see on cameras and imagination of the author. This is purely fan fiction written for entertainment. Thank you for understanding.

━━━━━━ʕ ˵• ₒ •˵ ʔ━━━━━━

Writing Beary Corner

Full disclosure. This was going to be a really short post like a drabble or chat type of post at first around less than 500 words then somehow this turned into a 1000+ words post before I knew it. HAHA I also originally wanted to use San as the member who ate the ice cream as this was inspired by their actual live before where Seonghwa just looked to the camera in disbelief when San took a bite out of his ice cream lol

I’ll probably take it slow with the Kingdom updates to avoid spoiling anyone since I tend to write the reactions of the groups for the performance and just adding on to them.

Thank you for reading  ♡

-Mimi

13

[jujutsubabe]

Consequential choices

Synopsis: You and Itadori play a dating sim!

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: I love Itadori ❤️ that is all. Thank you.

————

“Nice try. I won’t let a creep like you get the chance!” A girl on the console harrumphed before the choices at the bottom of the screen popped up.

Itadori sat up, squinting at the tv, gripping his controller and flicking between the two options. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, looking between the options and you.

You looked up from your phone, “Just pick one, we already messed up her route...”

He flicked his thumb down. “No...I’m gonna win this...”

“But Itadori we have more points with the uh...uhm what’s her name? blonde—“

“Mizuki.”

“Yeah, her! let’s try to go for Mizuki instead!”

He glanced at you before pouting and leaning back onto you. The two of you sat on the couch, him laying right atop of you and craning his neck at an unhealthy degree to see the screen.

He had been playing this dating sim, trying to unlock as many routes as possible before the day ended. So far there were three out of seven unlocked...

It was kind of nice, having Itadori turn around like an expectant puppy, ready to get your opinion on his decisions. He was always a tad too impulsive to win any of the routes. Just skipping the dialogue too quick and immediately misclicking on a bad choice with an annoyed groan.

You couldn’t blame him, with the long dialogues and easy skip button it was easy to mess up. But you were at least able to pace him as he played so he didn’t ruin the route’s you two worked on.

The game wasn’t as easy as it seemed, some characters easier to unlock than others, but this character in particular, the classic pink haired tsundere girl, named Aiko would not budge. She always shot down the answers you thought were so right and got offended if you chose something flirty.

At one point you started looking up the answers online, giving Itadori hints as he nodded along.

“Huh? No way...Our interest score went up like almost a hundred did you see that!” He turned to you with a bright smile before pressing a kiss onto your face, “You’re really good at this...”

Every time he did that, it just made your heart swell. He unconsciously did something cute to you whenever the score went up, it made your ego boost up too high, almost as if It was a reward.

When he found out about your little answer sheet, he shook his head, saying it wasn’t fun if you were “cheating.” Making you two continue without a guide.

So it only made sense that you would get a few answers right before deaccelerating and only choosing answers that got negative results. You and Itadori would wince when you saw your like meter shake as it went down, it always hit a littler harder when you could see the point loss.

Your choices all led up to here, what started with a good roll of fifty points went down to ten. You glanced at him, there was no way you could win her over, everything you said or did just made her uninterested in your character, but Itadori was really set on this.

He continued to flip between the two choices, “I’m just gonna do it.”

You held your breath as he shut his eyes and clicked on an option. The screen loaded, processing your answer, ever so slowly. He peeked his eyes through, the both of you holding all the air in the room

*network failure*

Your mouth popped open and Itadori did a double take at the screen. Blinking quickly as you turned to him and the tv. The words shined across, with no intent on changing.

“Is that... Did—did you save!?” You flipped your head his way, sweat starting to build up when he didn’t look back at you.

He stared at the screen with wide eyes like the tv said something to offend him, giving the network failure his full attention. His controller laid loosely in his grip, like he would drop it at any second.

“Itadori.” You pinched his arm and he turned his head.

“I... I think so. Hold on.” He moved to the console, turning it off and on again, the both of you silently hoping it would work.

You chewed on your nails as he kneeled by the tv, the both of you were way too deep invested in this game.

You didn’t remember the last time Itadori saved, there weren’t too many save points in the game, it was just a “make sure you don’t forget before you log off” kind of game.

You had been playing for hours, if any of your routes got undone you were going to lose your mind.

The screen popped back on, the main menu and characters moved across the screen. It took a second before the load files came up, no time zones on them though.

Itadori stood up, standing in front of it like an old dad watching his football game. (Why do men do this...) He loaded the game and before you knew it, a familiar song from one of the scenes played and Itadori groaned.

“What happened? I cant see, move over.”

He stood to the side, “It restarted to the sleepover.”

You cocked your head at the scene, it was the same route you were going for, with the pink haired girl, but this was one of the scenes that showed up before you messed up.

During this scene the two of you had multiple chances to get on her good side, but continued to get her mad as it went on. It all went downhill from this point.

You gasped when your eyes flickered to the stats. “Itadori!”

“I’ts bad but I can fix it...” He rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed.

“No! I mean look at the bar! We’re back to fifty, we have a chance to win.”

He blinked back, his eyes flying past all of the high scores you had with her. You two hadn’t seen it like this in so long, it gave way more adrenaline than needed.

The scene settled on a few of the characters huddled into a classic “truth or dare” circle. It panned to Mizuki, her text filling out on the bottom of the screen.

“So... [player jizzman33],” Itadori smiled like that was the funniest thing on the planet, “it’s your turn. Do you choose truth or dare?” She asked.

Then the options popped up with a small timer clicking on the side. It was going by so fast, you had fifteen seconds to choose your answer.

You scrunched up your brow, not feeling any better when Itadori looked back at you for an answer. The last time you two did it, you chose an option that made the girl you were going for sneer and leave the party, decking your points by thirty.

You racked your mind for something, you had done this scene so many times with the other girls you needed to think hard for her.

“With brunette she liked truth, cause we confessed to her... and then....”

“Uhhh babe?” Itadori gestured to the timer and you waved him off. “It’s at ten.”

You continued mumbling, “blue hair liked truth cause we got closer to her... and then the green haired girl wanted dare... or was that Aiko?”

Your eyes flickered to the clock like it was a bomb.

Five seconds...

You knew this was beyond dramatic but at this point all cares were dropped. You literally had a chance to fix your mistakes, how were you going to let it slip?

You clicked your tongue, you forgot which option she wanted. You had gotten her route mixed up with another girls, trying to differentiate which girl wanted which choice.

Three seconds...

“I think I’ll randomly choose one...” Itadori pinched one of his eyes closed as he moved the stick.

He needed to do anything but that. You started connecting the dots a little faster, almost feeling your thoughts racing inside your head.

Everything went in slow motion as Itadori’s finger hovered over the ‘X’ button. This was more work than any game you’ve played, every decision led to your heart either being crushed or absolutely delighted.

Your leg jittered as you bit your nails, this was going to make you age a few more years, how is this stress healthy for anyone. Why would someone create a game this stress inducing??

That was when something spiked into your brain. Like a quick uppercut, you got it immediately, the planets aligned themselves and all was understood in the universe.

With at least a second to spare you couldn’t doubt the supposed answer now.

You jumped up, way more eager than you tried to be. “It’s Dare! Pick dare!”

He clicked eyes with you before switching his choice and pressing it in an instant. There was no time to check on your answer, he fully trusted you.

As soon as he selected the screen loaded, and the both of you held your breaths again, eyes focused onto the television.

“Ah dare huh? So brave, you’re the first person to pick that...” the Mizuki smiled, “I dare you to kiss the person sitting next to you.”

The screen turned to the person next to you, which happened to be Aiko, “W-well if we have to! You’re the first person to pick dare so whatever.”

There was a cut scene as she gave the main character a quick peck on the cheek before pulling away.

“Don’t take that as anything but a dare! P-pervert...”

Then the stats shot up as hearts flew across her screen. The score went up by twenty more, and it got closer to the goal than you could have imagined.

You and Itadori turned between each other and the screen. Faces absolutely wide in shock and joy, the both of you felt so happy you thought you could cry.

It was such an earned promotion, you felt proud being able to bring that victory to the table.

Itadori turned to give you a hug but froze, quickly turning back around to quick save the game. After it loaded then he came to you, wrapping you up in a very tight squeeze.

“We did so good!” You giggled when he kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of us!” Kiss again, “I knew we could do it!” Kiss kiss kiss. He smothered your face in kisses, practically pressing his face into your cheeks and squishing you even more.

You smiled as he attacked your face with pecks all over your cheeks.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the internet went out again...

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit Part 11

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Hi there. Thanks for sticking with this story. We’re making our way towards the end, slowly but surely. Thanks for the awesome gif, illuminated-blue. Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, discussions about death (I put *** at the beginning and end), brief mention of unhealthy coping mechanisms…

The rest of the day had been great, even though it was passing by at a painfully slow rate. You had appointments that were a piece of cake, or none at all, and you spent every free second you had with Milo. You couldn’t just sit in your office and think about Billie all day, so you resorted to spending time outside playing fetch with your dog. It’s not like you didn’t think about Billie Dean out here as well, but it was less overwhelming when Milo begged for your attention every 10 seconds. You were just grateful that this side of the building was hidden from the parking lot that the reporters had set up shop in.

You didn’t have it in you to deal with them.

You knew you had it coming though after the photo and story that was released had said in no uncertain terms that you had spent the night with Billie. You didn’t regret it at all, but you just wished that you could have just one day to bask in your changing relationship before it was in the tabloids.

Unfortunately, you’d made the mistake of reading what everyone was saying about you. Now your mood had transitioned from hot and bothered to just plain bothered. You knew that you weren’t anything too special, but some of the things that you were being called—it was just mean. You sigh as Milo comes running back toward you with his tennis ball. You go to take it from him when he decides that he’d rather play by himself. He runs away a little before dropping the ball on the ground and smacking it away. You laugh at this and roll your eyes at your ridiculous dog.

Since Milo wasn’t really in the mood to play anymore, at least with you, you sit down on the bench and take out your phone. At first you just look at your messages and then emails. You and Billie had agreed that if work didn’t tire you out too much, you’d see each other tonight. This was as far as you’d gotten in planning, and you were fine with that for now. You found your way to the internet, and again are too curious for your own good. You search for yourself and start going through the surprising number of results.

Some of them you haven’t seen, but one in particular grabs your attention in the worst way possible. You stiffen before staring at the article in an attempt to figure out if your suspicions are correct.

Billie Dean Howard Helping Another Find Peace?

You only read the first few sentences before you stuff your phone back into your pocket and stand up to go inside. It’s nearing the end of the day and it’s close enough that you decide to feed Milo now. You want to take your mind off what you just saw, and luckily Milo is all for it.

“Hey, Milo! Dinner time.”

Unsurprisingly, Milo abandons his tennis ball for the promise of food.

Billie Dean is watching the news and scrolling through her phone when you call her. She had Mickey in her lap and was just getting him to fall back asleep when her phone rang. She silenced it quickly but when she realized it was you, she smiled widely.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Billie.”

Billie’s smile fades as she recognizes your tone and hears the distinct sniffle on the other end of the line. She confirms that it’s only 6:45 before deducing that you must be at home already. Or at least not at work.

“Y/N. What’s wrong?”

You sigh as you shake your head before blinking tears out of your eyes. You shouldn’t have read that damn article, but the second you got home you hadn’t been able to resist. Now you were crying again and probably ruining Billie’s plans for the night.

“I read something that—someone dug up a lot about me and now I feel horrible.”

You hate yourself for not being able to give Billie a better answer, but it was the best you could do. Honestly you felt like crying in frustration.  You weren’t sure why simply reading the facts about something that you were so intimately familiar with affected you this way, but it did. It was like reliving it all again, and this on top of what Billie had told you was too much. Your usual sadness and loneliness quicky turned into guilt that became paranoia. After what Billie had told you, you felt like you were being watched and this set you on edge.

For this reason, you were actually hiding in the bathroom with Milo. He had followed you and was now sitting with his head in your lap as you wiped away your tears. Given how prudish your dad had been when it came to talking about certain things, you figured that the bathroom was somewhere he wouldn’t follow you.

“What did you read?”

You tell Billie about the article you found and you don’t realize that she’s pulled it up on her computer until she reads the title. You cringe as she says it but confirm it nevertheless, and you wait for a minute while Billie reads it.

Billie isn’t sure what to expect, but the title pretty much said it all. Her worry becomes anger as she reads the details about your dad’s death. You hadn’t told her all of this, and she wasn’t sure how the author had figured it out. She didn’t have to ask if it was true though because your reaction was telling enough. She didn’t think you’d be this upset if it wasn’t at least mostly accurate.

God this was horrible. Even after meeting your dad and talking to him a little, she hadn’t expected this.

Billie decided that sorting through all of this new information wasn’t the most important thing right now. She shut off the news that she just realized was still running before preparing to stand up.

“Where are you now?”

Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You stand up and head downstairs, leaving the bathroom that you’d been hiding in for almost an hour.  You watched as Milo darted out into the hall and down the stairs, undoubtedly heading for the door. You couldn’t summon up the same amount of enthusiasm despite wanting to see Billie again. You had been looking forward to this moment all day, but you hadn’t thought this would be your mood.

When you open the door to see Billie standing there it took all of your willpower not to cry. Once you saw how concerned she was you had to look away as you stepped back to let her in. Milo greeted her with a tail wag and a quick lick to an offered hand. You smile before closing the door behind the medium and shooting her a grateful and somehow guilty look.

“Thanks for coming by Billie. You didn’t have to.”

You immediately cringe at how that sounded, but you don’t have time to take it back before Billie’s shaking her head. She’s watching you carefully as you lock the door with a sigh. She turns slightly when she feels Milo pushing her hand with his head, and she starts to pet him before following you into the kitchen.

“I know I didn’t, but I was worried about you, Y/N.”

You just duck your head into the refrigerator to get something for the two of you to drink. You immediately reach for the alcohol with too wide of a smile.

“It’s okay, really. I’m fine, I just needed to vent. Wine?”

Billie watches as you take several things out of the fridge and place them on the counter. She sighs before taking off her jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. She stood behind it for a second before deciding to move into the kitchen with you.

“It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know? You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You sigh as you stop pouring yourself a too full glass before shaking your head. You finally manage to look Billie in the eye again, but not for long. Your gaze quickly darts around the room before finding Milo sitting behind you.

“It feels like too many of them are bad.”

This was true because besides some of the days you spent with Billie and the better days you had at work, it seemed like you were always in a rotten mood. You were never good at just sitting around because your mind wandered to the most random things or you would obsess about things you didn’t want to think about.

You watch as Billie moves a little closer to you, and you don’t pull away when she reaches out for your hand. You actually sigh as you manage to look back to the blonde who is shooting you a smile that makes you feel so undeserving of her time and attention. You just kept complaining about the same things. How did she have the patience for you?

“That’s okay, dear. You are allowed as many bad days as you need.”

You release the glass that you’d practically had in a death grip to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. You shake your head before squeezing Billie’s hand with a grateful look.

“I know, I just…You shouldn’t have to listen to me a--.”

You’re cut off by Billie’s hand releasing yours as she shakes her head. She pushes some stray hair behind your ear with a smile that makes you heart race.

“Y/N. I’m here for the good and the bad, okay?”

You abandon the wine in front of you and wordlessly walk around the counter to where Billie is. She just waits until you hold your arms out before pulling you into her embrace. You immediately feel better and can’t help but want to stay here forever. Luckily Billie doesn’t rush you, and you stay like that for at least a few minutes before you collect yourself and shake your head.

After getting both you and Billie something to drink, you sit in the living room for a while just talking a little bit about your days. You’d already caught up mostly, but you were really buying your time and trying to get comfortable with the idea of finally coming clean. You had sat down across from Billie because you wanted to make sure that you had a clear head when you made this decision. You needed to get this off your chest because it was driving you mad. You also feel like you owe Billie an explanation after keeping her hanging for so long.

Billie just watches as you come to your decision. She pets Milo absentmindedly from where he’s sitting next to her. You’d given him a look as he’d jumped up on the couch, but made no move to scold him. Now he was lying down curled up next to Billie with his head on her leg and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your attention turns back to Billie, and once you realize how long you’d been lost in thought you blush slightly. It takes you a second before you manage a smile and sit up with a sigh. You eye Billie and then Milo with a shrug.

“Talk about what exactly?”

You aren’t playing dumb because you know that doesn’t work. You are merely asking for specifics because in your head there are a lot of different things that you and Billie could talk about. There were a lot of things that you had promised to tell her, and now was the time. You just weren’t sure where to start.

Billie just smiles as she brushes her hand over Milo’s ears making him close his eyes. She could tell that you had a lot that you wanted to get out into the open, but she didn’t want you to get overwhelmed. She just shrugged before saying the only thing she could think of that was encouraging, yet not too pushy.

“We can talk about whatever you want, Y/N.”

You smile immediately at this because there were plenty of things you’d like to talk about with Billie. Many of them more pleasant than what you had planned, but instead you just sit up in your seat before putting your glass on the table. You didn’t want it too close because then you’d be tempted to empty it.

“Well since you read the article, I guess you know everything about what happened.”

Billie watches with a frown as your head drops and you grimace at the mention of the damned article. She had wanted to call some people and try to get it taken down, but it occurred to her that she didn’t know if it was accurate or not. This would certainly affect her success, but what she was most concerned with now was you. Here and now.

Billie just nodded before she offered a verbal response since you still weren’t looking at her.

“I wasn’t sure how much of it was true, or if I could sue them.”

Despite yourself, you smile at the thought of Billie going up against the damn tabloid. You shook your head before looking up to see Billie smiling at you in a way that made you want to roll your eyes. You almost forgot about what you had to disclose before you opened your mouth to respond.

“As much as I would love to see that…Most of what they said was true.”

You took a moment to gather your courage before you sighed and started your story.

***

You’d already told Billie about what had killed your dad. How he’d had the disease for years when you were growing up, so it was easy for you to forget how serious it was. The way your dad never really seemed concerned about anything made it too easy to not notice what was happening right in front of you.

When you were almost out of high school, his condition had started to decline. His vision was getting worse and his feet hurt more and more. Again, you were so busy with school and your friends that you didn’t notice the new more comfortable shoes, or the way that he didn’t clean dishes as well. It was all just old age to you, until he told you that his numbers were bad.

This is what he’d always said, and you never really knew what numbers he was talking about until you’d bothered to ask. It was his blood pressure and sugar that were so alarmingly high that your dad started to actually take his medication.

By the time you started vet school, you still believed that he was taking his meds. He was exercising more and eating healthy, and you believed he was doing better. That he was getting better.

When you got to this part of the story you had to stop. Your voice had already broken a few times talking about your dad, but now you had to take a break. You had to take a deep breath and steel yourself for what you said next. This was something that you hadn’t told anyone, not even your sisters.

“I thought that he was getting better. He seemed to be, but then I--.”

You trail off as you close your eyes and take deep shuddering breath. You don’t realize that your eyes are tearing up until you open them at the sound of Milo jumping off the couch. You smile as you watch him come over to you and rub his head on your leg with a whine. He sits down next to you waiting to be pet or instructed, but you just shake your head before pointing to the ground next to you.

“It’s okay, Milo.”

You wait until Milo lies down next to you watching you closely as you manage a smile. You wipe your tears away before continuing, not noticing as Billie smiles at Milo’s actions.

“The article was right. I mean—I called the police after I found him upstairs, and I was crying so much I could…I could barely tell them what happened.”

You start to cry harder and you miss Billie standing up as you wipe your eyes again with a frustrated groan. This wasn’t going well at all. You sigh in defeat when you feel the cushion beneath you sink with Billie’s weight, and you turn to her immediately with a shake of your head.

“I was too shocked to realize I was technically a suspect, and I—well they wouldn’t let me walk Milo and when they told me why it still didn’t--.”

You don’t even bother trying to fight it and you’re crying freely now as you reach out for Billie’s offered hand. You squeeze it tightly before taking a few seconds to calm down. When you continue, your voice is a little steadier.

“I couldn’t believe it. Like I said, I thought he was getting better, and being blindsided like that---I blamed myself, I guess I still do.”

Billie opens her mouth to argue, but you beat her to it as you quickly continue your confession.

“I know you said-well that he said it wasn’t my fault, but I just can’t forgive myself for not seeing it.”

Billie frowns in confusion and disappointment. She wasn’t quite sure what you were talking about, but she also was certain that there was nothing you could have done. Your dad had said as much, and from your story, it was clear that your dad has been a stubborn man. He was going to do what he wanted.

“What didn’t you see?”

You are a little surprised by how heatedly you respond to Billie’s question. You yank your hand away to wipe your eyes as you stand up quicky. You shake your head before you start pacing, and Billie can only watch as you start ranting.

“Everything! Billie, I missed all of the signs! He was getting worse—he was hurting and I didn’t even notice! How could I...?”

You trail off as you feel a hand brush against yours as you pass by the couch. You turn to Billie who’s shooting you a pleading, yet cautious look. You don’t quite understand why until she looks away from you for a moment.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. It sounds like your dad hid these things from you because he didn’t want you to worry.”

You nearly scoff at this, but not because of Billie. The idea that your dad hid things from you only to have it backfire like this…that was scoff-worthy. You don’t get a chance though before Billie’s looking back to something—then turns to you with a sad smile.

“All of those secrets? Those are on him, and he knows that.”

Billie stands up and takes a step closer to you. She doesn’t do anything but hold your hand as she takes a deep breath.

“You weren’t responsible for his actions. He was your father and it was his job to take care of you. He wants to apologize for failing you.”

You start crying harder and you leave the living room, pulling Billie along with you, to the kitchen. You grab a box of Kleenex before accidentally running into the counter. You curse before dropping Billie’s hand, reaching for your side with a grimace.

“Shit! I don’t—why is he apologizing to me?”

Billie sighs as she listens for a minute before trying to figure out how to word your dad’s response. He was crying a little too at this point, but Billie wasn’t sure if she should tell you this. It would probably make you even more upset.

“He hates that he left you alone, and that he didn’t do a better job of taking care of you.”

You shake your head as you bury your face in too many tissues. You think about how alone you felt in that big house with only Milo to keep you company. You think about how long you had to stay there to get everything in order before moving out here. Most importantly, you think about how empty you felt and still feel because of your dad’s absence. Not having him in your life all of a sudden was something you still hadn’t really adjusted to.

You’d dealt with this loneliness by turning it into guilt that you realize wasn’t even justified.

As if hearing what you’re thinking, Billie says the last thing you need to hear.

“It wasn’t your fault he was so sick, Y/N.”

You practically start sobbing at this before you shake your head in denial. You walk back to the couch, sitting down and completely ignoring Milo who is pawing at you in concern. You don’t even know if Billie is near you before you start talking, well you try to talk.

“Y-es it was! I was supposed to ta-take care of him. I shouldn’t have let him-!”

Billie cuts you off because both you and your dad are getting more upset, and she’s afraid you’ve missed his point.

“You were not responsible for his health, sweetheart. He didn’t mean to make you feel like you were. He knows that’s not fair to put such a burden on you.”

You want to say that it didn’t feel like a burden. That you didn’t worry when you watched your dad eat something particularly unhealthy or complain about not seeing the mess he left on the counter. You sniffle pitifully as you shake your head out of a lack of anything better to do. You don’t know what to say at this point. You’re at a loss because even after all of this you still felt guilty.

You felt guilty about not seeing what was happening, and you felt guilty about not doing your job. Your dad had jokingly said one day that his doctor had told him to put you in charge of his diet. Since you had been the most responsible of your siblings it was your job to make sure he ate right.

You didn’t realize until right now how much pressure and stress that put on you, and if you weren’t already sitting down you would have collapsed at the realization. You felt guilty alright, but not just about what you’d mentioned.

You felt guilty because you were so angry.

You wouldn’t let yourself admit it because it made you feel awful, but you had been angry when your dad died. You had thought he was getting better, and to find out that he wasn’t, that he hadn’t tried hard enough, or he’d started too late made you so mad that you couldn’t put it into words. You were mad at him for leaving you without warning, and for making all of your efforts meaningless. None of it had made a difference.

You didn’t realize that Billie had come sit next to you until you go to lie down. You’re crying miserably into your hands at this point and there really is no stopping it now. You’ve opened the floodgates and you feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

You end up lying down in Billie’s lap as you cry for your dad who had always supported you, even when you were wrong. You cry because you will miss him for too many reasons to count. You never really thought about your wedding before, but the idea of him not being there to walk you down the aisle made you cry impossibly harder.

How were you going to live the rest of your life without him?

***

Billie was running her fingers through your hair as you slept peacefully. After tiring yourself out, you’d fallen asleep in Billie’s lap for probably the fifth time since you’d met her and had been practically comatose since. Milo had barked a couple of times to be let out, but Billie didn’t want to risk waking you. Instead, she told Milo to sit and hoped that he would just continue to stare at you two instead of bark, or god forbid go pee somewhere.

It was getting late and Billie was trying to figure out how to get up without waking you when you finally started to stir. You groan in exhaustion and pain, you were still pretty damn sore, before you sat up. You realized that your pillow was actually Billie and you blinked the sleep out of your eyes before shooting her an apologetic look.

“God, I just keep sleeping on you, I’m sorry.”

Billie holds back her first flirty thought and decides to say something a little more supportive. You smile as you make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before sighing heavily. You look around the room and the first thing you see is Milo staring at you. You know he needs to go out, but you need to check in with Billie first.

“How are you feeling?”

You expect this question, but still, you smile as you nod without thinking. “Better. Thank you. I think I just needed to vent. I--.”

You pause as you consider the truth of your next statement. You just sigh when you realize how unintelligent you can be despite the amount of evidence that proves otherwise.

“I hadn’t really given myself a chance to process all of that before.”

Billie seems a little surprised by this because it’s been more than two months. According to you it had happened a month before graduation, and she understood you being really busy, but putting something off like this wasn’t healthy. She was amazed that you had made it this long without getting to the root of what had you so upset.

“Not at all?”

Billie realizes that this probably wasn’t the right thing to ask you when you just frown in response. You look away guiltily before shaking your head. You realize how unhealthy this behavior is and you feel a little bit like a chastised dog when you manage to look back to Billie to try and explain yourself.

You don’t get the chance though before Billie’s speaking up, and you just sigh in response to what she says.

“That’s not good for you, Y/N.”

You nod in agreement before sitting up straighter and trying to crack your back. You groan under your breath at the lack of success you have before you swallow your pride.

“I know, you’re right. I just wasn’t ready yet, you know?”

Billie frowns but doesn’t argue with you. She can’t really imagine how difficult it must have been for you to suddenly end up alone. To have no one and still need to finish school on top of dealing with all of your dad’s affairs.

Billie doesn’t realize how long she’s spaced out for until she hears Milo whine. She looks back to you as the dog paws at your leg with another whine. He must want to go out.

“He needs to go out. Do you want to come with me, unless you need to leave of course?”

You hurry to add the last part because you had almost forgotten how late it was. You weren’t sure of how long you slept for, but Billie hadn’t arrived until after 7. You stand up to busy yourself in case Billie says no, but Milo of course runs off to get his leash leaving you and Billie alone. You remember that you just woke up and that you don’t look nearly as good as Billie, not that you ever do, but it’s too late for you to care. You’re tired and have a lot floating around your mind right now, and how your hair looks like a bird’s nest is the least of your worries.

Billie just smiles before she nods in agreement. She wasn’t quite ready to leave yet despite the late hour. She wanted to spend more time with you and make sure you were alright to be on your own. You’d talked about a lot of upsetting things, and Billie didn’t want to leave you dwelling on those.

“Of course, let’s go.”

You, Billie, and Milo arrive downstairs without incident. It’s pretty deserted given the late hour, and you are too tired to really care about being seen. You stifle a yawn as you follow Milo out the front door, but you nearly trip as he quickly tugs you towards a tree. You groan when you hear Billie chuckling from behind you, but you don’t respond as you take a deep breath. You relax slightly as you let the cool air wash over you before turning to Billie with a smile.

“Are you ready?”

Part 12

[chaosbiscuit]

He had whined.

It was a higher pitched sound that basically sung to all the gods that he wanted... no...  needed the touch.  He tried to muffle it with the back of his free hand, but the microphone had already picked it up. 

“Hmm” was the only response he got.  His hand flexed again when he heard it.  Oh god, he was so fucked in the head.  It was just a voice.  Just some dude getting paid to fake it on the other end.  Why was it so damn hot?

“Oh, Beautiful.  I am so ready to punish you.”  A shiver shot down his spine.  Yep.  Fucked.  He gripped the armrest of his chair now with his free hand.  He had a feeling this was going to be a ride. 

“Get on with it then, asshole.”  Some habits were hard-pressed to die, and talking back was in Tomura’s blood.  He wouldn’t go down silently, even if Dabi thought he had the upper hand.  No, that was Tomura Shigaraki, right?  Right?

Not right now

“I want you to move that hand slowly up your dick for me.”

“That it?”  Shut the fuck up, Tomura! “Fucking easy.”

“Hmm, I am not finished.  I want you to move it from the base of your cock to the tip, and when you get there, I want you to swipe a thumb over your dickhead.  Got it, brat?”

His lips ached from the amount he was gnawing at them.  God.  He was nervous.  The coil in his belly was wound tight, and there were butterflies in his chest and he was not ready for this.  He was afraid of this.  He needed this.  He wouldn’t back down from this.

His hand started to slide around his shaft.  The soft skin of his palm contrasted the callouses on his fingers to mix enough sensation into the act that he whimpered.  Fucking whimpered. 

“Oh yeah.  Nice and slow for me.  Feel every sensation so that when I finally get my hands on you, you don’t lose your mind.”

Oh fuck!  That was a new fantasy.  Dabi actually there would freak him the hell out, but right now it was okay.  He wasn’t there.  Shigaraki was safe and alone.  But, the idea that someone else’s hands could bring him this kind of pleasure... oh.

“Oh, nngh...” 

“Such a beautiful boy.  Now, run that thumb over your dirty little slit for me, would you?”

“AHHH-“  was all that the white haired man could say, as his thumb brushed over the red, swollen head of his member.  He vaguely felt a bead of stickiness cling to the pad of the digit, but it was lost in the jerk of his hips and sparks that ran across his skin. 

“One.”

Tomura moved back down to the base of his cock and repeated the action.  It pulled a gasp from him.  He did it again.  And again.  His heart sped up.  His mind was fuzzy.  His hands were shaking as they tried to keep the agonizingly slow pace going.  It had never felt this good before.  Why did it never feel this good?

He heard a chuckle on the other end of the phone.  He blinked.  His hips were beginning to move into his fist, and he could feel more pre-cum leaking from his dick.  Still, that laugh both enticed him, and pissed him off.

“What?”  He snapped.  It was taking every scrap of will to stop himself from continuing the ministrations, but he was NOT about to lose to some fucker who was basically a cheap internet whore. 

“You sound so hot.”

Tomura actually blushed. 

“Were you thinking about how good it feels?  Taking it slow has its advantages.”

“Like what exactly?  The end result is the same.”  No, it obviously was fucking not, but Shigaraki was not about to let that on.

“Uh Huh, which is why you almost came from the first of three.”

First of... what?

“No!  I stroked it at least three times!”  He all but screamed at the phone.

“Hahaha, yeah.  But I said I would count, and anything after the first one didn’t.”  Smug.  This fucker was smug!  Shigaraki was pissed, but he never backed out of a game.  He always made sure to win them.

“Fine.  Then LvL 2.  Bring it on”

Can you hear a smirk?  Because Shigaraki was fairly sure he could hear Dabi’s right now. 

“Whatever you say, Beautiful”

He sat back, relaxing his posture again.  He was determined to not give in to anything else this bastard made him do.  No.  He wasn’t a plaything.  He wasn’t.

“I want you to lift that hand you have on your dick for me.”

Umm, what?

“Take it off your cock.”

Shigaraki did, a puzzled look on his face.

“Now, bring it up to your face.”

He crinkled his nose, but did it.  He stopped about an inch from his chin.  He could smell sweat and a bit of ball sack (probably should have showered before, but who expects to call a phone sex line at 3 am to research a project?). 

“Now spit.”

WHAT?

“Spit. In. Your. Hand.”

“No, Dabi.”

“Yes, Dabi,” came the sassy reply.

“It’s gross.”

“So what?  It is your own spit.”

“Still!  That is nasty!”

“Oh?”  Oh god, Dabi’s voice dropped an octave.  “Maybe I should show you how it is done.  Would you like that, Beautiful?”

Shigaraki gulped.  What did he mean?  Did he mean he would masturbate with him on the phone?  Was he ready for that?  He wasn’t ready for that.  He wasn’t comfortable with that.  This... was research.  There would be no mutual masturbation here!

“FINE!”  He all but screeched.  He sucked at his tongue for a second and then spat out a glob of spit.  It landed right in his palm and for a brief second he sat there wondering what to do with it.  Dabi’s voice saved him though.

“Tsss, so good for me.  Now, put that hand back on your dick.”

“I—”

“Wrap it around your cock, creep.”

“Asshole.”

“We aren’t there yet” came the sly reply.  What did that mean?  No, he didn’t want to know.

Do it and get it over with.

Shigaraki replaced his hand on his weeping manhood, and waited.

“Now, repeat the motion” came his order.

He shifted his hand.  The spit allowed him easier movement.  It slid between his palm and his member, slicking anything in its path.  He made it to the crest of his penis, and then he swiped the thumb over its head.  His whole body spasmed.  It was electric.  He almost lost himself to the sensation again, but managed to hold his sanity together.

“Imagine that the warm, wet thing sliding over that beautiful cock is my mouth, Beautiful.  That is number 2.”

Oh FUCK!  His hand trembled and he didn’t quite make it back to the base of his dick.  It is still the same stroke if he doesn’t make it back to the base, right. 

“Would you let me, Beautiful?”  Dabi purred. “Would you let me suck that big beautiful cock?”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, let me hear you.  Let me hear your beautiful voice.”

Shigaraki was shaking.  His logic of not going back to base was abandoned.  He was full tilt losing his mind.  He was trying, so hard, to keep his pace slow and even, but it was starting to stutter.  His hand was losing some of the lubrication.  But, it felt so good.

“Nggh.  Dabi...”  He gasped out. 

“Oh yeah?  Say my name again, Beautiful.”

“Dabi.  Dabi. Dabi.”  God, this pace was torture.  He wanted something.  He needed something, but he didn’t know what.  He kept pumping into his slick hand, but was beginning to feel the callouses dry out.  He freed his cock.  The dark angry head peaked up at him as his hand worked it over and over.  Shigaraki needed more lube, but he didn’t want to stop.  It felt too good. 

He spit onto the head of his dick, and pulled the saliva down the shaft with his next motion.

“Oh FUCK!”  He heard Dabi say, but he didn’t know if it was good or bad.  He just knew that this felt amazing and that he was so so so close if only the pace would pick up.  Could he pick up the pace?  Would Dabi know?  Should Dabi know?  Should he ask?  He couldn’t think.

“Faster.”

“What did you say, Beautiful?”

“I want it... I want it faster.”

“Oh?  But you are doing so well!  Maybe you should just keep going like you are.  You will get off eventually, and until then I get to hear you moaning my name in that beautiful voice of yours.”

Shigaraki grimanced.  No. No. No. No. No.  He couldn’t do that!  He couldn’t just keep him in this limbo.  He couldn’t keep him right on the edge.  Shigaraki panicked.  He didn’t know what to do.  He had never felt this good.  He never wanted it to stop.  He needed something.  He needed someone to tell him what he needed.  Fuck.  He couldn’t breathe.

“See, such a good boy.  Now, answer me one question, and then I will let you cum.”

Oh did he need to cum.  He was crazy with the want for it.  His muscles were so tight, but he could do this.  He could answer one question.

“—Please”

“Ah, so such a good boy.”  Dabi chuckled.  Shigaraki was so close.  He could almost get off on Dabi’s laugh.  Almost.

“Get on with it dammit.”  He ground out between grit teeth and hisses of pleasure.

“Okay.  Okay.  Answer me this one question, and relief is yours.”

The air was thick with tension.  The seconds were so so so slow, mimicking the movements of Tomura’s hand.  He held his breath.  Dabi could ask him anything in this moment, and Tomura isn’t sure he could lie.  His credit card numbers.  His company secrets.  His greatest fears.  Did he need release that bad?  Did he need it enough to risk everything?

His dick pulsed in his grasp and he gasped out a word that he wasn’t sure it even was.  His shoulders lurched forward.  His blood was searing through him, and his muscles ached as the tension built.  He was about to go mad with it when the question was finally asked.

“Are you beautiful?”

“Y—Yes.  Yes!  Yes!! Dabi, I am. Please.  Please let me---oh god.  Please! Yes.  Yes.  Yes”

“Say it.”

“I am beautiful.  I am beautiful.  I am beautiful!  Dabi!  Oh! OH!  Please.  Please.”

“Cum for me, Beautiful.”

Tomura’s hand went from slow and stuttered to fast and tight.  His head flew back.  Pale hips pistoned into a spit slicked fist as words flowed from chapped lips and into the speaker phone.  He was rambling.  He was yelling out his pleasure.  He was definitely saying Dabi’s name, although whatever else he can’t be certain.  He hopes he called him a bastard. 

He was close.  So close to the end, and he could feel it.  The white hot heat of his orgasm washed over him.  It was so forceful, it caused every muscle in his body to shudder.  He spasmed and cried out.  His cock cast white strings of cum onto his shirt and pants.  He had never had an orgasm like that in his life.  He finally understood what the fuss was about.  His bones felt like jello, and he couldn’t seem to breathe, but he also didn’t care.  God, he had never felt so incredible.

It took a minute or two before he realized that his phone was still there, and still connected.  The gamer’s limbs were sluggish and tired, but he managed to lift the phone from the desk and take it off speakerphone.  He pressed it to his ear. 

He expected to hear Dabi making fun of him, or some sarcastic comments.  Instead, he heard nothing, but he wasn’t fooled.  The timer was still going so the man was still on the other line.

“I know you are still there.”

“Hm?  Me?”  came the coy reply.  “Of course I am.  I couldn’t leave someone like you behind, now can I?”

Shigaraki glared.  His afterglow was wearing off the more he listened to Dabi’s annoying seductive voice. 

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing.  I just think that giving you the best orgasm of your life without even touching you is a rare treat.”

“You know what, fuck you.  Sorry I asked.”  He was embarrassed.  Shigaraki wasn’t going to deny the truth, but he also didn’t think it needed to be said flat out like that. 

“Haha, fuck me?  Maybe in time.”

If Tomura had spit left, he would have sputtered, but instead he embraced the tiredness in his body and sighed.

“You know what, I can’t deal with an ass wipe like you anymore today.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Beautiful”

As Tomura went to hang up the phone, he registered the words “By the way, that was only 2“ as the line disconnected.

FUUUUUCK

[lovelyirony]

“Did you just hit me? With a pillow? Oh. It’s on now.” for Sam and Bucky aka the weiner club

Sam has seen some questions floating around on the internet about the worst thing that came out of World War II. He has a lot of answers. 

But he thinks he has the final answer as to the worst thing that came out of World War II: 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

What a dumbass. 

For one thing, absolutely wrecked his credit score when he ripped his steering wheel right out of his car. It was a new car too, just gotten and Sam had gotten a fancy car-freshener, not one of the trees that was labeled Black Ice. You know, the scent that every guy-in-his-twenties had. No, he was getting fancy in life. Upgrading, as it were. 

And then this absolute goddamn travesty of a human being with a metal arm that was more indestructible than that one spoon that keeps getting stuck in the garbage disposal and somehow makes it out. 

Steve brings him back. And now Bucky--which is a very stupid name--is currently stealing all of Sam’s fancy oatmeal and he knows he’s doing it. 

Bucky is having a lot of fun at Sam’s expense, and Sam can’t say shit about it because Bucky goes “oh boo I’m a traumatized war veteran who had to go to Russia for like fifty years. Let me eat your oatmeal you stupid bitch” and Sam has to let him. 

So Sam decides that he will just refuse to ever interact with Bucky on any level except Enemy. 

Sharon tells him he’s being a tad dramatic. 

“That oatmeal cost me seven dollars every week and he fucking eats it.” 

“Not all of it,” Sharon says. “He’s not bad, he’s just messing with you. Steve is still treating him like he’s one of those glass figurines that Bruce collects.” 

“Bruce collects glass figurines? What?” 

“Yeah. I think he finds them in thrift shops and just collects them. I can’t decide if it’s an intimidation tactic for the Hulk or for Tony.” 

“Tony is scared of glass figurines?” 

“He’s scared of breaking stuff. Don’t ask, it involves Pepper.” 

“Oh. I think it’s weird that you know him on such a personal level.” 

“Why?” 

“I was literally just telling you the last time I went grocery shopping and you told me, and I quote, ‘stop telling me all this personal shit I have limited memory storage in my brain’.” 

“It’s because I do. I don’t give a shit about your grocery purchases unless any of it is for me.” 

“Very self-centered.” 

“Quite. But give Bucky a little leeway.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

- 

Bucky absolutely knows what he is doing. He really and truly does. He’s been texting Maria Hill about the whole thing, who finds it absolutely hilarious. 

In fact, everyone knows what he’s doing. Except for Steve, which makes it even funnier. 

Steve is under the impression that Bucky has no idea that that was Sam’s oatmeal, or Sam’s favorite coffee cup. 

He most definitely knows it. But Sam has funny reactions, and in all honesty, a lot of it isn’t that big a deal. 

And then Sam wacks him with a pillow. 

“You hit me. With a pillow.” Sam wacks him again. 

“Oh, it’s on now.” 

The Pillow Wars commence. 

There are three rules: 

1.) No headshots. Those are mean and stupid and bad. 

2.) You cannot use any of the pillows that Tony or Pepper bought. Both are incredibly enamored with their own interior design and decoration choices, and will not be messed with. It took Bucky only once to learn this. He was threatened to be launched out by an arm, and it wasn’t gonna be his left. 

3.) Steve and Bruce cannot know

This is mainly for humor purpose. Steve--maybe--would be fine with it. Bruce knows too much about how brains work and how maybe Bucky gets hit with a pillow and Something Bad happens. 

So begins the Secret War. 

Sam ditches an official interview to sneak on a plane and absolutely wreck Bucky with pillows. 

Bucky stealth attacks from ceilings. 

The most entertaining is when other people are in the room and the AI Friday informs of “Dr. Banner’s” or “Captain Rogers’s” imminent arrival. 

“Hey Steve-o,” Bucky says, just casually draping his arm over Sam’s shoulders. (And potentially maybe holding him quite tightly so as to not have him escape. He’s made the mistake before.) “What’s going on in the world with you?” 

“Nat and I are going to practice parkour,” Steve says. “You guys have gotten...closer?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, grinning. “Best buds, us two. Peas in a pod.” 

“Or more,” Steve teases. “I’m right, right? The hugs, the way that Sam was on top of you earlier, Buck...my two friends dating?” 

They freeze. 

They can’t tell him no, because then Steve is going to know that they’ve been fighting. 

“Yes,” Bucky answers. “Sam asked me out a couple weeks ago. We’ve been trying to take it slow, but you know how modern men are. Too quick for their own damn good.” 

Sam wants to fucking murder him. 

Because this? Exactly what he wanted to avoid. 

“I hate you.” 

“Love you too. Baby.” 

“Oh, ‘baby’? That’s the one you’re going with? Listen you fucking asshole--” 

“Nope! Sorry!” 

- 

This leads to dating. And even more lying. 

Because Sam has to keep it up and pretend like he’s been sharing his oatmeal. They have to go out on actual dates because Steve “checks in” on his runs that he takes (he takes multiple because he’s insane) and they have to be in love. 

It is disgusting. 

Bucky has had to use hard-earned money to get Sam stupid shit like flowers and “just thinking of you” gifts and a birthday present. He had to spend money on a nice shirt and a cute plant that Sam will like. 

This is what changes things, by the way. 

Bucky was not supposed to be thinking about how Sam has been wanting a peppermint plant for a while, but he won’t fucking shut up about it and he won’t stop telling Bucky about all the cute pots that he wants to put it in and Bucky was not supposed to go to the nursery and go get it. 

But he did. Because Sam wouldn’t shut up and Bucky wasn’t gonna be a basic bitchy boyfriend and get him flowers and a dinner. That is for losers. Which Bucky most certainly is not. 

Sam is surprised that Bucky is listening. 

And then they realize that it’s not exactly that they’re mad that they’re dating. In fact, Sam kind of likes having a special someone to go to breakfast with, even if Bucky kind of hates the diner he keeps choosing. 

(To be fair their muffins are dry but also to be fair Bucky will simply not order an omelette, which is their best option.) 

Maybe Bucky likes remembering fun little facts about Sam, like how he hates red petunias because his old neighbor always had them everywhere, or how he secretly thought that Captain America was literally just a media project meant to consider how well propaganda worked on the American people. 

(If Bucky hadn’t remembered that Steve was literally just That Stupid, he probably would’ve agreed with that theory.) 

So now they have Stupid Feelings. This Sucks. 

Also? Sharon is laughing at Sam, because she’s a terrible gay best friend. 

“You’re gay too, so that makes us just friends. Cancels all that shit out. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re stupid and didn’t recognize that you liked him. It literally took Steve assuming you were a couple to get this whole thing rolling.” 

“Wait, so you knew? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Sam I’m sorry you have to hear it from me, but I had a hell of a lot more faith in you than I should have. Is that a sin? That should be a sin.” 

“I will literally write you out of my will just watch me.” 

“Who else is going to take your ugly paintings, Sam? Who? Steve? He went to art school for a year. He knows quality.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Yeah, just like you hate Bucky,” Sharon says, laughing. “Have fun with that, by the way. Hope you confess your feelings soon!” 

- 

Sam is not having fun with this. No, not at all. 

It’s mostly because Bucky is still stealing his oatmeal and they’re in Public and he can’t confess his feelings. It’s just not convenient. Also Bucky is having a lot of conversation with a certain guy that Tony knows in one way or another, and they’ve hit it off. 

Steve is looking at Bucky. 

“Huh, he seems to like that guy a lot, they’ve been talking for a while. You know him, Sam?” 

“No,” Sam says. “But I’m sure everything is fine.” 

(Well everything is probably fine on Bucky’s end. Sam is trying Very Hard to not be jealous at all. People talk all the time. He’s talking to Steve right now. It doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything to Steve.) 

(It’s not working, if you wanted clarification. The whole “I’m not actually jealous” thought.) 

- 

He hits Bucky with another pillow. 

“What the hell?” Bucky mutters, flicking on the light. 

“Come to bed, asshole.” 

“I hate you,” Bucky grumbles, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket. “Let me get into my pajamas first before you start a pillow war.” 

“Surprised you came home at all. Thought you and that guy were getting awfully cozy.” 

“Ain’t my type,” Bucky answers, “and his wife wasn’t my type either.” 

“Then who is?” 

Bucky looks at him. 

“You seriously wanna know?” 

“If you’ll answer, yeah.” 

“Sam, my type is someone who is an absolute asshole who I hate a lot.” 

Sam blinks. 

“You wanna know what my type is, Barnes?” 

“Who?” 

“Someone who keeps stealing my fucking oatmeal.” 

Bucky stops and pauses. Then starts shaking with laughter. 

“We really are the worst, aren’t we?” 

“In a sense, yeah. We have an early breakfast tomorrow with Maria and Pepper, by the way. So come to bed.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

Doesn’t matter if it’s said sarcastically. Sam still likes it. 

- 

There’s a part to this story you should know: 

Steve’s absolutely not stupid about this certain situation. He knew Bucky was a little shit who kept stealing oatmeal. He also knew that Sam liked him, even if he didn’t recognize it himself. 

By him insinuating that he thought they were dating, he knew they would never crush his dreams. He’s secretly a manipulative genius like that. 

(It also helps that Maria owes him about a thousand dollars or five favors, give or take a couple.) 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @balder12 donated $20, and requested Sam/Kevin with hair play. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

Kevin feels he deserves a little better, than this. He doesn’t exactly—he wasn’t exactly used to booze, hadn’t ever really had a drink before he met the Winchesters that wasn’t the cherry schnapps his mom sometimes drank—and okay, so most of the time when he’s gotten drunk it’s been entirely on accident. But still. Whatever Dean drinks is some kind of weird dollar store swill (assuming they sell alcohol, at the dollar store, which to be fair he doesn’t know but he assumes that if they do then what Dean buys would be of that quality), and Kevin is a friggin Prophet of the friggin Lord, so if he’s going to be drinking then he should be drinking—he doesn’t know. Fine wines. Something laced with myrrh, whatever myrrh is. He was going to take Comparative Religions his first semester of college; he never got to find that out. He never got to go to college. Sam did.

Sam. That’s right. Kevin—he has a plan. He deserves better, he thinks. He’s been working on the tablet because that's his job, and he knows that he has a duty and he isn't going to shirk it. His mom had taught him better than that. Still, he thinks—as a Prophet—as a man, which he guesses he is—he shouldn’t just be… relegated to homework duty. Study session captain, providing all the notes. Even if the notes were triple-highlighted and with meticulous bullet points, and made sure that everyone in the group actually passed the exams. Or could take down heaven, or… whatever the hell the Winchesters have planned. He’s the brains behind the operation. He deserves a little something, for all the effort.

He’s pretty much finished the bottle Dean thought he’d hid. Kevin’s never had horse pee but he suspects that horse pee would be better. It’s a plastic jug, and it stings going down, but he needs some kind of courage and apparently the Winchesters are too cheap to keep myrrh-booze around. He finishes his cup and combs his hair, in front of the mirror in his room. His head feels like it’s bobbing at some long tether, past the end of where his neck should be. His lips feel numb. It’s kinda cool.

He doesn’t knock, at Sam’s room. When the door opens it’s dark and he bangs it into the wall. There’s a jolt, and in the light streaming in from the hallway he sees Sam twisted around, a gun in his hands, the blankets a mess. "What," Sam says, in that voice. Kevin smiles at him. Sam blinks. "Kevin. What?"

"Yeah," Kevin sighs, and crosses the room and crawls right up onto the bed, his limbs all heavy. Sam turns onto his back, surprised, meets him. Kevin’s in socks and sweatpants and the Harvard sweatshirt Dean had given him as a joke, except that Kevin actually loves it and wears it whenever he gets a chance, and Sam’s hands settle on his waist, gripping in through the soft fleecy crimson, holding him. Kevin sighs again, settles in. Sam’s lap, his bed. Firm as a rock, like Kevin’s, but—warm. ‘Cause Sam is there.

"Hey," Sam says, cautious, and Kevin makes a small noise and leans down, lassitude soaking through him from all that shitty shitty booze, and Sam tips his head up and meets the kiss, soft. Soft, but steady, and bracing. He’s like a colossus, Kevin thinks, distantly pleased. That was a good vocab word. The Colossus of Sam. He lips at Sam’s mouth and gets a slow breath, and Sam tipping his head so it’s in the right place, and the kiss is—easy, like that, because Sam makes it easy. His mouth, firm but yielding when Kevin asks, and he doesn’t make fun of Kevin for being shy, or for not—not really—knowing what he’s doing. His hands shift, on Kevin’s waist, slip over his back, over the Harvard sweatshirt. Under it, just the edge of his fingers, and Kevin smiles against his mouth and drops his head, the booze swirling steady and dragging as hard as gravity, pinning him into Sam’s lap, making him laugh.

"You’re in a good mood," Sam says. Smile in his voice. Sam, happy. That doesn’t happen too often. Another slow drag of hands, up his back, and Kevin sits back into them, lets Sam take his weight because he totally can. Door’s still open and there’s enough light in here that he can really see—Sam, in a black tee, his hair a little mussed from sleeping, his eyes on Kevin above him. "What's up?"

"I have a plan," Kevin says. He tries to make it sound serious but he doesn't feel all that serious. Sam's eyes narrow a little, looking at his face. "I think—"

"Are you drunk?"

"That," Kevin says, with dignity, "is not relevant."

"Wow," Sam says, "you really are," but he doesn't sound mad or anything. There's a dimple peeking, in his cheek.

They shift a little, Sam moving under his weight. Not that Sam seems to think his weight is any impediment. Kevin's knees spread on the rock-hard mattress and Sam ends up with his back firm against the headboard, his hands still laced easy around Kevin's waist, looking at him. He's an inch or two taller than Sam, sitting like this, and he laughs a little, enjoying it. The top of Sam's head is nice, who knew?

"You have a plan," Sam prompts him. The corner of his mouth keeps turning up, before he makes it go thoughtful again. "Let's hear it."

It feels distant right now. "Well," Kevin says, and drifts for a second. Sam's body is—it's not like he didn't know this, but Sam's body is—nice. Feels nice. He presses his hands against Sam's pecs and they flex, whether on purpose or not Kevin doesn't know but. Wow.

"Kevin."

"I think you should kiss me," Kevin says. Not what he meant to say.

"Is that the plan?"

He grips Sam's shirt, rolls his eyes. "I mean, it is now," and gets Sam to smile briefly before there's the lean up, a big hand between his shoulderblades to keep him balanced while Sam presses their lips together. Firm-and-yielding, and when Kevin's mouth parts on a little breath Sam tips his head and makes the kiss a little—more yielding, a little wet, enough that Kevin's belly already warm from the booze feels like someone turned it to boil.

"How's that," Sam says, when he pulls back. Soft. Smug. Shithead.

"You suck," Kevin says. Somehow his hands ended up in Sam's hair and he plays his fingers through it. It's soft. Sam showered, before he went to bed, and his hair's clean and probably conditioned and just… nice, like the rest of him. "I deserve more than this."

Sam sits still, letting Kevin tangle him up. "You do," he says.

Kevin tweaks a long wave, there at Sam's temple, focusing. The plan. "Yeah, I do," he says, like Sam was arguing. "I mean, I know I'm not like—whatever, hot or a—a stud or something, but I am a Prophet and I feel like I should get more than a kiss every once in a while. Anyway, I don't see anyone else around here that you could make out with, so you might as well—"

"Wait," Sam says, shaking his head, but Kevin does have a plan and he got drunk for this, okay, so he's not going to be interrupted.

"—and if you're like, holding back because I'm a virgin, you don't need to worry about that, all right, because I've read like a lot about it and I figured out my mom's kid-safe password for the internet when I was eleven, okay, so I know how it goes."

Sam's grip on his sides is tight and Kevin squirms. The hands go looser but Sam's staring at him. "You're—Kevin." Kevin makes a small noise. Duh, he's Kevin. Maybe Sam's drunk too. "Kevin, you're twenty."

"I'm twenty-one," he says, offended. Just because the Winchesters lose years all the time doesn't mean everyone else does. He drags his hands through Sam's hair again, sweeping it back from his face, and Sam's giving him this look that he doesn't really get. Sam looks at him a lot in ways he doesn't really get.

"Twenty-one," Sam says, after a few seconds. Kevin nods. "Sorry."

There's a pause, again. Kevin's comfortable, now he's said his piece. He plays with the ends of Sam's hair where they curl forward. It's really different to his, which pretty much just lays there unless Kevin experiments with products. Sam's got—body. Kevin glances down, where Sam's chest rises with his breath, and grins. Yeah, he's got body.

"When I—after that hunt. When I kissed you." One of Sam's hands slides to the center of his chest, right over where it says Harvard. "Was that the first time someone…?"

"I had a girlfriend," Kevin says.

"That's not an answer."

Sam's as bad as his debate coach used to be. "No," he says, exaggerating it, "it wasn't my first kiss." Might as well have been, because he and Channing hadn't been any good at it. Kissing was just wet and kinda gross, Kevin had thought, until a month ago when Sam had looked down at him with this glad proud look on his face after Kevin had given them the research they needed to figure out their hunt, and he'd said you really saved our asses, and Kevin had looked up at him and Sam's face had changed and he'd, very softly, touched Kevin's chin, and Kevin had felt like he'd lost his balance and Sam had looked back and forth between his eyes—like a movie, Kevin thought, dumb in the moment—and he'd dipped, and it had been…

Sam's hands are under his sweatshirt, now. Just holding his back, his thumbs idly stroking. "Tell me what you did with your girlfriend," he says, and it's just an easy suggestion but also it kinda sounds like Sam does sound, sometimes, when something's a suggestion but really it's an order. How he talks to Dean, when they're prepping a hunt.

Kevin's weirdly pleased to be on the other end of it. "Studied mostly," he says. It's just honest but for some reason Sam smiles. He cards his fingers through Sam's hair again. "And—well, I guess this, too." Sam raises his eyebrows, questioning, and Kevin says: "This. I used to braid her hair for her. For dance performances."

"Really," Sam says, and Kevin shrugs. He squirms closer, in Sam's lap, and loosens the fall of hair behind Sam's left ear. Yeah, there's enough. He tips Sam's chin so he has space and starts in. Sam laughs softly. "Okay. Uh—Kevin." Kevin ignores it; he's busy. "When you… did you ever want to do more? With your girlfriend? More than kissing, I mean."

Sam's hair is great to work with. He unwinds a little and restarts with a french braid, instead, since it's so smooth. Sam asked him a question, though. "Um, not really," he says. Three over two over one over two. It's a soothing pattern, very rhythmic. Like differential equations. "It felt awkward. I mean… it was Channing, you know?"

He admires the effect, curving around Sam's ear, and turns his chin again to do the other side. Sam lets him, holding still for it.

"But you want more," Sam says, while the braid forms perfectly over his right ear. "With me."

Kevin pauses. There was something—different, in Sam's voice. He plaits the last inch, finishing, and he's—aware maybe, more than he has been, of Sam's hands on his skin. They're just sitting there, low on his back, the thumbs still gently moving. "I mean," he says, and bites his lip.

With the sides braided, Sam looks like a Viking. He's big enough to be one. "Did you know that Vikings actually had a much better standard of living than most people think?" Kevin says. "They were really big into bathing."

"Yes, I knew that," Sam says. He sits up more and Kevin's weight shifts, in his lap, so that he grabs onto Sam's shoulders to balance, but of course with Sam's hands on his back he wasn't going to budge at all. Sam's hands shift to his hips and he kisses Kevin again, leaning in quick without his usual careful bend where it feels like he's asking to make sure Kevin's okay with it—Kevin sucks air, opens his mouth, and Sam's tongue is—oh, wet but it's not—not like it was, with Channing, and he makes some weird noise and has his fingers in Sam's hair again, at the back where it's so soft, gripping, trying to make sure he doesn't just float away. Sublimation, solid to gas in a second.

"You're hard," Sam says, quietly, when he pulls back. Kevin's dizzy. Oh, he is. He looks down, between them, and Sam's thumb is dragging down the waist of his sweatpants a little, and he is—yeah—bulging there, really obvious. His belly throbs.

Sam's other hand cards through Kevin's hair. It feels nice and he closes his eyes, just feeling. Sam kisses him again, shallow enough that he can still think, and Sam's thumb drags around the curve of his jaw, and Sam's other thumb slips over, to under his bellybutton, rubbing there a little. "You deserve more," Sam says—funny tone—but that's agreement at least, and Kevin's skin goes hot all over. Not drunk enough to be nervous but he…

When he opens his eyes Sam's cheeks are a little red. Kevin wonders suddenly if he's hard, too, but with Sam's eyes on his he doesn't want to look down. "Let me just take care of you," Sam says, abruptly. "You're drunk and I don't—for tonight, at least. Just let me."

Kevin has no idea what that means. "Okay," he says, because he'd probably agree to anything when Sam looks like he does, right now, when he's—feeling as much as he is, right now.

Sam's mouth turns up, on one side, and then the world tips—Kevin's on his back, his head by the footboard, and Sam's leaning over him with his hand planted on the mattress, Kevin's knees spread around his waist. He reaches up and grips into Sam's hair, the ends of the braids fraying loose. "Yeah, hold on to me," Sam says, soft, encouraging, and Kevin closes his eyes and feels the silky warmth under his fingers, and does.

[galaxy-otter]

Self Insert Handplates BittyBones Story- ACT TWO- Tiny Skulls

(POV CHANGE) Your POV-

It had been a day. Your nervousness kept growing until you found the mouse trap on your porch. You mentally squealed and picked up the box, running inside like a drunken schoolgirl. You practically slammed the box on the table and ripped it open with so much force the box almost flew out of your hand. You set up the mouse trap the best you could, but there were no promises it would stay that way. It was about 8pm at that point, and BOY were you tired! You put a few things at the bottom, like peanut butter and half of a Slim Jim. Why the Slim Jim? It was the only other thing you could think of. You quietly opened the door and slid the mouse trap inside, putting it in the corner of the room. You closed the door again and walked out of that room and into your room. You practically jumped onto your bed, embracing the warm blankets. You were out like a light, forgetting the mouse problem. Were they even mice?

(POV CHANGE) Brother's POV

The brothers woke one by one and looked around. They were starving, surviving on a lone bag of chips, which barely had anything in it to begin with.

"HELLO BROTHER."

"hey, bro."

They were starting to get used to this, but the smell that hit their nonexistent noses were not normal.

"do you smell that."

"YEA."

They both got up and walked out of their makeshift shelter, which was a shoe box. They scanned the room until they spotted a box with another soft fabric over it. 2-p walked over to it, noticing a platform leading up to the top of the box. Did that person put his here? Surely they did, who else would do it? Before 1-s could stop him, 2-p was already walking up the platform and onto the box. "be careful, bro." 2-p nodded and opened the lid to the metal box thing. What was inside was some kind of meat stick and a peanut butter glob. 2-p tilted his head and tried to reach for it, but his foot slipped, causing him to fall into the box. His brother's panicked voice was muffled due to the box and the start of a panic attack. 2-p curled in on himself, sobbing, trying to make himself smaller and smaller.

1-s scratched at the box, but got no response. The platform had fallen off due to the opening to the box shutting, so there was no way to get to his brother. 1-s fell to his knees, sobbing quite loudly. Loudly enough to catch the attention of a certain someone. He ran when he heard the door open. The person he had seen the first day walked over to the box and tapped it a few times lightly. The squeak of fear from his brother made him panic even more. The person picked up the box, making 1-s even whiter than before. They walked out of the room, box in hand, and all 1-s could do was sob uncontrollably.

(POV CHANGE) Your POV-

You walked into the kitchen with the mousetrap in hand. Setting the trap down on the table, you took the blanket off to... reveal...

A tiny...

skeleton...

Wait WHAT?!

The skeleton was shaking uncontrollably, bones rattling against the hard floor of the mouse trap. You gasped, practically in a Mom-Mode state, and tore the lid off of the trap. That wasn't a good idea, because the skeleton was now sobbing even harder, trying to curl in on himself more.

You sighed, trying to talk to him the best you could, "Uh, hey little guy. You ok?" You tried to say that it the softest but not babying way possible. It seemed to work a little bit, because he relaxed a little bit, still shaking. You didn't want to do this, but you had no other suggestions in that empty head of yours. You puffed up your chest and scooped up the skeleton, causing him to shriek in surprise. You jumped at the tiny voice, but got over it and sat down, leaning him against your chest. Immediately, he grabbed onto your red sweater and sobbed uncontrollably, making a wet spot on your clothes. You rubbed his skull and talk to him in a quite voice. After a little while, the sobs turned into small hiccups. You spoke again, "You ok now, little guy?" Surpisingly, he nodded and buried his face more into your sweater. You should apologize, so you did, "Uh, sorry for catching you in a mouse trap. Thought you were a mouse, heh." You laughed once and sighed.

The small voice on your chest could barely be heard when he spoke, "W-WHAT ARE YOU G-GOING TO DO TO M-ME?"

Your heart skipped a beat. What? "I'm not going to do anything, dear. There is no need to worry." When was the last time you've spoken with so much care and love? It felt like decades, but you were only 23.

After a few minutes, his breathing slowed, and you realised he fell asleep. On you. In the kitchen. You slowly got up and walked into your bedroom, flicking on the light. It was Tuesday, meaning you had work. You worked from home and sold merchandise on the internet. It was... interesting, to see the personalities of your customers. Some overly nice, some chill, some overly rude, and a lot of people who tried to pay you with exposure. It was tiring, but interesting at the same time. You placed the skeleton in a blanket ring and pulled a blanket over him. You didn't know if skeletons could get cold, but you didn't wanna have to find out the hard way. You turned and walked off, looking at the skeleton one last time before closing the door behind you. You walked down the barren hallway and locked eyes with the guest bedroom door. You wanted to see if that skeleton was the only one, so that's what you did. You opened the door, scanning the room for any movement. You caught a bit of green, the same green as the skeleton's gown, run into your closet. You glided your feet across the carpet before slowly opening your closet door. You poked your head into the closet and looked down. The skeleton on the floor was protecting his neck with his hands, trying to make himself as small as possible. You sighed, a soft but sad one, and knelt down.

You spoke in a soft voice, trying to sound as calm and collected as you could manage, "Hey, little dude."

You smiled, and he jerked his head towards you, "w-where's my brother?"

You tilted your head a little, "Pardon?"

He repeated himself, and you mentally face palmed. Of course! Why hadn't you noticed before! They were siblings! "Ah, he's in my room. If you like, I can take you there and you can see him."

He narrowed his eye sockets at you, "what's the catch?"

You put your arms in a 'x' position, "No catch, promise."

After a few seconds, he reluctantly nodded, and you asked if you could carry him. He seemed frightened, but shakely nodded. You smiled and picked him up, slowly, as not to startle the little guy. You walked down the hallway and opened the door to your messy bedroom. He frantically scanned the bedroom until his eyes caught his brother, still fast asleep on your bed. You placed him on your bed and he ran towards his brother, putting his hands on the other one's side. The taller one shifted and cracked open an eye socket. He shot up and wrapped his brother in a hug. You couldn't make out any words, but they were mumbling to each other. They were now both crying, which made you a bit nervous. You could handle you own breakdowns, sure. But ANOTHER person's breakdown was another story. So you just sat there. Watching them cry in each other's embrace. You broke the tension, "Um, so, this may be a bad time, but may I ask HOW you got into my house?"

The taller one walked over to you, tears still streaming down his face, and put his hands on your thigh. His hands were so small that you squealed in your head. "WE ARE UNSURE ABOUT HOW WE GOT INTO YOUR HOME, BIG PERSON. HE WOKE UP HERE A FEW DAYS AGO..." Oh, so THAT'S where that noise was coming from. That's why the vase broke!

"So it was YOU who broke my vase?" You tilted your head in confusion. The tall one started to shake. "W-WE THOUGHT IT WAS S-SOME K-KIND OF T-T-TEST. WE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT DO WITH IT." The smaller one just stood there, frozen in place while the taller one cried against your thigh.

You... are at a loss of what to do here... You currently have two emotionally unstable tiny skeletons. One is sobbing against you while the other one is trying to comfort the crying one. You sigh and puff out your chest... metaphorically. You place your finger on the taller one's skull and rub in small circles. The small one is watching you with fear and utter distrust while the taller one stops sobbing, replacing them with small hiccups. "I'm not mad, dude. Actually, I've been meaning to get rid of that vase for a while." you place a finger on your chin, "Thanks for getting rid of it for me." You laugh and give them a thumbs up with your free hand.

"R...REALLY?" You nod, and he sighs, trying to hide his relieve as much as possible. You smile, how many times will they make you smile?

You look towards the door and you get an idea, "Hey, how about breakfast? It's still around breakfast time, so we should be good. I have some eggs left, or I can make some toast. How do you like your eggs? Oh wait, I'm rambling again... sorry guys."

"IT'S OKAY, BIG PERSON. SO, WHAT'S BREAKFAST?"

You blinked, confusion welling up inside you. "What?" He repeated himself, and you got more confused. "You guys... don't know what breakfast is?" The taller one shook his head, and the small one just shrugged, sitting on the bed. "Well, I can fix that! We should go right now and eat the biggest breakfast ever!!" You waved your hands in the air as you spoke. You paused for a moment. Wait... you didn't know these guys's names! "Oh! By the way, what are your guys's names?"

The tall one tilted his head, "WHAT'S A... NAME?"

How many times are you going to be confused by this tiny skeleton? "Uh... it's what you're called. For example," You pointed a finger at your chest, "My name is Y/N."

"Y/N?"

"Yep!"

"THEN, MY NAME IS 2-P, AND MY BROTHER IS 1-S." The skeleton, 2-P, didn't seem phased by the lack of a proper name.

"Uh, dude? I don't think those are proper names."

"WHY NOT?"

"Well, I don't know, actually. I've just never heard of names like those?" You shrugged your shoulders. Confusion fills your eyes as you wait for a response.

2-P pauses for a moment, mouth agape, before words formed in his mouth. "WHAT KIND OF NAMES ARE 'PROPER?'"

You tap your chin, trying to think of a few names. You've heard that skeletons are mostly named after fonts, so you go for those. "Well, Comic Sans, for example, or Bubblegum, or maybe Ariel. Like those!" You clasp your hands together, proud of yourself for coming up with a name.

He nods to make notice that he's listening, "WHAT WOULD OUR NAMES BE, THEN?"

You think, then shrug your shoulders, I'm not sure actually. I haven't know you guys enough to tell you guys that."

He nods, again, and rests his head on your thigh, yawning. You smile, even more than you were before, which you thought was impossible. 1-S was already out like a light, and soon after, so was his brother.

Act Two is out! Let me know what you guys think!

[amyscascadingtabs]

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 5. love, you’re not alone

read on ao3

read earlier chapters

Amy mourns, important conversations take place, and a new decision is made.

june, cont.

Amy has never called in sick for three days in a row before.

She's been on leaves, and the odd sick day is inevitable when you have a kid at daycare, but it's never been more than one or two days before she’s at least attempted to work from home. Now she can't even make herself do that.

Technically, she’s perfectly healthy, which should probably exacerbate the guilt she feels over calling in sick, but not even her FOMOW is strong enough to drag her out of the cave of misery she’s dug herself into.

 It's unlike her. She's Amy Santiago, she's a vessel of productivity more days than not, and even on lazier days, she'll have the energy to go about her daily life. This zombie-like existence, where it'll take three repeats before she notices her own name and she's uncertain when she last ate a full meal, isn't what her life is like. She's been sad before, she's been heartbroken and on the verge of giving up, but it's never enveloped her quite like this. She’s never felt this alone with her pain, because there’s no one to be mad at, no external circumstances or evil forces at work. The only things she can be angry at is her body, bad luck, and maybe fate, but she can’t put up a fight against either.

On the first day after what she supposes is the start of an early miscarriage, Amy googles, scouring the Internet for more information about chemical pregnancies. Her research feels largely pointless. It’s common, there’s nothing she could have done, it’s all down to a chromosomal accident. A chemical pregnancy can be seen as a good sign, one of the websites encourages her, and she snorts. It’s proof you’re able to get pregnant at all, she reads, and maybe it’s true, but it doesn’t give much comfort. After eight months of trying for twelve hours of euphoria that were ruined by a genetic fluke, she’d have wished for more reassurance.

 On the second day, she gets out of bed and dressed, thinking she can trick herself into going back to work and pretend like everything’s fine if she gets far enough. It nearly works and Jake looks relieved when Leah and her hug goodbye, but once she’s in the car, the panic attack from two days ago flashes past her eyes and she’s shaking until she can get out of the vehicle and walk back up the stairs to their apartment. She spends the rest of the day in bed. At first, she doesn’t cry, but then she hears Leah asking from the other side of the door about what she’s doing and her heart shatters hearing Jake try to explain that mama’s just tired, she’ll play with you again tomorrow.

 On the third day, she really tries. She gets started on a presentation for work and lets Leah pretend to make her coffee in her play kitchen, and she does feel better until her phone buzzes with news from the Santiago family group chat; David and his wife are having another baby. A welcome surprise, the message reads, and Jake has to hold her until she stops crying. Amy’s wracked with guilt as Leah brings her stuffed animal after animal, her eyes wide with distraught confusion.

 It’s after the fourth day things take a turn. As far as her days of mourning - because she supposes it is mourning, after all - have gone, day four is subdued. Equally as gray, but not as sharply painful. It’s as if someone muted the volume in their apartment and slowed down their movements, turning everything into a lackadaisical haze. Even Leah is quieter than usual, almost acting a bit nervous around her, but when the evening comes she lets Amy read her bedtime stories and she falls asleep with her hand on Amy’s cheek. It’s the most peaceful and content Amy’s felt since six days ago.

 “We have the best kid,” she mumbles as she curls up with her head on Jake’s shoulder ten minutes later, and he gives her an agreeing smile. “I think I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to get back to normal. I’m starting to miss it, anyway.”

“Can’t cure that FOMOW easily, huh?”

She ignores the comment. “Is the precinct still standing without me?”

He laughs. “Barely. On that note... I got a request from Holt to go on this stakeout for two days. I think I have to take it, because, well - we’ve taken a lot of days off recently.”

“Yeah, of course. I can handle a bit of solo-parenting.”

“Actually -” Jake’s voice is apologetic, tinged with a bit of regret, and Amy’s instantly on edge, lifting her head from his shoulder. “- I was thinking Leah could stay with my mom for a few days.”

“Why would she need to do that?”

“Ames, don’t take this personally -”

“I’ll decide that for myself.”

“But I think it’d be better for both of you.” Jake’s eyes are boring into hers, and there’s a gravity to his tone she wasn't expecting. “I know you don’t want this to affect her, but I think it does, even if she doesn’t understand why, and… maybe you need a couple days on your own.”

 She blinks, trying to make sense of his words. “So now I can’t be a parent to my own daughter because I'm sad over this?”

“Not what I was saying.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” he asks, face twisted in a pained expression, and it takes all her self control not to get up and slam the door to their bedroom. She’s learned from her mistakes, though, so this time she listens. “I love you, so much, but I don’t know how to help you when you don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t know what to say to Leah when she keeps asking why you’re sad. She notices so much - it doesn’t feel fair to her.”

“No, but it’s not forever. It’ll get better,” she says, more to ease her own remorse. “And what do you mean I don’t want to talk to you? We’ve talked.”

“Not for real.”

“What do you mean, not for real?”

“You haven’t asked me how I feel about this, for example.” She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. “Don't do it because you think you have to. I know it’s worse for you. But I’m disappointed, too, you know?” He bites his lip. “I think we all need a break before we go crazy.”

 She wants to object, but part of her knows he's right. They’re going crazy. Mostly her, but she can tell it’s affecting her family too, despite how desperately she wishes it wasn’t. She reluctantly swallows her anger for now - most of it is only poorly concealed guilt, anyway - and nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” The tension fades from his expression as he exhales, watching her like he’s searching for signs of protest.

Amy shrugs. “I feel like the world’s worst parent. But sure.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, wrapping her in a hug as she buries her face in his neck for comfort. “This is just really, really hard.”

-

Her bad conscience is even worse when she wakes up the next morning. It's made easier by Leah jumping with glee at the question of whether she wants to have a sleepover at grandma’s house, but hugging her daughter goodbye at daycare is still extra difficult. It takes five minutes longer than usual and enough cheek kisses to make the toddler try to wriggle herself out of Amy’s arms, and she’s still fighting tears when she gets in the car. She turns the music up so she won’t have to think, but her phone shuffles to Paper Rings by Taylor Swift and endless memories of family dance parties to the song flood her brain.

She turns it off.

Five seconds later, she turns it on again and lets the memories be a welcome reminder of why she has to keep fighting. By the time she reaches the precinct’s garage, she’s singing along at the top of her lungs.

 She expects her first day back at work to be complicated, making abundantly clear how much she’s missed out on, but it’s not. After helping Holt out with a briefing, going through emails and submitting a work order for another broken fridge, she’s back to feeling like her efficient, professional self. She can do this. She can move on with her life and put this behind her. She can even follow the squad out for drinks later and have a glass of red wine for the first time in two months, enough to get her tipsy and laugh too loud at Rosa’s narration of a lively debate between Charles and a suspect about the ranking of different cheeses. Karen texts her a video of Leah pretending she’s Elsa from Frozen and gliding over the living room floor while singing the same lines of Let It Go on repeat, and her heart aches a little, but the guilt is easing. Jake sends her an update on the stakeout, asking if she’s doing okay, and for once, she doesn’t have to lie when she writes back I’m doing good.

 -

 She starts her second day back doing paperwork, but she doesn’t get far before she’s interrupted.

“Hey. Amy.”

She looks up from the stack of papers. “Rosa?”

“I need your help with this witness.” Rosa cocks her head in the direction of the corridor. “I know she saw my perp, but she’s confused and I don’t think she trusts me. I was wondering if you could help me talk to her? You’re much better with the emotional ones.”

“Ooh!” Amy shines up. “Is this another case for the Sleuth Sisters?”

“If it’s what gets you on board, then, sure.”

 Rosa briefs her on the case before they go in, and it doesn't take much to wake Amy's excitement. As much as she loves being a lieutenant, likes the administrative work and appreciates the more flexible hours, she does miss the constant surprises and adrenaline rushes that come with being out in the field. She even misses this, the simple interacting with people in order to both help them and discover new clues, anything leading closer to a solved case. She enters the room with a pep in her step and an ambition to help, but freezes when she sees the witness.

 At first, she wonders if it's the same tension she’s felt the handful of times she's had to question a familiar face - an identical twin of a high school bully, or a former neighbor she held a grudge against - but it only takes a closer look to realize that's not the issue. Amy doesn't recognize this woman.

The witness simply happens to be very pregnant.

 She doesn’t ask, because it’s not pertinent to the case, but Amy would put the woman at around six-seven months. Too far along for it to go unnoticed, not yet at the point where it looks like you’ve swallowed an exercise ball. She remembers loving that part of pregnancy, with the nausea gone and the energy returning. Her jealousy is a physical ache when she sees the witness placing her palm high up on her stomach, smiling in the same way Amy remembers she would do whenever she’d feel kicks.

The woman is shy at first, talking in a low voice with short sentences, and she keeps her hands atop the baby bump the whole time. Amy doesn’t blame her - she knows how naturally the instinct comes - but it doesn’t keep her from wishing the woman would stop drawing more attention to her state.

She doesn’t remember what questions she asks. She doesn’t remember what the woman answers. She makes notes but isn’t sure what she’s writing. All she can focus on is how the witness seems to personify the romanticized pregnancy glow, with shiny, thick hair and a cute bump. Amy’s using so much willpower in order not to cry, panic, or leave the room, it’s making her sweat, and yet she can tell from Rosa’s quizzical glances that her behavior is conspicuous. She can’t hide her envious anxiety, because every instance the woman touches her belly is another reminder of the pregnancy Amy thought she had and lost.

 Amy rushes towards the women’s bathroom the second it’s over. She needs to breathe, put her head between her knees and let the tears come until she’s cried out every drop of frustration over her situation, the unfairness of it all, the deep shame in not even being able to feel happy for someone else anymore. She’s disgusted with herself. Eight months of limbo trying to conceive has officially made her insane.

She’s leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on her face when Rosa catches up with her.

“Amy? What the fuck was that about?”

“Nothing. It was nothing,” she rambles. “I’m good. Great.”

“No, you’re acting weirder than usual, and something’s clearly up. Come on.” Rosa’s grip on her wrist is firm without feeling pressuring, and Amy’s too shaky to protest, so she follows her friend to the evidence locker.

“Can you sit down?” Amy nods. “Okay, great. Do you need your meds?” She manages another, more tentative, nod. “Okay, wait here and I’ll get them. Handbag, outer pocket, right?”

 Rosa disappears before she can confirm the information. She returns a couple of minutes later with two cups of tea and a prescription bottle, handing Amy the anxiety medication and gesturing at her to sit down before giving her a stern look.

“Okay, Santiago. Tell me what’s up before I get mad at you for making that witness feel weirded out.”

“I’m sorry.” Amy twists the cap, swallowing one of the pills before sitting down on the floor next to Rosa, their backs against a shelf of cardboard boxes. “You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

“No, because I didn’t know it was something you would act all loony about.” Rosa raises a brow. “What’s up? Are you pregnant again? That’s usually when you’re crying in here.”

She sighs, twisting back the cap and placing it on the floor beside her. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

“So?”

“We’ve been trying since fall,” Amy blurts out, admitting it to someone else for the first time in six months. “With IVF, now, but I’m still not pregnant. I almost was. Or I was, but I had an early miscarriage, so… no.”

Rosa nods slowly, bringing the cup of tea to her lips. “Damn.”

“It took eight months before we got a positive test. Ovulation testing, scheduling, IVF with shots and pills and money and a billion doctor’s visits. Then we finally found out I was pregnant.” The words are flying out of her, an unstoppable flow once she’s found them. “Except not even a day later, we found out it wasn’t happening, the numbers were too low. Chemical pregnancy. It’s why I was gone last week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “God, it’s so good to tell someone.” “Uh-huh. Wait.” Rosa scrunches her nose and knits her brows like Amy just critiqued The Holiday. “You haven’t told anyone?”

Amy laughs. “How would I do that? Call a briefing, stand in front of everyone and say hi, just so everyone knows, I’m trying to have another baby but I have shitty ovaries so it’s not going well and it’s making me depressed? Sure.”

“Not a public announcement, dum-dum. But you could have told your friends.”

“I didn’t want people to know. It’s been hard enough to deal with on my own. ”

“And I get that,” Rosa nods. “But there are people here who care about you. We could have been there for you.”

“How? Steered me away from every pregnant woman in case I start crying? I’m sorry, Rosa, but I don’t see how it would work.”

“Maybe not, but we could have helped! I could have known not to ask you to work with me on this specific witness instead of sitting through that shitshow!” She groans. “I know you hate accepting help or whatever, but you’re not alone in this, even if you think you are.”

Amy looks down at her shoes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just… don’t torture yourself over this more than you have to. It’s not worth it.”

 They sit like that for another moment, no sounds but the occasional sips of tea and heavy breaths as Amy feels the anxiety fade from a heavy storm to a cool breeze. She still feels guilty over ruining the case for Rosa, for the poor pregnant woman who probably thinks Amy’s a sociopath, but the tea and company are helping more than she can express. She knows Rosa’s right, too - she’s been keeping this pain mostly to herself for so long, never considering the option of talking about it. It’s a little bit of performance anxiety, a little bit of embarrassment and a little bit of stigma. She’s not supposed to struggle with getting pregnant.

 “I guess I was afraid if I talked about it, it would make it more real.” The realization takes shape as she speaks it. “Like, as long as we didn’t tell anyone, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.”

“But it’s already real, isn’t it? Talking about it won’t change that.”

“I guess not.”

Much to Amy’s surprise, her friend, who could and probably would break Amy’s arm if she hugged her without asking, lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Look, I get if you don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s fine. But if you want to come over tonight, watch a Nancy Meyers movie and drink tequila, you can. I won’t bully you if you cry.”

The sentiment is sweet, and so very Rosa of her, it makes Amy throw her arms around her best friend in gratitude, risking the fact that she might lose her arm. Rosa grunts, but then she leans into the hug for a brief, precious moment before disentangling herself.

“I’ll expect you at eight,” Rosa says before collecting their teacups and standing up. “Bring pizza.”

This time, Amy manages a proper smile. “I’ll be there.”

 -

 She tries to get back to work, but her focus is done and the precinct appears calm, so she takes the freedom of working from home for the rest of the day. There are only three hours left until she’s supposed to pick up Leah, anyway, and the apartment could use some cleaning. Her daughter’s room, in particular, is a mess so thorough Amy’s nearly impressed, but mostly shocked by how a person so tiny can create so much chaos. There’s no question about which parent the child inherited her non-existent organization skills from, she thinks, and gets to work on pairing together different puzzle pieces with their boxes.

 It’s when she’s laying on her stomach, trying to get a hold of the pieces that’s made their way underneath Leah’s bed, that she finds something. There’s a plastic bag pushed all the way to the wall, and she reaches for it to see what it is. She can’t see clearly through the packaging, so she unwraps it, pulling out a white toddler-size t-shirt with black arms and fancified gold writing that reads Promoted To Big Sister.

The heaviness in her chest returns with a vengeance when she realizes Jake must have ordered it - either during the few hours they thought they were having another baby, or even earlier. She clutches the item to her chest and closes her eyes, anticipating the tears.

 “Shit. I was hoping you wouldn’t find that.”

Amy turns her head to find Jake standing in the door opening. It's clear from the messy hair and crumpled t-shirt that he's coming straight from a long work shift without showering first, and the bags under his eyes make her wonder when he last slept.

“It's okay,” she says quickly, folding the item so she can't see the design. “Just… can you take it?”

He nods, taking it from her hands and sitting down across from her on the gray long-pile rug, putting the shirt behind his back.

“I can hide that better. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Amy snivels. “It's fine. I'm fine.” She stands up, picking up a stuffed Ikea shark from the floor and putting it on Leah's bed.

“You're cleaning.”

“Yeah.” She finds an illustrated Harry Potter-book at the foot of the bed and returns it to its shelf. “It calms me. How was the stakeout?”

“Good,” he nods. “How are you?”

“I'm okay. I think. How are you?”

His smile bears heavy traces of exhaustion. “Also okay, I think. Did a lot of thinking while I was away, actually.”

“Yeah.” Amy picks up a basket of fabric vegetables, putting them near the play kitchen before she sits down across from Jake again. “So did I.”

“Do you want to share, or…?”

“No - you go first.”

 Jake grimaces. They’ve gotten better at this over the years, finding a balance between his hesitancy to lay bare his emotions in serious conversation and her tendency to read into details and draw the worst conclusions posthaste, but she can still sense his discomfort as he reaches for a stuffed dragon from Leah’s bed, squeezing it to keep his hands occupied.

“I know I don’t know what it feels like,” he says slowly. “It’s not my body that’s…”

“Broken,” she fills in reflexively.

“Putting up a bit of a fight,” he corrects her with an unyielding look. “But you’ve been acting a bit like it doesn’t hurt for me, too. I know it was only a day, but for that day… I was already ordering that shirt for Lee, you know? I was so excited.”

“I know. I’ve really been busy feeling sorry for myself, huh?” She tries to laugh, but the chuckle dies out like a droplet of water swallowed by a raging fire.

“No, you’ve been suffering. Don’t be mad at yourself for that. Just… you’re not alone in this.” His hand reaches out to hold hers, and she squeezes it tight.

“It’s funny. Rosa told me the same thing today.”

“You talked to Rosa?”

“Yeah. I’m going over there for Nancy Meyers and tequila tonight.”

“Good, you need it.”

“I do, huh?” This time, the quiet laughter survives. The corners of Jake’s mouth quirk up.

 She's missed seeing him smile, she realizes. She's missed sharing happiness with him. They’ve had moments of hope, and even when everything has felt dark, they've still smiled and had fun with their daughter; but she wonders when they last laughed at something trivial just the two of them. It feels like ages.

“I miss our normal life,” she says, because it's the only way she can think of to describe it. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess. It's all my fault.”

Jake frowns. “No, we agreed on trying IVF.”

“I meant, I'm sorry we're struggling at all.”

“I don't think I get it -”

“It's my body that's the problem, right? If only you’d married a woman with well-functioning ovaries, you wouldn't be sitting here.”

 She's serious, but the way he narrows his eyes and looks at her like he doesn't know if she's joking or not, makes her giggle. He joins in, shaking his head in disbelief, and for a moment, it feels like old times.

“I know this might be hard to believe,” he grins, “but Amy Santiago, I did not marry you for your ovaries.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“I swear. I love you, more than anything in the world except our daughter, and that means I love all parts of you.”

“Even my shitty ovaries?”

Jake rolls his eyes lovingly. “They wouldn't be the first thing I listed, but, yes. I love them too.”

She laughs again. “Thanks, babe.”

“You're welcome.”

“I love you, too.” Amy closes the short bit of distance between them, wrapping him in a close hug as they sit there on the carpet. She's sniveling again, drying her eyes against his flannel, and he strokes her upper back and kisses the top of her head as he holds her. “So, so much.”

 They sit like that for a moment, not moving more than the slightest of shifts, another soft kiss pressed to a neck or a cheek.

“Do you want to think about the next step?” Jake asks, and she nods.

“We still have two frozen embryos left - we could transfer those and hope one sticks.”

His eyes gleam in that mischievous way she recognizes so well, maybe even from the first day they became partners. “And are we doing both at once?”

“I guess we might as well, right?”

Jake pumps his fist in a childish victory gesture, and it's Amy's turn to roll her eyes. Her skepticism is half-hearted, though, because it's hard to remain unaffected by his infectious happiness.

“I can't wait to be a family of five with you,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her onto his lap, and she groans.

“You’ve got to stop saying that, I swear you’re going to jinx it.”

  ~

 august.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s gotten used to it, that she’s not forcing her body to produce an unnatural amount of mature eggs, or that she’s filled with so much now-or-never furious ambition, but Amy experiences their second attempt with fertility treatments to flow much easier. She takes the medications, is thankful they don’t involve as many injections this time, goes to checkups, and does all she can to maximize her chances in the meantime. No tip is too absurd in comparison with her desperation for this to succeed. She tries acupuncture and changes her diet. She cuts back on caffeine despite the headaches it gives her, and takes even more vitamins. She does a few tries at fertility yoga, which mostly fail when Jake walks in on her doing a very wobbly supported shoulder stand and explodes in laughter, or when Leah insists on watching and is silent for exactly one minute before she wants to use Amy as a jungle gym and tries to climb on top of her in bridge pose. At first, Amy’s frustrated, but then she thinks of the sources she’s read about laughter being able to boost fertility, and lets the yoga session turn into a giggling tickle fight with her toddler. It’s much more fun, anyway.

 She continues the tips after the transfer, too. She wears fuzzy socks for her day of bed rest even though it’s the end of July and their bedroom is uncomfortably heated as is, because keeping your feet warm is supposed to boost chances of implantation. She orders jasmine scented candles for the same reason, but it only takes a minute after lighting one for her to realize she’s wildly allergic. In the end, there’s nothing to do but wait, hope, and try to relax.

 They decide to go all-in for the relaxation part. Truthfully, it’s not as much a decision as an offer from Charles and Genevieve to tag along for free on their family vacation after a pair of Boyle cousins dropped out, and not as much relaxation as it is a change of environment to chase their dare-devil two-and-a-half-year-old around in, but it is a paid-for one-week-trip to a family-friendly resort in Mexico and they’re not going to say no. Amy packs two pregnancy tests in her bag, and they’re on their way.

She worries about whether being on vacation with Charles will inevitably mean an abundance of intrusive questions and terrifying dining choices, but either Genevieve or Jake must keep him in check, because it’s neither. Rather, having two extra adults present ends up hugely improving the vacation - there's always someone guarding the kids, and Amy finds herself finishing reading one book, a poetry collection and listening to two podcasts already in the first four days. She gets her daily workout in by chasing Leah around, trying to prevent her from jumping headfirst from the deep end of the pool. She takes turns with Jake to pretend they're sea monsters who want to eat Leah's toes while she floats around with her swim ring and puffs, laughing merrily at them both. She discovers that the best way to get her daughter to let her put on sunscreen is if she gets to watch YouTube clips on the iPad meanwhile, and reaffirms that the best way to get Jake to put it on is to do it for him, then accept his offer of returning the favor. They try out all of the resort’s playgrounds and eat a ton of ice cream to keep cool. On one of the days, Jake and Leah take a nap together in the shadow spooning on a daybed, and Amy takes about a hundred pictures before scooching her bed as close to theirs as possible.

With her heart full, and her relaxation levels higher than they've been for a long time, she almost forgets it's time to take a pregnancy test.

 -

 It's evening by the time she remembers.

Charles and Genevieve have offered to babysit Leah for a night in exchange for Jake and Amy watching Nikolaj the next, which gives them the rare chance to have a proper date night. Amy gets dressed up, opting to go the extra mile with a sleek, black, v-neck dress that hasn’t seen the light of day since their honeymoon, and paints her lips a matte red for a pop of color. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she worries it’s too much - the dress sits tighter over her hips than it used to and the makeup feels like she’s overcompensating - but the way Jake’s gaze lands on her once she steps out, how his eyes widen and he swallows a gulp of air, makes her stresses dissipate.

Eight years of dating, five years of marriage, and he still looks at her with as much awe as he did their first night together.

He’s wearing a familiar pastel pink button-down, paired tastefully with dark jeans and the curls she still goes crazy for, so Amy figures she looks at him the same way.

 It is with great willpower they make it down to the restaurant in time for their reservation, only stopping once to make out against the wall of a hotel corridor. They’re seated at a nice table near a window with an ocean view, and it takes the waiter placing two drink menus on their table for Amy to realize why it feels like she’s forgotten something.

“Shit,” she mumbles, biting her lip as she reads the wine list.

Jake looks up, a horrified look on his face. “What? Don't tell me they only have Orangina for orange soda.”

“No, it’s not that. I just remembered I don’t know if I can drink. I forgot to take a pregnancy test.”

“That’s today?”

“Yeah. I was going to take it this morning, but then we slept in and Leah woke us up by jumping in our bed...” “And then Charles knocked on our door and asked us to come down to the breakfast buffet in five minutes,” Jake nods, bringing his hand up to his chin as if he’s in deep thought. “Well, we could leave and take it now?”

Amy considers it, but as much as she wants to find out, she also wants to sit here forever. Something about the restaurant’s lighting is making her husband look especially gorgeous, and it’s been way too long since they last sat through a proper nice dinner. She needs this. They need this.

“No,” she decides, intertwining her hand with his across the table. “Let’s have a quick dinner. I won’t drink anything, and then we’ll take a test.”

“Okay. Then I won’t drink either,” Jake declares, flipping to the non-alcoholic drinks with his free hand. “Yes! Regular orange soda!”

“You don’t have to just because I can’t -”

“Ames, I’m repeating, regular orange soda. This is the opposite of a problem. Plus,” he shrugs, “I literally just want to spend time with you.”

His tone is so genuine, his smile so sweet, she can’t stop herself from leaning forward and kissing him despite the looks from their fellow restaurant-goers.

 The dinner is wonderful, yet Amy can’t shake her nervousness. It bothers her. She’s having a luxurious meal, toasting in fruity soda together with the love of her life, and she can’t even be fully present in this moment because she’s worried about what the test will show. If this attempt has failed, she’ll have to do another full round of IVF, even though the thought of more injections makes her want to scream. If they get another negative test, it’ll be ten months and counting of this taking up too big a part of their lives, and Amy’s tired.

She wants to be pregnant and she wants to have another baby, but she also wants to enjoy life with her family without worrying about cycles, ovulation tests, and clinic check-ups. She wants to go on more of these date nights, more vacations, and share a glass of wine with her husband in the evening because she can. She’s tired of rules and recommendations, of counting, scheduling, and planning. For ten months she’s tried to be patient, but now the exhaustion has begun to creep over her.

They rush back to the suite once the dinner is done. Jake waits outside the bathroom while she takes the test, tries to make her hands stop shaking as she washes them, and carefully places the test display-down on the sink. He hugs her when she comes out, and she lets herself relax for a second in his arms even though she feels sick with anxiety.

They sit on the balcony, drinking from glasses of alcohol-free champagne in silence until the timer on her phone rings. Jake goes to get the test from the bathroom, but Amy feels like she knows the result before he’s given it to her.

 The test shows a bolded, plain, Not Pregnant, and she scoots it with her foot across the balcony, getting it as far away as possible.

“I’m sorry, “ Jake whispers, letting her lean her head on his shoulder and squeezing her hand.

She exhales, forcing herself not to cry. “So am I.”

“What do we do now?”

“First, I say we order a bottle of real champagne.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object.

 Much like it was a sudden thought that awakened a long lingering feeling when she first suggested they’d start trying, this time it's the immediate and overpowering negativity bringing up the growing sensation of impending burnout, that makes her say what she's thinking.

“I want to stop.”

Jake looks at her with as much shock as if she’d said she was thinking of canceling her Staples Rewards Membership. “You want to… stop?”

She nods.

“Like.. just… stopping?”

“You heard me. I don't think I want to do this anymore.” Amy draws a shaky breath, looking down at their intertwined hands. “If we have another go at IVF, we have to do the whole thing again. I guess we could, but it’s so much money, Jake.”

“We could work it out,” he mumbles.

“We could. I just don't know if I want to.”

“But… you wanted another baby.”

“And I still do.” She thinks of all the families she’s seen at the resort over the last few days. Sisters and brothers playing together, a light-haired toddler taking a break from swinging to run and kiss their baby sibling’s head, tiny infants with sunhats and baby swimsuits eliciting screams of happiness from being in the water while their big siblings try to entertain them. It’s painful to imagine never having her dream of more than one kid fulfilled, but it’s infinitely more agonizing to feel like she’s missing out on the wonderful life she does have.

“But it's been so long. It’s been so much pain, time and tears, and I'm still not pregnant. Remember when you said we’d do IVF as long as I felt it was worth it for me?”

Jake nods slowly. He’s watching her with a wistful look on his face, which is somehow more heartbreaking than the negative test.

“I don't think it is worth it for me anymore,” she whispers.

“I… are you sure, Ames?”

“No,” she confesses. “Yes. For now, I’m sure.”

 He wraps his arms around her again, neither of them saying anything as she twists her head so their foreheads are touching. Trailing her fingers against his jawline, she cups his face, lips brushing against his with the softness of doing it for the first time and the familiarity of doing it for the thousandth. He’s a little surprised by the move, but then he’s kissing her back just as carefully, one hand tangling in her hair before he draws back.

“I’ll go get us that bottle of champagne,” he says, and squeezes her hand another time before leaving.

 The sun’s starting to set, painting the sky a captivating roseate-orange blend. It fills Amy with a sense of peace and relief - a hope that her life will soon feel more like her own again.

Checking her phone inside, she sees that Charles has texted them a picture of a soundly sleeping Leah. She ignores the trio of winking emojis he’s written after encouraging them to have a good night and sends back two hearts instead. She’s already missing her daughter so badly it’s physically painful, and her eyes linger on the picture long after she’s replied, but she reminds herself that tomorrow is only hours away. Tonight is date night, and she’s determined to make it a good one despite its unconventional start.

 Jake returns ten minutes later, all out of breath from what he describes as a brisk walk to the corner store to buy the fanciest bottle they had for a decent price, and she smiles and kisses his cheek before accepting a glass.

“This is beautiful,” she says, moving aside so there’s space for him on the patio loveseat.

“The sunset?”

“This night. The sunset. You.”

“You’re beautiful-ler.” His reply is as reflexive as her eye-roll.

“I mean it. I want to enjoy this night with you. Hell, I just want to enjoy my life,” Amy gives the abandoned test a death-glare, “without this constant stress. It’s ruining everything.”

“It hasn’t ruined everything...”

“No, but everything would still be better if it wasn’t there, you know?” She shrugs and he nods, taking a sip from his glass. “I want to get back to our normal life. This vacation is making me realize how much I miss it.”

“What do you miss?”

“Being relaxed. Having any sort of free time. I miss being able to just live our lives with our amazing daughter, and not be constantly thinking of whether I’ve taken this and that medication or gone to this and that appointment and what day of what cycle it is.”

“I get that.” There’s a playful smile on his lips, and she’s about to ask what he thinks is so funny before he speaks again. “Do you think maybe we make such great kids that the universe couldn’t handle more than one? Think about it! Your brain, and my good looks - maybe it’s too powerful a combination, and if we have more children, everything will, like.. explode.”

It’s a ludicrous theory, but he delivers it with so much conviction it makes her snort, laughing until there are tears in her eyes.

“I’ll have to admit,” she says when she can finally form words again, “it sounds way more plausible than any other explanation.”

 There’s a lighter atmosphere between them after his joke, the warm evening air a little easier to breathe. They change the topic, drink more wine, and she makes less note of what they’re talking about than how content she’s feeling. It's like just making the decision to stop and accept the situation, rather than doing everything in her power to change it, is a giant block of stone off her shoulders. Without it, she can feel like herself again. The painful thought of never having another baby still bites at her, but for once, she's able to push it aside and refill her glass instead.

She wonders when they last had a proper date night like this. She’s certain it’s been too long - if nothing else, then for the way she finds her eyes resting in certain places after a while. The one unbuttoned button on his shirt, revealing a bit of slightly tanned chest. The way his fingers wrap around the thin glass. His neck, practically asking to be peppered with nips and bites. His arms, his hands, the thighs she can't help but rest her hand on.

A moment of deep eye contact, meeting his curiosity before she blushes, looking away.

 “Another thing I miss about my life,” she says, struck with sudden confidence. “Having sex with you without always thinking about whether I’ll get pregnant.”

“Woah there.” Jake coughs, examining her expression. “Did you have four drinks already?”

She shakes her head.

“Hmm. Anyway - it's okay, Ames.”

“For you, maybe.” She swallows the last in her glass. “Less so for me.”

His cheeks turn a dark crimson. “I'm sorry -”

“It's not your fault,” she assures him. “Honestly, I haven't let it be about me. Or us. But - god - I miss it being just for pleasure.”

“Me too.”

The heated glance he gives her is a physical sensation, making desire pool in the pit of her stomach and sending her nerves on full alert when his hand touches her bare inner thigh, softly stroking.

“I can't remember when we last were child-free together for a whole night,” she whispers, and he smiles a knowing smile. “Let's make the most of it.”

“If you say so.”

She pulls him in for a searing kiss, sighing with pleasure as he moves his hand higher, closer to where she's aching for if to be.

“Let's go inside, babe.”

 She’s nervous about so many things - whether she’ll change her mind tomorrow, whether this counts as giving up, if it makes her weak - but as Jake’s fingers brush over the faint bruises from the last injections with so much reverence, and he makes a point of kissing the thin white stripes on her lower abdomen that remain tangible proof she once carried their child inside of her, she decides those thoughts can wait. His lips move to her centre, and she gasps so sharply, he places a hand on her hip to keep her still.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she breathes, feeling the vibrations of his laugh before he sucks harder and everything is forgotten except the blissful sensation of his tongue against her and the building, pleasant tension as he pushes her closer to the edge.

 It’s a night of relief, in more than one sense.

 ~

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @bewarethesmirk!

Words: 5155  

Rating: Teen and up

Tags: Sterek Secret Santa 2019, Christmas fic, miscommunications, broody!Derek, college student Stiles, enemies to lovers, yoga instructor Derek, AU – no werewolves, mention of dead family members, minor angst, happy ending, fluff tropes, kissing, cuddling.

I didn’t write a coffee shop AU, but I hope you will enjoy a broody Derek teaching yoga, featuring a feud over a quilt…? 

*****

Yoga to take your chances with me

There is a twink formerly known as Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski standing outside the yoga studio, making Derek’s life miserable. Stiles would argue (if he got the chance to) that he’s technically already inside the studio, and he’s making Derek’s afternoon miserable, ‘because perspective, Derek. That’s your whole shtick, isn’t it?’. He can practically hear Stiles argue in his head. Some days Stiles’s voice drifts in and out of his stream of consciousness like an ocean tide - always there to offer a running commentary on Derek’s goings.

Maybe it’s his brain preparing him for what is bound to happen if he lets Stiles through the door; reminding him sternly that it’s a bad idea. He’s ten minutes into a class, not the best circumstances for removing Stiles from the premises. He hopefully glances over at Boyd, whom he knows from the regular gym and considers a friend. Derek raises his brows asking (30% rhetorically, 70% pleadingly… 0.01% desperately) ‘Should you or shall I?’. 

Boyd looks back with a serene smug ’Nah, you’re on your own on this one’.

Derek returns his glare to Stiles, who’s leaning against the glass partition that separates the lobby from the training area. A glass partition which Stiles now presses his obtuse face to, mashing it against the flat surface. Not for the first time post the Stilinski infestation Derek reminds himself that he teaches anti-violence for a living. If his clients ever got access to a running transcript of his inner monologue he’ll be committed, but he doesn’t see that as a legitimate reason as to not vividly fantasize about running Stiles’s head through the glass. 

Derek takes in the eighteen students in his beginners’ class, a rag-tag group of Beacon Hills residents ages 18 to 75, varying from seasoned athletes to those who barely made it through gym class in school. They’d surely vote in favor for Derek packaging Stiles up and FedEx him to his home address. 

He wisely decides to ignore Stiles for the time being (he knows why he’s banned) and picks up the instructions where he left off:

  “When you follow your in-breath, you are able to use the awareness of your current breath to anchor yourself in your body; in this present moment. Notice the pause where the breath turns… and breathe out slowly. Good.” 

His voice is low and assuring. He likes to teach the beginners class the most. Prefers it over the intermediate class, because he does a lot of slow-pace guiding and abandons most of the technical talk; not pushing any physical or mental limits the participants aren’t ready to face. 

Stiles leans both his palms against the glass – smearing it with his palms – his eyes sweat-blinking with indignation, as if he’s trying to laser-carve the words I’m offended on Derek’s forehead. 

  “Now, we are going to check in with your posture. The next time you inhale, follow your in-breath up, through your neck, and breath out through the top of the head. As you breathe in, straighten your back to assume a posture of” – Stiles’s hands slips down the glass with a protracted squeal – “dignity.”

   “Who’s that?” The complaint comes from Victoria, a middle-aged woman who carries herself like a drill sergeant. 

  “Remember,” Derek re-directs, “use any potential distractions as opportunities to actively choose where you direct your attention. Back to your breath.”

Victoria’s daughter, who occupies the mat to her left, lets out an amused snort – she’s the most diligent and attentive student in his class. Allison looks to him now as if she’s waiting for him to make the next move, and Derek knows he’s been out-voted. Damn it.

Stiles flinches when Derek reaches the lobby.

  ”You’re banned,” Derek states calmly. He’s aware that he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times before. 

  “THAT” – Stiles points accusatory to the note Derek has attached in the center of the partition. The note where he’s scribbled Stiles, you are banned. Go home  – “is a particularly shitty way of announcing it.”

  “You have repeatedly broken the membership guidelines, for months. You’ve wounded half of my clientele by now,” he hyperboles just to see Stiles’s eyes comically widen. “A truer false statement has never been spoken.” 

Stiles splutters. “What, I’ve barely—“

  “Isaac; two nosebleeds and a black eye.” Derek counts off his fingers. “Erica; elbowed twice, one busted lip. An average of seven complaints from costumers who you’ve intimately prodded with your foot without noticing. Mrs. Argent gave me five ultimatums about you per month. You need me to continue – or do you need them to tell you?” He indicates the audience they are attracting behind the glass. “If you wanted to be here so badly you shouldn’t have repeatedly disrupted my classes.” 

Stiles draws an angry, shuddering breath. “You were supposed to teach me how to yoga, so technically my failure is your failure.“

  “I can’t teach you ‘how to yoga’, I don’t think no one can.” 

  ”Oh ha hah, Yoga Mulaney, everybody!” Stiles laughs cruelly. “Too bad insults don’t exclude my right to defend myself in the court of law.” 

  ”There’s not a lawyer in the country that would touch your case.” 

There’s a hint of amusement breaking through Stiles’s exaggerated fury. “So you’re really not going to let me in? What if I—“ 

He makes a half-assed attempt to run past, but Derek is faster – all it takes is a firm hand on Stiles’s chest. 

There’s a beat, where Stiles’s just gaping and processing the betrayal, looking between Derek’s face and his hand before boiling over. ”BUT IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Derek tells himself not to laugh. “That’s not an acceptable defense speech. I have to get back to my class. You should leave.” Or hang back here so I can talk to you. 

  ”I don’t think… you’ve never been mad over that stuff before.” The crease in Stiles’s forehead deepens in suspicion. “Wait. That’s what it is? You’re mad that I stole your pillow, because I… yeah, you know what? I’m keeping that, and I still have beef with you about the quilt.” He fold his arms.

  “You have beef about the quilt,” Derek repeats flatly. That’s about the most discouraging thing Stiles can say to him, but he supposes he can force himself to understand Stiles’s motivation.

  “Uhm, yeah. If I’m banned for life, I’m not walking out of here empty-handed.” Stiles slides his hands inside his pockets; steps back. It’s a retreat, and they both now his absence will be permanent.

  “How about I give you the quilt after you apologize like an actual adult.” Derek looks, really looks at him to convey that he’s still here if Stiles decides he feels the same thing, but Stiles’s gaze is alive with indignation and flickering uncertainly to the rest of the class. And the note stuck to the glass. “You apologize first, asshole. I’m the wounded party here.”

  “In that case,” Derek says tersely, and stomps back to take his place in front of the class to teach some goddamn peace of mind. 

A few months ago…

The first time Stiles shows up in Hale’s yoga studio he’s nervously hovering on the threshold, looking like he’s about to rob the place with a lacrosse-stick. Derek steps around the reception desk. 

  “First time?” he asks civilly. 

  ”Huh?”

  ”Yoga?” Derek’s eyes do a tour around the facilities in case Stiles wasn’t aware of his location. ”Are you here to sign up for the beginners class?”

Stiles squints at a spot on the wall for ten seconds straight, grimacing like it physically hurts to come up with an answer. His face is weirdly hypnotizing, holding Derek’s attention in the meantime.  ”I could be? I mean, I never saw myself doing that stuff, y’know. But here we are?”

Okay... Derek decides to go forward with the standard questions. “Do you have any injuries I should be aware off? Do you work out regularly? Any sports?”

  “Nah. Lacrosse, in high school, now not so much. My best friend is an assistant teacher so we use the facilities sometimes for old times sake.”

  “You’re in college?”

  “I come home when I can. Have some peace and quiet.” He flexes his long fingers, joints popping, and grins cheekily when Derek frowns, “I really should dilute my Internet addiction with some physical exercise. A bit of Zen.”

His words make less of a sense but he’s also cute. 

  “You’ll need a mat and a few other things.” Derek leads his new client to the supply closet and hands them to Stiles, one by one. “First class is free, and starts in five. Can you do that?” 

Stiles nod quickly, and grapples his mat-roll. “Totally.”

Turns out Stiles, occasional Lacrosse enthusiast, might have the muscle strength to hold his body in the asanas Derek guides the class through, but doesn’t have the flexibility or range of motion to survive even the beginners class without losing balance and dealing out blows with his flailing limbs. 

By the end of it Stiles is left crying into his yoga mat in the child’s pose, cradling his waist, and getting mocked by Erica. 

Here’s the kicker though: Stiles comes back a week later, and then on Thursday in Derek’s advanced class. It’s a disaster. Yet another accidental bitch-slap when Stiles loses his balance and domino-tumbles over Isaac Lahey who happens to be innocently reaching Nirvana behind him. 

On Friday morning (does he even go to college?) he shows up to inexplicably join Derek’s yoga class for women on maternity leave and their babies.

  “Yo, you said it would be much more chill,” Stiles accuses from the floor, where he’s languidly patting a small infant on her back. 

Derek halts by his mat, “I meant the Kundalini, which was the class an hour before this one.” 

It’s a challenge to sound admonishing when there’s a fuzzy baby head snoozing right under Stiles’s chin. He looks like he’s secretly terrified that the baby will slip down his chest like a slippery bar of soap if he sneezes. Derek wonders if he should offer Stiles a bean-bag to care for once the mother returns from the bathroom. It looks like an effective way to keep Stiles in check. Or, Derek hopefully looks around, is someone else willing to donate their child? Throwing human infants at Stiles unfortunately sounds like an emergency solution, though. 

Stiles keeps showing up and he keeps going at it – teeth gritted, relentless, and occasionally guffawing so loud it disrupts Derek’s instructive monologues. Derek finds himself tracking Stiles’s progress. His non-linear progress, but progress nonetheless. Stiles sneaks into an intermediate class and when Derek looks over Stiles is in his sweats, standing in the advanced warrior pose. Stiles is ‘surfing’ his mat, as he likes to refer to it. He has the body of an athlete, long-limbed and by November he’s way more limber than before. His torso stretches gracefully when he cants his hips and reaches for the ceiling. By Derek’s instruction he applies pressure on his heel to further stretch his hip flexor; arches his back instead of staying in the safe position and slips his left hand around his waist to rest on his right inner thigh - a sight which Derek has a quiet aneurysm over – before Stiles promptly falls over like a cardboard cut-out of himself caught in a breeze, socking Isaac in the eye as they both go down. Derek laughs – the one time he failed to laugh internally, like a professional. 

He can’t help but look forward to the times when Stiles lingers after class. Mostly recovering on the floor while Derek tidies up. 

  “Can you chalk like, around me while I lay here?” Stiles circle-motions his hand. “We can play CSI! I’ll be the victim. You’ll be the coroner.” He piano-taps at his sternum with two fingers. 

  “Tempting,” Derek says, causing Stiles to look up with hope written across his face, “But I would probably just step over you if I found you dead in the street.”

  “That’s cold.” Stiles scratches his throat. It’s distracting how he’s always doing something off-beat with his hands, the motions catching Derek’s attention and holding it hostage. 

  “Hey, do you know this used to be a dance studio?” Stiles asks.

  “Speaking of nothing. I think there was one before the building was closed for renovation. How do you know it was a dance studio?” 

Stiles leisurely points to the nearest wall. He’s tired. “You haven’t noticed there’s still barres over there? And there, and there, and there.”

Of course Derek has noticed the handrails lining the walls in the loft. “I didn’t think you noticed them. Except for using them as a towel rack.” 

Although he suspects Stiles takes notice of a lot of things. 

Derek averts his eyes when Stiles yawns and scratches under his shirt. Stiles‘s gaze jumps to the spiral staircase. “So, what’s up there? Your office? Can I have a tour?” 

For a moment Derek thoughts screech to a halt. The space up there is where he sleeps; it’s the equivalent of a small studio apartment. To have Stiles up there, walking around and touching his things, no, that would feel too much like a date. And Stiles isn’t flirting – he’s asking questions.   

  “I live up there,” he admits, unsure if it’s personal information he should share. “No, you’re not ever allowed up there, ever.”

  “Not ever, ever? Don’t flatter yourself, Hale. As if I have the energy for stairs,” Stiles mutters glumly. 

They keep having these little chats, and Derek actually enjoys them – he’s relieved that there’s at least one person in Beacon Hills he can talk nonsense with without feeling like Derek Hale, the guy who burned down his parents’ house with the parents still in it. That’s the neat summary of what Derek reads in people’s faces every time he’s in a store and notice how he’s being rubbernecked by the residents of Beacon Hills. It’s a small town, and he should’ve known what to expect when he moved back. 

One evening Derek find himself re-telling his own first time in a yoga class as an eighteen year old, how he had been dragged inside by the neck by his sister Laura, who hissed at him to relax! He’s secretly proud of her efforts to bring him back to life by dragging him to yoga retreats and encouraging him to take instructor courses. When she left New York for Europe he decided to check out the town where they grew up, and open up a yoga studio of his own.

  “So, what are you guys doing for the holidays?” Stiles asks, lounging in the sofa in Derek’s studio.

Derek raises his head, realizing he’s got four stragglers now: Stiles, Boyd, Isaac and Erica, who all refuses to leave at an appropriate hour and leave bags of chips in the corners. The loft is not a YMCA and he will not tolerate Isaac and Erica dragging in chairs from the lobby, or Boyd installing a fridge behind the counter. He doesn’t voice his concerns, instead noticing how unusually subdued they are in the aftermath of the other participants chatting amicably about Christmas plays, family dinners and finding that perfect last minute gift. 

Boyd shrugs.  “I will do what I always do. Spend Christmas at my parents’ house.” He sounds far from happy about the fact.

Isaac squirms, and it’s unlikely he has plans for Christmas. Derek knows a bit, well, enough to suspect that Isaac doesn’t have family to visit. 

  “I’ll be here,” Derek answers curtly, with enough finality for the topic to be dropped.  

Stiles lets the melancholy prevail for almost thirty seconds. 

  “We should decorate this place with garlands and stuff.”

  “No.”

  “Yes!” Stiles grins.

Derek rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I swear I’ll throw a baby at you.”

  “Dude,” Stiles says. “That makes no sense.”  

**

Here’s the thing. Stiles can’t help himself, but he notices stuff about Derek and suddenly he’s addicted. Or crushing. Crushing hard.

He notices how Derek care individually for the other stragglers: Boyd, Isaac and Erica. Initially they are fiercely loyal, instinctively on Derek’s side after the chips incident (so he opened a bag of chips in class, big deal, it was boring and he had the munchies) (so he choked on a mouthful when Derek told him off big deal) (so he suffered through a coughing fit for twenty minutes straight which happened to also be the duration of Derek’s guided meditation). 

But they dislike Stiles only for like two seconds, and then they fake-dislike him and deep down they love him, he’s sure. They start to bring snacks to the studio, which lead to a lot of grumbling and extra triple compulsive late night-vacuuming of the floor for Derek. Stiles stays late to help, saint that he is.

But, Stiles also notices, Derek never tells them to stop hanging around. Okay, he never stop asking them to leave, but he doesn’t force them to, and he’s getting softer. There lies a important distinction.

Furthermore. Stiles is objectively and subjectively finding Derek attractive. Yes. Have you seen Derek in black compression shorts flexing his hamstrings? Stiles has. Stiles has been guilty of peering through the glass when Derek has private sessions, where he and some other superman or -woman balance on their forearms and head. He has seen Derek’s death-defying acrobatics where he touches the soles of his feet together while in the headstand. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days he caught Derek levitating under the ceiling like a freaking bat.

Stiles also knows Derek always wears baggy basketball shorts over his compression ones to all his regular classes, overly concerned about not flashing his junk when he lifts his legs, and the man hates attention. Stiles knows by the stiff way Derek holds himself when he’s walking around before and after class that he much rather be handing out advice from a Skype call. Derek is secretly an introvert, but alone with Stiles? He’s relaxed, funny, and Stiles is addicted to his cynicism.

There’s a lump in Stiles’s throat when he finally decides to be done with the bullshit and finally tell Derek why he showed up that very first day. Rip off the truth-bandage.

Stiles drives back to Beacon Hills on a Thursday and makes sure he is the last man standing (laying down, star-fishing the floor, lamenting) after the end of the evening class. Derek is hovering over him with a soft expression (accentuated by the warm light from the still burning candles), and Stiles feels warm and buzzing with anticipation and nerves.

“Why are you still here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Stiles sits up, gingerly when his wrung-out muscles protests, panics, and starts to ramble the thing he wasn’t suppose to reveal until he’d said the other thing. “I want… I want to ask you out, on a date. Because I think you are funny, and admirable, and hot when you’re holding babies and vacuuming, but also – your ass is fine, but that’s not... I neglect my studies and go home every opportunity I get just for the chance to see you.”

It’s not at all what he was planning to begin with. More like the last thing, the concluding remark. He stares at Derek, pulse rushing, caught between telling Derek the truth and shut up and just, just—

Derek kneels down in front of him, very, very close, and Stiles freezes in place. Derek nods, “Do you… want to come upstairs so we can talk about this?”

Stiles agrees with a foggy notion that that will give him enough time to explain why that won’t be the first time he’s been up there.

**

Derek throws caution the wind here and grabs Stiles’s hand. He leads the way up the winding staircase, mentally wondering if Stiles’s impression of him will shift when he sees where Derek lives. He doesn’t require much after five years on the east coast and three years in Beacon Hills. Shitty apartments have been a constant in his life ever since he left the first time, but this one he genuinely likes.

Stiles stares at the handmade quilt he’s got covering the bed, at the grotesque but matching throw pillows on the floor by the window where Derek occasionally reads or meditates, then back to the bed and the photos on the shelf above. Derek’s earthly possessions are scarce since the fire that burned down his home, and the framed photos are donated from friends of the family. There’s the graduation picture of Laura, arm confidently slung across Derek’s shoulder, and a picture of all the kids sitting on the hood of their parents’ car back when they went on a vacation to lake Michigan. 

The rest of the stuff in Derek’s place can be sum up by a dead plant, a floor-fan covered in dust, and the mentioned quilt and pillows which Derek found in the cabinet when he moved in.

Stiles draws a shuddering breath and touches the quilt almost reverently. And is he... is he sniffing back tears? Fuck, Derek wouldn’t have brought Stiles up here knowing his apartment was such a downer…

Stiles starts to forcefully pull the quilt from the bed. There’s definitely a piece of vital information Derek’s missing here. “Stiles… What exactly are you doing?”

Stiles’s picks up the pillows from the floor too. He gathers them protectively against his chest, the quilt spilling over in his arms. “Fuck my life. Fuck my life, man. I should go.”

Derek craves a few more words of explanation, but Stiles is already stalking back to the stairs. “Is there a reason you’re stealing my bedspread?”

“I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. I’ll reimburse you,” Stiles yells, half-way down the staircase already. A beat later there’s a loud, metallic resonance from his collision with the railing, and a crash.

Stiles is sitting on the floor when Derek rushes downstairs, legs entangled. Derek gently removes the hand Stiles presses to his left temple, inspecting the damage.

Stiles groans. “Okay, fine, you might as well know before this building kills me. I never planned to come to your classes, alright. You asked what I was doing here and I didn’t know what to say. I want to remember my dead mom? You asked me if I wanted to sign up, so I just went with it.” He picks guiltily at the frays of the quilt. “My mom made these, so people could use them when this was her dance studio. I used to nap under this blanket, up there in her office, when I wasn’t crashing her classes. From what I remember she really loved this place.” 

  “I had no idea.” Derek wants to gather Stiles in his arms, to wrap him up in the quilt burrito style and get him upstairs and patch the gash in his head – but Stiles retreats. The quilt pools to the floor between them when he rises to his feet.

“I should go. I just…” He waves tiredly at the offending quilt, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

 “Take it. It’s yours, not mine,” Derek states. “Do you want to use my bathroom? I’ve got a first aid kit.”  

Stiles shakes his head, bites his lips thoughtfully. “Not, not a good idea. I have to go home. Talk to my dad.”

Derek nods. The weird thing is that Stiles is usually so amicable with the information-oversharing. Yet Stiles kept the fact that this was his mother’s dance studio for three months. His thoughts goes to the image of how Stiles was looking at him that very first day in the lobby. The expression on his face which Derek finally can identify correctly: bafflement. Stiles was here to get a glimpse of his mom’s former practice, nothing else.

Stiles doesn’t come back the day after. Or the day after that. He’s a no show for two weeks straight, and the semester is ending on Friday. Erica kind of hints she has Stiles’s number, but Derek’s convinced Stiles wouldn’t appreciate Derek bothering him. The realization that Stiles up and left the second he got what he wanted (closure?) is tough to swallow. The bitter taste is still there when Stiles shows up to the last class late December, and sees the note Derek has stuck on the wall.

Stiles blowing up and Derek being defensive, all in front of an audience, is not how Derek thought the reunion with Stiles would go.

**

Derek spends the weekend before Christmas running new tracks in the woods north of town. When the morning of December 25th arrives he brews coffee and drinks it sitting cross legged in his bed in a sliver of pale sunlight, facing the shelf.

“Merry Christmas.” He drinks from his cup.

He calls Laura and they talk for a while, then tries to meditate but the head-space he’s in resumes the quality of empty and alone when he listens to the silence in the loft below. Derek wonders if he should feel angry. He is finally out of fucks to give, except maybe when it comes to his yoga studio. At least he has—

A rattle downstairs brings him abruptly out of his thoughts.

The distinctive sound of patting feet crossing the floor of the studio. Several feet.

When Derek descends the staircase he’s dumb-struck by the sight of Boyd, who should be celebrating Christmas with his parents; Isaac, who Derek should’ve given an extra thought to; Erica, whose family life Derek doesn’t know that much about, and three others whose presence he has no idea how to reconcile with: Allison, a dark-haired boy holding her hand, and Stiles.

Derek descends the last two steps in Stiles direction before he thinks better of it, looking around and feeling caught in the spotlight.

“What are you doing here?”

”Do you honestly think I want to spend the holidays stuck at my parents’ house?” Boyd wonders.

Derek doesn’t know how to answer that, except he does, in his mind: Of course you would. 

Boyd gives a short and dismissive head-shake. “Not so much. I doubt they’ve noticed I’m not in my room, and their idea of Christmas is too close to a wake for my liking. We were hoping we could spend it with you. Use the kitchen Stiles tells me you got up there.”

Derek nods an affirmative, and that’s enough for the confident smile to return to Boyd’s features – and okay, now they’re hugging.

It sets of a chain reaction. Isaac hugs him. Erica hugs him. It’s awkward, it’s weird as heck, but he humors them, even Allison’s boyfriend who gives him a bright “Hey” and an energetic shoulder-pat before he’s pulled back by Allison and stumbles over the huge net filled with volleyballs he’s holding (Allison’s boyfriend is an assistant gym teacher and also Stiles’s best buddy).

Allison hugs him and kisses his cheek: “My mom wishes you happy holidays. You know she would never say it in person.”

Derek will process this at a later date because Stiles is in his line of vision, with a sheepish look and a blush that deepens when Derek pulls him in instinctively. Derek lets go of Stiles after the first squeeze and light pressure of Stiles going lax against his chest. Stiles grins wryly and bounces his fist on Derek’s shoulder awkwardly, and it’s stated then: Stiles is back at pretending his feelings confession never happened. Derek thinks he’s conveying understanding – it’s okay, he’s happy they’re friends.

The day transpires a lot more cheerily after that – different than any other Christmases Derek has had, counting the ones in his childhood. Because the Hales never spent Christmas decorating a condemned loft turned yoga studio with garlands and candles, cooked an entire Christmas dinner in a tiny kitchen or by the way, used said Christmas decorated yoga studio to play dodgeball.

The dodgeball tournament turns out to be the bloodbath Derek’s yoga studio has been accustomed to lately. They have revolving team members and re-evolving teams due to small numbers, disloyalty within the ranks and frequent injuries: some sprained wrists, several head traumas, and a groin-hit that requires a long convalesce for Stiles, in fetus position on Derek’s bed upstairs.

They let him rest, but after twenty minutes Derek gets antsy and heads up the stairs.

“Are you cold?” he asks, holding the folded quilt in his hands.

Stiles looks wary and hopeful when Derek drapes it over his body, tugs his feet in and then – by the grip Stiles suddenly has of his shirt-chest – Derek lays down on the mattress so that they are face to face.

  “I’m sorry I ran. I’m a coward who’s never asked someone out before.”

  “You’re not. You came back. That—” I have no idea what that means, “—means a lot. I’m sorry for banning you.”

Stiles carefully grips his hand.  

“The note was the most childish thing I’ve seen you do – I think I’m rubbing off on you. Message received, though.” 

Derek looked at their interwoven fingers. “Can you explain to me again why you invade my privacy with Christmas cheer?” 

Stiles grinned. “I had no choice. I would’ve come either way, but then I thought why sneak in like a criminal when I can do it in style? Your friends were more or less hanging on the lock already.”

“They’re not my friends,” Derek says, but the jolt he feels in his chest suggests otherwise.

  “Then do you still want me to leave?”

Stiles looks at him, hopeful, and eagerly licks his lips. Derek reaches out to wipe sweat-crusted hair from his forehead, carefully minding the bruise he’s sporting. Stiles pulls him closer by the wrist, and they kiss, almost shyly. 

  “No,” Derek says, “but you’re on probation.” 

The kisses last longer and longer, and Stiles arranges Derek’s arms around him before he throws the quilt over them both, along with a cautionary “mind the groin”. Heavy, warm fabric falls over Derek’s head, robbing him of his sight and swaddling them both in their own cave of intimacy. To keep his weight off Stiles’s sore areas proves difficult, so they roll over.

“Ready to make some new memories in this room?” Stiles makes himself comfortable on top of him, hips supported by Derek’s hands, ”I think I feel my junk recovering.”

That’s when Stiles’s head meets a projectile that smacks his forehead into the ridge of Derek’s nose. Stiles throws off the quilt and catches the red volleyball before it rolls down to the floor. 

He raises it threateningly.

”Shit.” Erica ducks behind the stairs. “I was aiming for Derek!”

Stiles knees Derek in the stomach in effort to get off the bed. “Oh, it’s on, Reyes. Derek, you’re with me!”

  “Coming.” Derek remains still for a moment, gazing up towards the ceiling and trying not to smile. He loses that fight.

[lovelyrocker]

Love Is Blind Ch.24

~ RPF

~ Characters: Jensen Ackles, Lexi Ackles(OFC), Jared Padalecki, Jesse(OMC), Bethany(OFC), Dr. Turner(OFC)

~ Pairings: Jared x Lexi(Sorta,kinda)

~ Warnings: Talk of Suicide, Talk of Alcohol abuse and Drug abuse, Slight Smut, Angst(of course), Mental Health Situations, 

~ Word Count:7,288

~ Un Beta’d - All Mistakes are my Own

~ *FEEDBACK IS GOLD*

Love Is Blind Masterlist

<Previous Chapter

Lexi had been in the hospital for going on seventy two hours. Other than the four hours Jared had left to clean up and try to sleep, Jared didn’t leave Lexi’s side. Between the blood loss an overdose, alcohol poisoning and her heart stopping, her body was going to need more time to recover. When Lexi woke she’d worked herself into a panic attack in Jared’s arms. Out of fear of putting stress on her already delicate heart,the nurses came in and sedated her in a mess of of rushed apologies and greetings of relief and tears. 

Lexi’s anxiety took over the minute she saw the bandages on her wrists, giving her a short lived calmness of seeing Jared. The realization of what she had done smashed into her like an anvil. She was filled with sadness and regret that she’d been so stupid. She wanted to apologies but couldn’t speak. He throat was raw and every sound felt like needles. 

The next twenty four hours Lexi woke  underwent dozens of tests. Neurological, to make sure her brain function was normal. Physical, to see how she was about to function. But most importantly, psychiatric. She spoke with a Psychiatrist for a bit, not saying much. She was still groggy through most of it and her body hurting from being shocked after her heart stopped.

Lexi was sedated again, resting, while Jared and Jensen sat diligently at her bedside. “You’ve been here for a while. Go home and get some rest.” Jensen told Jared.

“I’m good.”

“Jare,”

“Jay, I’m fine.”

“Go home, see your kids, eat, sleep.” Jesen lifted a hand when Jared went to protest.  “Don’t even. Doctor said she’ll be out til the morning, at least.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s nine pm. Go. I got this for the night.”

“Promise me that you will call if she wakes up?”

“You know I will.” Jensen assure his friend.

~

It was eleven PM now. Jared stopped by Genevieve’s t see the kids for a bit, then swung by Danneel’s to say a quick hi and pick up a few things from Lexi’s  room he’d thought she’d like.

Jared sat in his bed with Lexi’s journal in his hands. Why did he take it from her room at Jensen’s? He remembered the day he gave it to her. It was in Jensen’s trailer a few days after her sixteenth birthday. He had searched for weeks but couldn't figure out what to get his best friend’s little sister. He’d seen her journaling on set one day and noticed she was nearing the end of the small notebook. So he looked at all  the nearest bookstores but never saw anything he thought she would like. They were either too small or too bulky. Too plain, to girly, nothing that fit her style or her personality. That’s when he took the internet and design her a journal. One she could add to, one she could carry with her easily. She’d never used another journal since. 

He tapped his thumb on the cover of the black leather debating whether or not he  wanted to read it. Did he have it in him to invade her privacy? Would he like what he would read?  Lexi was currently laying half sedated in a hospital bed with four inch cuts on both her wrists. Now was not the time for privacy. Now was the time to find out why. More so, what could he have done to stop her. He opened it to a random page and began reading.

 I woke up this morning and for a split second I didn’t hurt. Then I remembered I’m 2200 miles from Jared. That’s when the empty sinking feeling set in.

He swallowed hard and flipped a few pages over.

Today was another bad day. Jensen keeps trying to talk to me but after what he did, I don’t care what he has to say.

Jared stood placing the journal down and went to the kitchen. When he walked back into his room he had a glass and a fifth of whiskey. He had decided that if he was doing this he was gonna need some liquid courage. He turned the pages to the beginning and began again. He mostly flipped and skimmed through reading over the entries.  It was mostly school, work, college choices, school boys, friends, normal teenage things. The handwriting was  different. Softer more carefree. Then he scanned a page that made him pause. 

I have a big problem. I think I have a crush on Jared.

He gave a small smile and kept reading.

Very cliche’ I know! Little sister having a crust on her brothers bestie. But it’s weird, i’ve never looked at him like that until I moved to Vancouver and I have no idea why. 

Then again, how could I not have a crush on him? The man is fucking gorgeous! 

Jared gave chuckle and flipped a few more pages.

I think I’m losing my mind. No way in hell was Jared flirting with me, right? It's in my head, it has to be! He is like  16 - 17 years older than me. That's almost two decades!! But then he looks at me with those piercing eyes and I suddenly forget how even breath. And when he touches me, my whole fucking body is electric. 

Jared let out another chuckle. He knew she made him feel like that but didn’t know that so early on, she felt the same way. 

I’ve never thought a kiss would make my heart literally stop. I feel like that everytime he kisses me. That can’t be normal, right? And I know he wants to take things slow but God, I want him. I know he wants to respect Jensen and I know he is scared because he has WAY more experience. But when we have sex its something that Ive never felt before. Even when we had sex the first time it was so different from with Chris. 

Jared paused just seeing Chris’ name on the paper. 

With Chris it all seemed rushed. Like he couldn’t wait to fuck. It was all pulling and rough. More focused on what he wanted.  Jared was different. He was gentle and careful. I could tell he wanted me but he also wanted to feel me. He took his time and made me feel like I was everything. He still does.

Jared downed his drink and flipped through a few more pages stopping when he saw the handwriting change again.

I hate feeling like I can’t control my life! Every always know whats better for me. Jensen knew better when he made me and jared break up. Jared knew better when he told me to leave and basically forget about him. What about me? What about what i want?! At least chris gives me the benefit of the doubt. He gives me the chance to make up my own mind.

Jared looked at the date and saw it was about three months after she’d moved to L.A. She was diagnosed around this time. He could tell the differences in her handwriting. It was a tell tale sign of her moods and her ups and downs. Jared adjusted his position and several folded papers slide out of the folded back of her journal. 

Dear Jared, I'm above the clouds right now on my way to Austin. My chest aches because all I can think about is you. I know Jensen thinks he is doing the right thing but how can it be right if you and I are hurting this much? The main reason I guess i'm writing is to let you know I get it. I get why you told me to go

Jared swallowed hard pouring another glass of whiskey before finishing and moving on to another paper.

Dear Jared, 

Today didn’t hurt as much. I miss your text messages and phone calls. 

Dear Jared,

I finally got out of the house for a few hours today. It wasn;t bad. Went to a movie with some friends. I was missing you by the end of the night. No one to tell my night to.

Dear Jared,

Tom reminds me so much of you! Gen came by with the kids today and even though she looks at me like she wants to kill me, I’m happy I got to see the boys.

It was letter after letter that she wrote as if she would be having a conversation with him. This was how she coped with not having her best friend anymore. Even though she knew she probably would never mail a single letter, she still wrote and told Jared about her days. The letters went from almost daily to a few a week. Then every few weeks until she left for L.A. Then the handwriting changed again. 

Dear Jared,

L.A. is nice. I’m sure it would be better if you were here with me. I’m managing to deal with everything pretty well. 

Dear Jared, 

  I saw Chris today. He is doing well and getting help.

Dear Jared,

I want to tell you how much i’ve missed you, how much I still love you. I’ve thought of the day you;d be standing in front of me again so I could tell you. But when I saw you I was so mad!

Jared fought back a tear as he kept reading.

You were worried I would recent you for being with you but truth is I recent you for not being with me.

Jared swallowed hard as he flipped to another letter. He saw one dated the night before she hurt herself.

Dear Jared,

  I’m sorry. For being so mad at you. For pushing you away. For such a headcase and making things difficult. I wish things would have been different. That they could have been different. Maybe things were supposed to happen this way. I don’t know. All I do know is you were one of the best things to happen to me. And I want you to know that I love you and none of this is on you.

Always, Lexi

She was saying goodbye. He took another long sip from his glass emptying it. Jared flipped through another handful of of letters and a few more pages of her journal before getting up from his bed, dressing and heading back to the hospital.

~

The nurse walked into Lexi’s room at six am with an I.V. bag of fluids. She was quiet as she walked through the room as to not wake up Jensen who was sleeping on the small couch in the room, feet propped up on the edge and his head on the other, arms crossed over his chest.  And, Jared was on his side next to Lexi in her bed. His head nestled close to hers on the pillow, arm resting across her belly, hand on hers. 

The machine beeped and Jensen blinked awake looking over at the nurse.  “I’m sorry, sir.” The young nurse whispered.

“It’s fine.” Jensen whispered back sitting up the couch squeaking waking Jared.

Jared climbed out of Lexi’s bed and looked at the nurse. “Everything alright?’

“Yes, sir. Just hanging more fluids.” The nurse said to Jared as she pressed a code into the machine. “Her vitals are staying steady.” She told Jensen as he stood next to the bed. “I have a few papers that need signing. I have two contacts on her list?”

“That’d be me.” Jensen raised a hand.

She held the clipboard in her hands. “Which are you, Mr. Ackles or Mr. Padalecki?”

Jared and Jensen both looked at the nurse then to one another in surprise. “SHe has me as an emergency contact?” Jared questioned. 

“More than that.” She looked at the papers in front of her. “You’re Jared Padalecki?” Jared nodded. “You and Mr. Ackles are on a form stating that if anything happens to Ms. Ackles all legal and Medical decisions are to be made by the two of you.” She showed Jared and Jensen a copy of the legalized document. “How are you two related?”

“I’m the brother he’s her boytoy.” Jensen told the nurse casually. “Ma’am when was this document made?”The nurse pointed at a date. “That the year she moved to L.A., look Ellie even signed as a  witness.”

“You didn’t know about this?” Jensen asked him and Jared shook his head. “I’m sorry,” Jensen told the nurse. “What do I need to sign?”

“The first two. It’s consent to treatment for the neuro exams and the other is for billing.”

Jensen signed the papers and the nurse left then he shifted his attention to Jared. “You really didn’t know.”

Jared looked up from Lexi. “Not a clue.”  He gave her hand a squeeze. “She is always full of surprises.” 

“What time is it?” They heard a raspy mumble.

“Lexi?” Jared looked down to see her squirming in the bed. “Hey, baby girl.” He cooed.

“Can I get some water?” She asked trying to sit up

“No, no, don’t sit up.” Jared held up his hands.

“Don’t push yourself.” Jensen handed her a cup with a straw.

Lexi sipped the water and handed the cup to Jared who placed in on the small rolling tray. “How do you feel?” Jared asked. 

“Tired. Kinda groggy.” Her eyes focused on her hands in her lap, instant tears welling. “I’m so sorry,” Both men were at her side in an instant, arms wrapped around her tightly. “I didn’t, I-I just wanted the pain to stop.” She sobbed into Jensen’s chest.  “I couldn’t stop it. It was like I couldn’t breath, my chest was so tight and heavy.” Lexi wet on looking up at Jensen. “I felt like I was on autopilot and once I’d done it, it all just went away.”  She looked between them. “How could I be so stupid?” 

“You’re not stupid, you’re sick.” Jared pulled her close.

“Lex, why didn’t you tell us you were bipolar?” Her brother  took her hand.

“Things were calm and good. For the most part.” She wiped her eyes leaving her head on Jared’s shoulder.  

Two more days past and Lexi began to regain her strength, slowly. She managed to get by with no brain damage but suffered from headaches. Her heart was undamaged as well but the doctor still insisted she remain taking this as slow as possible.  Her mental health was a different story.

“Hey, Jay.” Lexi spoke gaining both Jared and Jensen’s attention. “When can I go home?”

Jensen sat on the edge of her bed and took a breath. “I kinda been wanting to talk to you about that.” He took Lexi’s hand in his and looked her in the eye. “I talked to the doctors and they think that you should go to a place to get some help.”

“You want to send me to a mental hospital?!” Lexi shot up in the bed.

“No, no.” Jared said quickly sitting on the opposite side of her. “It’s a treatment center-”

“You’re in on this, too?!” She looked at Jared horrified.

“Baby girl, listen to us.”Jared said calming her as he placed a hand to her cheek.her face. “It’s not a hospital. It’s a treatment center, kind of like a mental health rehab. The doctors want you to get back on the proper medication and dosages. For that to happen you need to be monitored for a few days or so.” She shook her head in protest as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “We would never send you somewhere if we weren’t absolutely one hundred percent sure it was a good place and you would be taken care of and safe. It’s run by the same doctors that run the practice I go to. I wouldn’t trust you with just anyone, you know that.”

Lexi looked from Jared to Jensen knowing this wasn’t a discussion. “How long?”

“Two, Three weeks, at least.” Jensen said with a small exhale.

Lexi shut her eyes as a single tear escaped. “Where?” She asked swallowing hard as she looked back at them. 

“Like I said, here in Austin. We’d be able to visit you while in treatment.” Jared told her.

~

By the next afternoon she was being shown to her room at the Austin Recovery Center. It was the last place she wanted to be but she knew it was something she had to do. Her room held two beds and was plain. The building was on the outskirts and on several acres of beautiful full green pastures. In fact, the place reminded her of an old ranch, without all the animals. 

Lexi spent the first few days in her room trying to be okay with the fact that she was away from the people that kept her sane. She’d cry then she’d get angry then she’d cry again. 

Her new shrink, Dr. Turner, was a brunette woman that had a bubbly personality. Reminded Lexi of herself a few years ago. Dr. Turner suggested Lexi began taking Lithium again and wanted to make sure the dosage was correct. Three session with Dr. Turner a week along with group every day. Lexi didn’t like the idea of group too much. She didn’t like telling her therapist things much less an entire group of people she didn’t really know.

Which brings her to where she is today. A week and a half of being in treatment and she still hasn’t opened up much. In group she hasn’t opened up at all. So she sat quietly in her chair, knees up to her chest, listening as the other patience spoke.

“I wanna know why the new chick never talks.” Jesse, a young man, early twenties, long, dark brown layered hair nearly to his shoulders and light blue eyes spoke. “Do you think you’re better than us?”

“Not at all.” Lexi shifted her eyes to him but moved nothing else.

“She speaks!” Jesse said lifting his hands. “I was starting to thing you didn’t have a tongue or something.”

“I just don’t like talking to people I don’t know.” Lexi answered still not lifting her head.

“Well, you’ve been listening to us babble for over a week. Don't you think you know enough to share a little?” Jesse asked moving his dark hair away from his face.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is Lexi your real name or nickname?” A girl, Bathany, a bottle blond, very thin, asked across the circle.

“Nickname.”

“What’s your real name then?” Jesse asked.

“Alexia”

“That’s pretty, why change it?” He asked.

Lexi simply shrugged. “A nickname my brother gave.”

“Why are you in here?” Bethany asked again. “Aren’t you a model or some shit?”

“Language.” Dr. Turner, who was leading the group that day, spoke.

“I did model, yes.”

“Then, why are you in here?” The girl asked again. “Isn’t your brother like really famous, too?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“You say that like money and fame fixes shit.” Jesse said towards the other girl.

“For some people it would.” The girl spat. “So why are you here. You’ve been sitting in group for almost two week and said nothing. You never talk outside of group either.”

Lexi looked at Dr. Turned who nodded her head as a sign of motivation to speak. “I tried to kill myself.”

“How?” Jesse asked sitting forward, curious.

“I  drank a bottle of whiskey, took a handful of vicodin and slit my wrists.” 

“Damn, you really wanted to get the job done.” Bethany said with a grin.

“Okay, that’s enough for today.” the Doctor spoke.

Lexi sat on the grass looking out at the flower filled fields across the property. The wind was warm against her skin as she watched the birds fly.

“So, you care for company?” Jesse said walking up.

“Sure.” She looked up at him as he sat down next to her.

“What are you doing out here alone?” He asked looking at her.

“I like the view. Jesse, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded looking at her carefully. 

“How are your cuts?” She asked pointing to his bandaged forearms.

“Better. You?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You really tried to kill yourself?” He asked bluntly as Lexi gave him a nod. “How and why?”

“I told you in group.”

“That was a watered down version.” He told her.

“I drank a fifth of whiskey then walked over to my-” She paused and corrected herself. “A friend’s house and took a handful of his pain pills. After sitting on the floor I took his razor and just cut.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t want to feel anymore.” She looked at him. “The minute I heard my friend’s voice I knew I’d made a mistake but it was too late.” She took a breath. “Does that satisfy your curiosity. Is it enough info to run back and tell the little bitchy blonde in hopes of getting in her pants?”

“I-”

“I am not stupid. I learned how to read people years ago.” She turned her attention back to the field.

“Maybe I just changed my mind on that.” He was clearly intrigued.

“You’re not getting into my pants either.” She said with sass.

“Wow, you are a feisty one, aren’t you?” Jesse gave a cheeky grin.

“You have no idea.” A deep voice came from behind them.

Lexi turned to see Jared standing there with his hands in his pockets and a visitors tag clipped to his shirt. “Jared?” Lexi stood looking at him her heart began to race at the sight of him. The last time she saw him she was still in the hospital. “What are you doing here?! Oh, Jared this is Jesse, he is in my group. Jesse this is Jared-”

“The friend?” Jesse said with a smile looking at her. “Hey, nice to meet you.” Jesse extended his hand to Jared.

Jared shook his hand. “You too.”

“I’ll leave you two.” Jesse turned walking away.

Lexi turned to Jared and he gave a hesitant, nervous chuckle, clearing his throat. “Can I- can I hug you?”

“Of course!” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  “My God, I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” He leaned his head on hers. He took a step back and looked at her. “You, you look good.”

“Liar,” She looked away trying to hide her redding cheeks. “I look like crap.” 

“Nonsense.” 

 “Come on, let’s sit.” She guided him to a bench.

“Seriously, you look great. Your cheeks are a perfect pink.” He said giving her cheek a small touch. “How do you feel?”

“Tired mostly. I have these really bad headaches. Doctors say it could be from my meds or from the trauma of all that happened.” She fiddled with her hands in her lap. . “I- I like the beard.”

“Yeah?” He ran his hand over his facial hair. “We finished filming like a week ago.”

“Ahh, so it’s hiatus beard time.” She said with a smile tucking her hair behind her ears.

Jared saw the bandaged on her wrist and gently took her hand. “Are you healing okay?”

“Yeah. They’re just itchy.” She looked up at him. “How about you? How are you with all of this?”

“I’m good.” He spoke and she gave him a look, a look he knew well. A look letting him know she didn’t believe him. One look and he gave in. “Alright, I lied. I’m worried about you.”

“I know.” She placed her hand upon his cheek. “But, you don't have to. I’m okay. I feel a lot better being on medicine again. It was adjusted to higher dose last week.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re sticking to the doctor’s instructions.”

“I should have never stopped taking my meds. I felt good. I figured I was better.”

“A lot of people do that. That’s why they tell you talk to a doctor before stopping your meds.” He placed his hand on hers. “Oh, Jay told me to tell you he misses you and you need to get your ass better so you can come home.”

“I’m actually surprised he wasn’t here with you.” She gripped his hand a bit. “He has been here every visitation day since I got here.”

“He called me and asked if I would like to come see you. I asked if he was coming but he said I could come just me.”

“Really?”

“I was just as surprised as you.” Jared told her.

 Lexi nodded. “I’m glad you came. So, Are the kids good?”

“Yeah. They actually ask about you a lot.”

“Awe, I miss them.” She smiled.

“Oh,” He pulled a few pictures out of his pocket. “I have something for you.”

It was all photos  of the kids playing at his place in Austin. “Oh, look at them!” She boasted. “They’ve gotten even bigger.” She said as she flipped through seeing different picks of Jared and Jensen with them as well as Danneel and Genevieve.

“Odette is starting to crawl.

“Is she?” Her eyes sparkled. “And the twins?”

“Are just like Jensen in every way.”

“Poor Danneel.” She giggled flipping through the pictures still. “It’s only been a few weeks but seems so much longer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Here you go.” Lexi handed him the photos.

“Oh, no, those are yours to keep. I asked the doctor and she said it was okay.” He looked around and reached into his jacket pocket. “Actually. I have one more for you.” He handed her a picture of the two of them together from when they were together. 

Lexi looked at the picture of the two of them snuggled together outside by a fire. One of the few times they had gotten to be outside like that together. “This is one of my favorite pics of us.” 

“‘I know.”  He smiled down at her, the glimmer in her eyes filling his heart. “That’s why I brought it.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

The two hour visit went by a lot faster than they’d liked. We they hugged before he left, Jared held on a little longer, a little tighter than he needed. Just the feeling of having her in his arms, so warm and full of life. It’s what he needed after finding her cold and lifeless in his bathroom. Lexi could see in his eyes the longing he felt.

 Lexi sat in Dr. Turner’s office watching as the doctor settled into her position across from her. “So, you had a visitor today.” The doctor began. “Who was it?”

“Yeah, Jared.”

“How do you know Jared?”

“He’s a friend. Also my brother’s best friend.”

“Oh?” Lexi nodded. “Is that all?” The doctor challenged. “Just you and your brother’s friend?”  

“I don’t know what we are to be honest.” She said looking down at her hands as she picked the remaining nail polish off.

“Why is that?”

Lexi looked at her therapist and took an audible breath. “What I tell you can’t leave this room, right?” Lexi eyed her. 

“As long as you or anyone else isn’t in any danger, that’s correct.”

“So if I tell you some stuff that happened like two years ago, even though it’s not really bad but some people may not approve, you can’t say anything? Right?”

“Unless you’re hiding a dead body someplace, no.” Dr. Turner chuckled.

“Okay, um, Jared and I have… history.” She looked at the doctor. “Like romantic history.”

“I see. Why do you see that as a problem?” The doctor scribbled something down.

“Because I was a minor at the time. I - mean sorta but not really.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrow lifted.

“Not Like a kid, but I was seventeen the first time we slept together.” Lexi’s hands were sweaty as she rubbed them on the knees of her pants.

“How old was he?”

“Thirty two. And I know that sound really bad.”

“Lexi, why are you jumping to defend this to me? That’s legal.” The doctor asked as she wrote in her notebook again.

“Because,” She sighed with an eyeroll.  “I know what you’re thinking and what you want to say even though you can’t say it.”

“Is that so?” The doctor studied her for a moment. “Lexi, do people know about and Jared’s past?”

“A Handful of people.”

“Did they react unfavorable?”

“My brother threatened to have him thrown in jail for statutory rape.”

“You brother who is his best friend?” Dr. Turner added.

“Yeah. But that’s not the worst of it.” Lexi scoffed.

“I’m guessing the world wind love you told me about was Jared?” Lexi nodded. “Tell me What happened?”

“See, I was living with Jensen and Jared up in Vancouver where he worked. When he found out he made me move back down to Texas and forced us to cut all ties. When really hurt because Jared was my friend, he was my person, you know?” The doctor nodded. “And things just went south after that.”

“How so?”

“Well, first my sister-in -law Danneel through a party with Jared’s ex wife and Jared had to be there for support and all. That night we ended up sleeping together and the next day Jay found out. It was bad. That night Jared broke up with me for good.”

“That must have hurt you.” 

“It did.”

“When were you diagnosed?”

“A few months after I moved to L.A.” She watched as the doctor shook her head and wrote. “Why?”

“Lexi, can I be frank with you?”

“That’s kind of your job.”

Dr. Turned put her book down and leaned forward a bit. “When you’re symptoms began you were focused on Jared. That’s why you didn’t notice them. You were young and in love and it's easy to misplace the highs and lows.”

“So you’re saying, you’re saying I wasn’t in love I was sick?!” She looked at Dr. Turner neary horrified.

“No, no! That’s not what I'm saying! Not at all! I’m saying it seems to me, Jared kept you grounded. When you were forced to cut contact, you lost your anchor.”

“So you’re saying this is Jensen’s fault?” Lexi asked even more confused.

“I’m not saying that, either.” Dr. Turner held up a hand. “Do you feel like it’s Jensen’s fault?”

“No! I mean, I was mad at him at first but I understood and I’m over it now.” Lexi pushed her long, now auburn hair back from her face. “That was the first and only time I’d ever really been that angry at my brother. See, aside from Ellie, Jared was my best friend.”

 “And with Ellie off at college that left Jared. You began to go down and you had no one to catch you so you spiraled.” Dr. Turner” explained. “Lexi, tell me, when you hurt yourself, where were you?”

“Why?” She asked with a small shake of her head.

“You were at Jared’s?” The doctor saw the look of confusion growing on Lexi’s face. ‘Weren’t you?”

“How did yo-” Lexi shifted in her seat. “Uh, yeah, I, I to his house when he wasn’t home.”

 “Why?”

“Because I felt safe?” Lexi answered with no hesitation but paused, a look of extreme horror on her face and tears in her eyes. “And he, he found me.” 

“Did you want him to be the one that found you?”

“No, no, I just wanted to be somewhere I-I,” She quieted not being able to speak. The doctor saw her emotions flashing in her eyes as she recalled that day. “He sounded so far away but I could hear him screaming my name.” Her lip quivered as she spoke the sudden unexpected wave of emotions came down on her. “I could feel him grabbing me and begging me to wake up.” That’s when she broke. “Oh God, how could i do that to him? How could I let him find me like that?”

Dr. Turner moved  next to Lexi and held her. “Because you had no control at that point, it was your illness, not you.”

“He had crap he has to work through, too. How could I be that selfish?” Lexi looked up at her.

“Lexi, when you aren’t medicated and your illness takes control, it’s not you anymore. I’m sure he knows that. If he is as educated in mental health as you say, i’m sure he knows.”

Lexi’s mind was spinning. She’d always wanted to keep Jared safe. She never wanted to drag him into the mess she called a life. She felt as if she’d betrayed him. As if she let him down in the worst possible way.

That was the last time Lexi talked to Dr. Turner in recovery. That breakthrough was what Lexi needed to truly clear her head. She was released from the recovery center but wasn’t ready to be on her own yet in L.A. Although Ellie would be there, she felt she wasn’t at the point to be around all her old triggers. Since her mom and dad were traveling a lot due to her father’s work, Lexi opted to stay at Jensen’s instead of being home alone in Dallas. Lexi much preferred to be around family than alone in a huge house. Not to mention Jensen wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

Lexi would continue to see Dr. Turner in office one to two times per week and ground at least once a week. More if she felt she needed. Her group was similar to an A.A. group. Except instead of drinking the people were anxiety ridden. depressed self harmers. They even had sponsors of a type, “buddies”. Your buddy would depend on you in his/her times of need and vise versa. It gave them responsibility for their actions.

It had been two days since Jared was back in Austin having started filming again, and he still hadn’t contacted Lexi. So, being curious, that afternoon she made her way down the stone path along Lake Austin till she came up on Jared’s backyard. 

He was sitting in a wicker patio chair with his guitar in his lap. Lexi smiled as she walked up the path listening to him strum. Standing just feet away she stopped and watched him for a while. When he glanced up and saw her he stopped playing. “Lexi.” He placed the instrument down and stood. “What are you doing here?”

“I got home a few weeks ago.” She said with her hands in her back pockets. “I thought you would have stopped by when you got home the day before yesterday, but-”

“I was- I did..” Jared shoved his hands in his pockets. “I pulled in the drive but never got out of the car.”

“How come?”

“I didn’t know if I should. I didn’t want to mess up your recovery.” He admitted looking at his feet for a moment. “I’d only seen you the one time in treatment. I didn’t know if you-”

“If I’d be pissed at you now?” 

“Yeah.”

“So, you tell me you won’t push me away this time and you help me then completely disappear after I get released?” She waved a hand.

“You heard that?” He asked in disbelief. “You heard what I Said when you were unconscious?”

Nodding her head. “Most of it, yeah.” She took a step toward him. “Jared, can we talk?”

“Yeah. Come in, I’ll get you something to drink.” He motioned to the door as she followed him in. “Beer, soda, water?”

 “Water is good. I’m kind of staying away from alcohol for now.” 

 “Of course.” He shook his head in realization as he grabbed a water from the fridge. “I’m sorry, I-’

“It’s okay.” She smiled softly taking the bottle of water from him.

They sat in the living room, Jared making a mental note of her physical condition. Her cheeks held a pink tone again and her lips were back to their red shade. She seemed to have more charisma in her although she did have a cautious air about her.

Placing her bottle down she looked at Jared and raised her hand to his cheek for a brief second before grazing along his stubble. “You look good, Jare.” She told him with an exhale.

“Are you okay?”

“Jared, I came here to tell you how truly, unbelievably sorry I am.” Jared gave her a confused look. “I didn’t think about how finding me like that-” Taking a pause for a breath she looked up at him. “I’m so sorry I did that to you.” She tried to hold back the tears that insisted on rising.

“Don’t be.” He told her. “I’m not.”

“What? How could-”

“Because if I wouldn’t have found you then you wouldn’t have been here today. I rather deal with that then putting you in a casket, do you understand me?” He told her holding her face between his hands. “Listen to me.” He gained her eyes and focus. “I heard you. I heard you before the paramedics came in. You said you were sorry.” Tears threatened to rise in his eyes. “You said you wanted to take it back.”

“You could hear me?” Her voice a whimpered cry.

“Always.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll always hear you, baby girl.” Touching his lips to hers for a moment he pulled back and looked at her. “Lexi, I love you.”

“Jared,” She looked down finding it hard to concentrate or even breathe looking into his eyes. When she glanced back up his eyes drew her in. His touches, swift and calculated, felt like fire through her body when he touched her. “My God, I’ve missed you.” She whispered between sweet, simple kisses.

In a mess of pulling and grabbing, they traveled up the stared to his bedroom dropping clothes from the door to the bed. All Jared wanted was to be inside of her again. He needed it like he needed air to breath.

Sliding into her Lexi gripped his arms burying her face into the crook of his neck, the scent of him filling her, heating her already heated flesh. She tangled her fingers into his silky long hair giving a slight tug, her hips rising from the bed as Jared grinded into her never letting the bodies part. Sweat beaded his forehead as Lexi pushed away the hair from his eyes, his lips finding hers easily.

~

Now they lay in his bed with the hot Texas sun shining in through the balcony windows. Lexi sat up, the sheet still pressed against her body knees to her chest. Jared laid with an arm behind his head and his other stretch out caressing her bare back with his calloused fingers.

“What are you thinking?”He asked her.

She stared into the bathroom. “How stupid I was.” She looked back at him. “How much I’ve screwed up over the past few years.”

Jared leaned forward pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t apologize for being sick. That’s something you couldn’t control.” Lexi looked into his eyes and a pang of guilt hit her. “I miss this. You and me, being together.”

“Me too.”

“But Jared, I have to be honest with you.” She faced him. “I’m not supposed to get involved with anyone for a while.” Looking down she felt Jared’s fingertips grazing her bare arms. “It’s part of my therapy.”

Leaning back he looked up at her. “I know.” Her eyes darted to him. “Well, I didn;t know but I had a feeling it would be.”  He Cleared his throat shifting to the edge of the bed. “Listen, why don’t we get dressed and head downstairs.” He slid into his Saxx and grabbed his shorts. “I’ll meet you down there in a bit. Take your time.”

Lexi dressed quietly and made her way down stairs thoroughly confused. Rounding the kitchen she heard Jared talk and stopped just within ear shot. “Yeah, she’s okay.” She heard Jared say. “I promise I'll bring her back later.” Lexi took a step closer trying to see if she could hear who was on the other line. “Jay, i’ll keep her safe.” Jared turned and saw Lexi standing there. “I gotta go.” He pulled the phone from his ear and looked at her. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Were you telling him you just got done nailing his little sister?” She said hoisting herself up on the counter. 

“No, I wouldn’t-”

“It’s a joke, Jare.” She said with a smile. “So what was this? Just a quick hit before it's too late?” She eyed him. “What’s going on? If you knew I had conditions to my treatment why didn’t you stop what just happened?”

“Lex,” He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the counter and sat her in chair at the breakfast nook. “Listen, I need to tell you something.” He walked to a drawer and opened it. “I took your journal.” He held he worn book in his hand.

“Why?” She looked up from where she sat unsure what he was about to tell her. “Why would you do that>”

He placed the book on the table and sat next to her. “When you were sedated, I - I read it.”

Lexi looked down at her hands feeling her anxiety bubble to the surface. “You did?”

“And I found the letters.”

She stood from the table feeling mortified as she carefully pushed the chair beneath the table. “I should, um I should go.” 

“Wait, no.” He stepped closer to her and placed his hands on her arms.

 She backed away crossing her arms over her chest. “Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “I- I just, this isn’t going how I thought it in my head.” He huffed.

“You’re having conversations in your head but, I’m the one that just got out of the nut house.” She shook her head. “Hell of a match, aren’t we?” After everything her sarcasm remained.

He then ran a frustrated hand over his face. “Can I explain? Please?” He held out a hand for her to sit back down with him and she did. “I’m trying to tell you that I get it.” She gave another unsure expression. “I just,  I didn’t, I didn’t know I was, that you, ugh, damn it” He ran another frustrated hand over his face. “It was the same for me as it was for you.” He finally got the words out. “You kept me calmer, my anxiety was less, I felt like I could function on a whole new level when we were together. Even my bad days were good.” His confession poured out catching Lexi off guard. “I wanted to tell you that I know how it felt. It wasn’t just you. And, and being with you today, It was good to feel that again. Even if I know it won’t last.”

“Wow.” Lexi let the word out in an exhale. “I, uh, I think I should have went with that beer.” She chuckled.

“What? I, I mean, you’re not mad?” He asked astonished.

“Jared, if I was to trust my deepest more personal thoughts to anyone,” She reached taking his hand. “It’s you.”

Jared still held a guilty look. “I’m still sorry I invaded your privacy.”

“If you can forgive me for what I did, I certainly can forgive you for being so concerned.” Jared smiled at her and her heart fluttered. “Now what?”

“We focus on you getting better and know i’ll be here for whatever.”

“Jared you know I-”

“You don’t want me waiting for you, I know.” 

He kissed the back of her hands. “Just focus on you, okay?”

Next Chapter>

TAGS: @saxxxyjared @xostephanie @onethirstyunicorn @dreaminemz @squirrelnotsam​  @jbbarnesgirl @thevelvetseries​

[hadesglance]

All hail the new queen... - 5 (Hades Original Story)

You fought your way through the maze of the underworld to make a deal with the King…intrigued the lonely king listens…

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

“Hades!” He looked up from the book he was reading when he heard your voice cry out again, “H-Hades!”

He stood up quickly moving toward where you were. He came into the kitchen seeing you frozen in place with Cerberus on his hind legs, front paws on your shoulders, staring at you intently.

“No! Bad dog!” He walked over snapping his fingers getting him to sit instantly, “Cerberus, what did I tell you?”

Cerberus looked up to him with a whine. Hades gave him a stern look causing the beast to lay down. He looked up to you clutching a helmet in one hand and your bag in the other, “I’m sorry…he doesn’t normally do that.”

Another whine as you set your helmet on the counter, “It’s okay…I just…I’m not a huge fan of dogs…”

“No?” Hades squinted at you before glancing at Cerberus nodding for him to leave, “Why not?”

You glanced up at him, it was obvious that the encounter really shook you, “I…when I was little there was this dog at the end of the street. My bother and I would walk to school past it every day, and every day it would get up and bark like mad.”

“My brother and I would normally just run past it hand in hand and not think about it…but one day he was allowed to bring a friend home. They ran…I fell behind…the dog’s chain broke.” You sighed lifting up your pant showing an old scar fading away on your calf. It looked like you had an operation as well, “I was in the hospital for a while, the dog’s bite was deep and strong enough to tear some things. Ever since…it just takes me a while to warm up to dogs I’ll see more often.”

“I’ll make sure he leaves you alone.” Hades let his hand fall flat on the cool counter.

“No, it’s not…” You took a step toward him, “this is his home. He should be able to do what he wants…I just…might be a little tense.”

“I don’t want you to be tense.” Hades retorted effortless.

“Yes, well tense is apart of life.” You took in a deep breath, “I’ve been tense all day, so being slightly less tense at…here…is better than nothing.”

Still not ‘home.’ He guessed it shouldn’t be yet, you only had been here for three days, “Is…everything alright?”

Your eyes flitted up to his, “How can you ask me that?”

The questioned made him look away, “I know this arrangement…”

“Deal…call it what it is.” You interrupted him, “You haven’t explained what all this deal entails. You’re granting me permission to go to school still…It’s like you don’t want me to change but you want…”

“Company…” You stopped when he spoke. He looked back into your eyes again, “I live a lonely existence…it would be nice to have some company.”

You swallowed and nodded slowly as you spoke softly, “Okay…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“Y/N,” He watched your ears turn red when he said your name, “I don’t want this to be a master and slave scenario. I will never hurt you. I will never force you do anything you don’t wish to do. I would just like to…pass time with you.”

You put your hands to your cheeks that were burning red, “No one talks like that anymore.”

“I’m not no one.” He smirked seeking pleasure in your reaction, “I’m the King of the Underworld.”

“I suppose you are.” You whispered lightly letting you hands fall to your sides, “I have some research I need to get done for a class…there’s internet here right?I kept meaning to ask, but this place is distracting with…well everything.”

“Yes, of course…” He told you as you picked up the helmet again, “You ride a bike?”

He watched you stop cold in your tracks. Apparently, he’d offended you it seemed, “It is not a bike…it’s a motorcycle, and it is the only thing that I have truly worked hard for before getting into college.”

“There’s a difference between a bike and a motorcycle?” Again, he watched your expression resemble one of horror. He was learning a great deal about you today, “Have I said something wrong?”

“You are the King of the Underworld and it seems that you have never ridden a motorcycle or a bike?” Your eyes narrowed on his face.

“I…have never had and interest…or need.” He explained amusement replacing the horror.

“Wow…okay…uh…” You scratched your cheek as if making a decision before finally you reached out taking his hand pulling him toward the garage. Warmth flooded up his digits almost reaching his elbow.

“What are you doing?” He felt his hand instinctually wrap around yours.

“Showing the difference.” You opened the door pulling him into the large garage where four black expensive cars sat. He knew what they really were, the mustang logo only hid them so much. He wondered if you’d make the connection.

He was pulled over to a black motorcycle before you let go of his hand circling it, “So…this is a motorcycle. Okay…it is powered by a motor.”

“Is that so? I would never had guessed with the combustion engine sitting under the seat.” He smirked watching you roll your eyes. He liked that he was finding out that this was a passion of yours.

“Har har…the difference between this and a regular bike is just that. A bike is manual and you put in the work to make it go.” You ran your hand over the seat, “This girl was my high school project. Had to lie to my parents with my brother’s help to work on it. We said it was his…until my cousin found me working on it alone with out my brother. My father was furious…then after inspecting it…impressed.”

“He let you keep it?” Hades watched as you grabbed the handlebar, “I would think he’d try to keep it away from you.”

“I think he understood. I wanted it so bad. I paid for it. I fixed it.” You smiled at Hades, “I think he was really proud…though he would never say it. You know girls aren’t supposed to be mechanical.”

“And you ride it every day?” He said with a tone.

“Yep.” You nodded staring at him, “Is that problem with you?”

“I…yes.” He cleared his throat, “I just prefer my mustangs, which you are more than welcome to use.”

“Well if it rains…I’ll take you up on that, and if you want I’d be happy to show you how to ride my Lana.” You smiled at him.

“Lana? You named your bike?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Don’t you name your cars?” You waved you hand over to them.

His eyes glanced over at Orphnaeus, Aethon, Nyctaeus , and Alastor, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Yeah, so Lana, is always happy to teach anyone to ride. I promise there’s nothing like it…it’s powerful.” You reminisced smile showing in you eyes as the overwhelming feeling of happiness and freedom overtook you. You blinked away tears, “Uh…sorry…I don’t know what…”

He stepped closer to the bike in-between the two of you, “It’s this place…The Underworld isn’t meant for living creatures…so any emotion is felt double because of it. Emotion is energy to the dead, especially strong memories.”

You nodded slowly letting that sink in, “So…all my anxiety and…everything…”

“Heightened.” He nodded watching your carefully, “That’s why I’ve been trying to stress to you so much…that this is your home. Whatever you need to do to make it as such, just ask.”

“It’s not that easy…” You crossed your arms defensively, “I know what I did. I accept that, it was my sacrifice to make because I love my family. I want them to be happy but giving up a normal life to be at your side…it’s…Well I’m still having a hard time thinking you exist. That any of you exist. Olympians were bedtime stories.

“I understand.” Hades put his hands together in front of him standing in silence for a moment. You hugged yourself tightly feeling the coldness in the area again, “We should get you set up with the internet.”

“Yeah…” You nodded following him inside to your room. The walk was brisk and quiet. When you stepped inside there were boxes lined up on the bed, “Uh…”

“Oh, yes.” He stood next to you as you lifted the lid to one, “We need to discuss my family and you need to pick out a dress for Saturday.”

You looked at him, “Wait…we’re actually going?”

“Our presence is required.” Hades sighed.

“Can I say no?” You locked eyes with him seeing the panic rise in you.

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, “No, I’m afraid you can’t this time. This event was created for you, so everyone can observe you.”

“Why? I’m just a human.” You reached down feeling the black fabric in the one box you opened.

“A human who fought your way down to my domain and pleaded for a deal. A deal which I accepted.” Hades placed his hand on your arm getting you to look at him, “Y/N, I will not let them take advantage of the situation, I promise you. You only need to be yourself.”

“…right…” You looked defeated suddenly before putting the lid back on the box, “…maybe I should stop school…until things slow down.”

Hades shook his head, “I don’t wish that for you, but I will not stop you.”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing…All day it was like I could feel you next to me. At one point it was like there was just a whole show watching me.” He shifted on his feet when you looked at him again, “Hades…”

“I…may have checked in on you a few times today?” Your eyes widened as he went on, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I only wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

You shut your eyes turning away from him, “We…you…you have got to figure out what our boundaries are. You said you wanted company. You want me to be comfortable and make this my home, but you don’t spy on company or those people who reside with you.”

You turned back to him eyes full of emotion he wasn’t used to seeing and you weren’t used to feeling so much, “I know this can’t be easy for you either. Humans must be…different, but you are the one with the power here. I have nothing but myself to offer you in the deal, and you have all the cards.”

How you turned it around and put it all on you still was fascinating. You constantly seemed to be sacrificing yourself to make others feel better, “I will define it better…give me until Friday. I’ll have your definition then.”

“Okay…” You sighed bushing your fingers against another lid letting the silence rest in the room, “These…are all dresses?”

“Yes…I requested some be delivered. Don’t worry about size. They’re charmed to fit with living cloth.” He told you quickly. He felt like he was over explaining everything with you, but he just wanted you to understand.

“Why not…you’re living with a god now, Y/N, clothes can be magic too.” You muttered. He couldn’t tell if you were trying to be funny or something else.

“…all the information you need to connect to the internet is on the desk…there’s also a packet. It has some information about what to expect for Saturday. If you have questions…” He began to turn to leave when you voice stopped him.

“What will you be wearing?” His eyes shot back to you as you lifted the other two lids on the boxes, “We should match right?”

“I…hadn’t decided yet.” He looked at the dresses in the boxes. Three colors, black, deep night blue, and purple that rivaled the night sky, “I only have two suits that I wear to these things, any of these will match. Choose whichever makes you comfortable.”

“Do you have a preference?” Your eyes locked with his. Back to pleasing people, it seemed to be your nature. He knew it had to stem with his nature, but when you stood up to him, demanded a true answer…he felt it. A reverence, a respect, but a longing to understand.

It was a funny feeling. He hadn’t felt it a such a long time, he wasn’t even sure if it was real.

“I…I like the blue one.” He said quietly.

“Naturally.” You smiled a little, “I’ll try them all on of course. I wouldn’t want to be ungrateful.”

He nodded slowly walking out as you began to pull out the black one. He knew they would all fit on you exceptionally well, he just hoped you liked him.

Them....he hoped you liked them. Gods where was his mind at, “I’ll see you at dinner…”

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart Part 9/10 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Thanks as always to artificialmeggie for the feedback.  She’s the best, you guys. 

Brock is in Houston when the lip sync finally airs. 

He’s seen pieces of it before but that’s all. They played a clip of it during the reunion, and he only took in parts of it. He’s really not looking forward to seeing the whole build up.  

Or the way it fucking ends.

His manager wanted him to host a watch party for the episode, but a brief conversation with Brock obviously made him re-think it (Brock’s hovering on the fine edge of ‘not okay’ and it’s starting to become fairly apparent to even the peripheral people in his life.)  So he gets to take the night off. 

He thinks about streaming it in his hotel room, but then he’s also a little worried about being alone. So he finds a local club that’s screening it, dresses like his usual disheveled self, and sits up at the bar.  

The episode is ugly, a slow slide into a car accident, tires skidding on the ice. His attempts at rapping are about what you’d expect, and Vanessa doesn’t do much better (she’s nervous, though, that’s all that it is.  If he hadn’t been there, if all that shit hadn’t been going on between them, he’s sure she would have crushed it.)

Then there’s the runway, where they both turn it out but not enough to save themselves. Brock watches Vanjie’s face during the critiques, watches her close her eyes and nod (he didn’t expect it to hurt this much.)

Christ, they were holding hands when they came back on the main stage. Brock had forgotten that.  The image on TV re-awakens the memory in him, and the feeling of their hands sliding apart burns against his palm.

He grits his teeth during the lip sync, watches the moment he stops dancing, watches the devastated look that comes over Vanessa’s face (his pulse is kicking in both wrists, in his throat.) He watches their hug afterwards and can’t help but notice how much they’re both shaking.  He sees himself mouth something in Vanessa’s ear and thanks God the mics didn’t pick it up, or the editors chose not to play the audio. He doesn’t know what he would have done. 

It’s a bit like putting together the pieces after a night of heavy drinking.  Some of the things Ru says are familiar and some are like they happened to a different person.  Brock watches himself thank the judges, watches himself tilt as he sashays away (almost falling but not quite.)

And then he’s back in the werkroom, staring at the camera like it’s the scene of a crime.

Brock holds his breath. He wonders if he could hold it for the rest of the episode.  His lung capacity is pretty good, and it’s almost over.  Almost there.  

“I’m - in love with him,” Brooke Lynn says on television. “Oh my God.”

Oh my God.

Brock’s entire body flinches, and he knocks his drink to the floor.  The sound of breaking glass is buried beneath the cheers and applause of bar patrons, reacting to Brooke Lynn’s stunned confession.

“Shit, shit - I’m sorry -” 

Brock said he loved him, he fucking said it on television, he didn’t know -

“It’s fine, no worries.” The bartender is coming around with a rag, bending to pick up the broken glass.  “Happens all the -” He stops. Blinks. “Holy shit, are you Brooke Lynn Hytes?”

“I’m just going to - okay -” Brock leaves too much money on the bar to cover his tab, and gets out of there as if an angry mob is chasing him. Oh my God.  Oh my God.

Somewhere across the world, Jose is probably watching this episode.

Oh my fucking God. 

His phone is ringing but Brock doesn’t answer it.  Text notifications are going off like mad and Brock doesn’t look at them.  He keeps walking down the sidewalk and when that isn’t enough, he breaks into a run.  He doesn’t know where he’s going, just knows he needs to get as far away from everything as possible. The show, the bar, himself. 

How did he not remember that? How did he not know?

How could he have been so -

(The first van ride back to the hotel, Brooke ends up in a seat beside Vanjie.  It’s crowded and loud, everyone still full of energy from the photo-shoot, from their first day of filming, as if there isn’t a hammer swinging gently above all of their heads. Brooke is fully in silent concentration mode, staring out the window at the blurred streetlights of L.A., thinking about her paint for tomorrow. It’s got to make an impact but it’s also got to show them who she is, and –

“Ooops, sorry girl.” Vanjie elbows her as she tries to get her jacket off.

“It’s fine.” Brooke smiles, falls back into her thoughts.  It’s not easy when Vanjie is as loud as a brass band right next to her, shouting into the backseat at a queen named Honey about some show they did together in New York.

The van turns a corner and Vanjie slides against Brooke, their shoulders pressed together tightly.

“Sorry, baby. I’m all up in your space. Honey, why you say that? You know that’s a damn lie!”

Brooke thinks about wigs. Short and blonde, maybe, really push the superhero couture. Or maybe bombshell, waves and – but that’s not really Detox. But it’s got to be -

“You sent me a message, you remember? After Season 10?”

It takes Brooke a moment to realize that Vanjie is talking to her.

“Oh. Yeah, I did.” 

“I gotta thank you for that.  I was feelin’ all sad and shit, feelin’ embarrassed.  It meant somethin’ to hear from people.”

Brooke can remember watching that first episode, thinking Vanjie was hilarious and bizarre, feeling sick when she was the first one sent home. She remembers the voice more than anything, and it was surreal hearing it in the werkroom today. Still doesn’t feel like real life. 

“If I knew you looked as fine as this, I mighta messaged you back.” Vanjie gives Brooke a slanted grin, and Brooke feels herself - horrifyingly - starting to blush. What is she, fucking thirteen? It has clearly been way too long since since she got laid. 

“I’ll include some pics next time.”

“I am here. For. That.” Vanjie claps it out. “You can make up for it by sendin’ me some now.”

“You’ll have to wait until the show’s over and they give us our phones back.”

“I just gotta use my imagination. Y’all hold still.”  Vanjie stares at her intently for a moment, and then blinks. “Click. There, real nice. I’ma throw a filter on it, give you cat ears or somethin’.”

“Whatever you want,” Brooke laughs. “Just don’t post it anywhere.”

“Vanjie could you like move over one fucking inch?” The skinny queen on the other side of Vanjie – who is… not Yvie - Scarlet, yes! Brooke’s brain hasn’t completely shut down – shoves into Vanjie, who in turn gets pressed up against Brooke once again.

“Hey, bitch, it ain’t my fault I got hips! Unlike some of y’all.” Vanjie glances at Brooke. “Sorry baby. Not tryin’ to get all up on you.”

She straightens up, but – and it might be Brooke’s imagination – she doesn’t seem to pull away as much as she did before.  Her hip is still warm against Brooke’s, her bare arm against Brooke’s shoulder. 

Brooke feels something internal stutter at the contact, like stones shifting somewhere underneath her ribs.)

He doesn’t look at his phone for two days.

The first call he returns is his sister’s (“Why didn’t you tell me things were that serious? Okay, I know what an NDA is but I’m your sister and you had your heart broken - no, mom’s fine about it, we’re just worried about you - well, you have to talk to someone, Brock -”)

The next person he talks to is Nina.

“Oh good, you’re still alive,” she says as she answers. “How does it feel to have broken the internet?”

“I - haven’t really looked.”

“Haven’t looked? At the internet? Just, in general?”

“I couldn’t yet. I’m going to, I just -”

“People are kinda freaking out about that episode.  You’re going to have offers of marriage from like, governors and stuff.  Tell them I’m single, by the way.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.  And she’s not saying anything. Her PR team must be circling the wagons, coming up with a statement.  Making sure this doesn’t look bad for her.”

That stops Brock’s heart for a moment. “Do you think it will?”

“Well, I mean, people love her. But they love you too. I’m sure her team just doesn’t want this to become about, you know, that bitch who broke Brooke Lynn’s heart.”

“Oh my God.” Is this what a heart attack feels like? Brock doesn’t know what else to say, can’t even fathom putting a sentence together.  Fuck, fuck, fuck - everything is terrible and complicated and this episode just made it all so much worse.

“Brock,” Nina says gently. “I have to say - I didn’t know. That you were so serious about her. It was all shiny and fun, I thought, I didn’t know -”

“It’s okay,” Brock stops him quickly.

“But I’m sorry about it. Sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I -” And what can Brock possibly say to that? “I’m sorry about that too. About a lot of things. I was kind of out of control near the end there. You should have made it to the Top 4.”

“It’s okay, I’m just going to sit by the phone with my hair in curlers, waiting for AllStars to call. Oh God, what if they’re calling RIGHT NOW?”

Brock laughs, even though his eyes are hot with tears. “I’m sure they will.”

“So what are you going to do? You have to say something. Everyone’s -”

“No.  It’s got to be up to her, she needs to decide how she wants it to go.  We were supposed to figure this out but -” He starts coughing then, which is embarrassing but unsurprising.  It lasts too long, and after he’s finished, Nina responds with a pointed silence.

“Sorry, sorry.  Smoking too much.”

“I don’t want to seem critical or patronizing or anything but - it’s um, getting a little self-destructive.  You know that right? This whole - thing.”

(“I’ll be around longer this time, bitch, believe it,” Vanessa is saying in the seat next to Brooke, too close and too warm. “Gonna show ‘em I’m not just a joke or nothin’. You best reserve this seat cuz I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Good,” Brooke says automatically. Then she stiffens slightly because that might have been - not the right thing to say.  The word just came out of her mouth, she didn’t think about it and now she’s afraid to turn her head, afraid of what she’ll see if she looks at the queen beside her.

When she finally does, Vanessa is studying her.  There’s an odd little furrow between her eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Her voice is quiet, barely audible in the chaos of the van.

And Brooke does something totally stupid, reckless and embarrassing but – fuck, there’s no controlling it.

“Yeah,” she says, then watches Vanjie smile all slow and pretty, like someone who’s just heard an awful secret. 

“Huh.” Vanjie chews on her lower lip, and Brooke tries not to look anywhere near those teeth or that mouth. “Anyway, it – is – you know, whatever. Um.”

Vanjie’s the one who breaks eye contact first, looking down at hands that are clenched tight in her hoodie. “Lookin’ forward to getting’ to know you proper, and. Scarlet I swear to God you’re halfway on my lap, ho. I’ma kick you outta this van you don’t shove over.”

Brooke goes back to looking out windows, tells herself that this is not going to happen. Whatever that weird moment was, it was just a moment. Crumple it up like tissue and throw it away. 

She’s not too worried about it, honestly. She doesn’t do that sort of thing much, doesn’t have the time for it. And she’s never dated another queen before, it’s not really her thing. Vanessa’s cute as hell, but both of them have too much to prove here and Brooke’s worked too hard to get here to be distracted by the first pair of dewy brown eyes she sees.

Brooke has walls around her heart, anyway, and no one gets past those.  She’s not in any danger.

She wants that to be true.)

“So maybe. Stop it?” Nina says. “I don’t know.”

“I legitimately don’t deserve you.”

“Who does? Haven’t met him yet. Probably will soon, though, like on the set of AllStars 5. I’m coming for you, Drag Race romance. Oh shit, what if it’s the Vixen?”

“I’ve changed my mind. You’re the worst.”

“She’s a fighter, I’m a loverrrrr.”

“I’m going to hang up on you.”

“You say that, but you never do.”

When they eventually say goodbye to each other, Brock realizes he has three missed calls from his manager, and two passive aggressive emails.  They want him to say something, make a statement, set the record straight. Reporters are calling for interviews (Christ, and they haven’t even see the reunion yet.)

Jose also hasn’t called or texted.  Not once.  And that’s fine.  It makes sense.  It’s fine.

Instead of doing the responsible, professional thing (he might need a new manager by the time this shit is finished) he dials a number his hands would recognize in the dark.  There’s no answer.  He contemplates hanging up (throwing his phone into the sea) but instead grinds his molars together and stays on the line.  Waits for the beep.

“Hi, it’s uh Brooke.  Brock. We should probably talk, hey? About - that. That thing that happened. Anyway, when you’re up for it, give me a call.” (Oh my God, I’m in love with him.) “Anyway.  Hopefully - talk to you soon.  Okay. Um. Bye.”

Brock waits for his heart to restart, waits for his jaw to unlock just enough to breath. 

Then he goes on social media.  It’s all a bit of a blur after that.

* * *

After the lip sync, Brooke doesn’t go home. 

They move her to a different hotel in L.A. because she’s going to be back in a few days anyway for the reunion and the finale taping. She’s silent and robotic as she packs up her stuff, ratings poison.

She isn’t going to write anything on the mirror, but a producer basically won’t let her leave until she does and Brooke wants out of the werkroom so much she can barely breathe; she scrawls “My heart will go on,” barely legibly.  Then she draws a little ship underwater.  

She doesn’t read the letters the girls leave for her. Not at first.

She waits until she’s in her new hotel room, a couple drinks in to give her the necessary emotional buffer. The new room has more of a view than the last one, and she can see the ocean off of her balcony. Dusk is falling over L.A., smog mostly blocking out the sunset, and Brooke chain smokes (not good) and tries to meditate half-heartedly before she can bring herself to touch the folded papers.

In the end it doesn’t matter.  Because Vanessa didn’t write one.

Brooke laughs out loud when she realizes it, and doesn’t recognize the sound of her voice. Of course Vanessa didn’t write her a letter. After an exit like that, what the hell was she supposed to say?

The days leading up to the reunion are like weights around her wrists and ankles. Brooke goes to the hotel gym for hours every day, and follows it up by jogging on the beach. She throws herself into everything physical, tries to exhaust her body so much that her mind will shut off. She can’t think about what she’s done. Can’t think about what’s going to happen.  How it’s going to look.

And she hates that public perception is such a huge part of her concern, but fuck it, that’s how she makes her living.  And now she has no control over it, can’t remember most of it, and is going to have to do some wild amounts of damage control when the season airs.

They send a van to drive her to the theatre for the filming of the reunion. She arrives late and rattled, but is relieved to see Nina and Plastique and a bunch of the other queens already in the dressing room, getting into drag.  It feels good (for a moment) to be hugged and smiled at by people who don’t know how spectacularly Brooke Lynn just fucked up. She has to take these moments while she can, because God knows it’s all going to come out in a few hours.

Soju’s cyst is healing nicely, so there’s that.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Nina says to the mirror, as Brooke pins her wig in place. “I thought you’d be Top 4 for sure.”

“You and me both.” Brooke tries to smile, brush it off. “Hoped you’d be up there with me.”

“So what happened? Can you like, mime it or something? Was it all those burner phones of yours? All the strange men you were smuggling into your room at night?”

Brooke laughs but the sound is like ice-cracking. “I’ll let Ru tell you all about it.”

The Top 4 queens get dressed somewhere else, so Brooke doesn’t see Vanessa until they’re making their way onstage (she tilts slightly, almost falling but not quite.)

Vanessa is flanked by Silky and A’Keria, and she’s wearing that electric orange/red again, a cocktail gown with huge feathered shoulders, a high neck and no back. She looks the best she ever has on the show, and Brooke feels the ground sliding underneath her heels as Vanessa meets her eyes from across the stage and quickly looks away.

Brooke bumps into Ariel as they find their seats. She can’t stay upright.

“Welcome back ladies.” RuPaul takes the stage in a neon orange patterned suit, smiling brightly. Brooke thinks she’s smiling back, but she can’t be sure.  Her face is not in control of itself when Vanjie’s in the room.  

The reunion is a bit of a blur after that.  But Brooke remembers the important parts.

[Transcript: RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 11: Reunited

Time stamp: 00:34:18

RuPaul Charles: Now, every year on Drag Race we know that the queens competing connect with each other in important and lasting ways.  But this season, for the first time in Drag Race herstory, two queens had a very special kind of connection, right from the start.  Let’s take a look at some footage of - what the kids are calling - ‘hashtag Branjie.’

[A compilation of Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s interactions is played. The queens onstage smile and ‘aww’ over particularly cute moments.]

RuPaul Charles: So Brooke.  Vanjie. Did you two know each other before the show?

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] I’ve talked about this before, like, we didn’t know each other.  He messaged me after Season 10 and I’d seen, you know, photos of him -

Shuga Cain: Girl, we’ve all seen those photos of him.

[Laughter]

Vanessa Mateo: But we never met or anything until we did the show.

RuPaul Charles: So the show brought you together?

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] I mean. Yeah, like you’re in this situation where you’re going so hard and there’s so much pressure, and then you meet someone and there’s this feelin’ - I don’t know. Someone make that make sense. Edit that.

RuPaul Charles: Brooke Lynn, what was it like for you? Was there a spark right away?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [does not respond]

RuPaul Charles: Brooke Lynn?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] Yes. There was.

RuPaul Charles: What was it like having that sort of chemistry but trying to balance the pressures of the show, the challenges, the runway…

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] Um. Difficult.

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] From the get-go, we said ‘we gotta keep this thing to the side.’ You know? Like it wasn’t gonna affect the competition. 

RuPaul Charles: But ultimately it affected the competition in a big way, didn’t it? Let’s take a look at one of what is - I would argue - the most dramatic lip syncs in Drag Race history. 

[The final moments of Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s lip sync is played.  The queens on stage are visibly shocked.]

RuPaul Charles: Brooke Lynn, what was going through your head at that moment?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] I - don’t know.

RuPaul Charles:  Well, it seems like at some point you made a decision to stop competing.  And to many people you were considered one of the front-runners of the season.  So what happened?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] I - I just stopped. [pause] I’m sorry, it’s my first time seeing it.  It’s all a bit - I’m having trouble.  Putting it together.

RuPaul Charles: I can see that. Vanessa, maybe you’ll have better luck.  What was going through your head when Brooke stopped dancing?”

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] You know I - I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t know what she was doing at first, and then I realized - I don’t know. It wasn’t good, I tell you that. Not a good feeling.

RuPaul Charles: Why’s that?

Vanessa Mateo: It felt like maybe - she felt sorry for me? And I didn’t want that. I wanted to prove that I deserved to be here, you know, I didn’t want to be given nothing.

Brooke Lynn Hytes: No, it wasn’t like - 

RuPaul Charles: Do you have something to say about that, Brooke?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] No. She should - say how she feels, sorry. 

RuPaul Charles: You know, during the season there was a lot of discussion about your lack of personality, your being ‘closed off.’ How do you feel about those comments?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] I - don’t know.

RuPaul Charles: You don’t know, or you’re not going to talk about it?

Nina West: Brooke and I have known each other for years and I think that at this point it’s pretty obvious that she has a personality. People were kinda being hard on her, but being a quiet person, being shy or thoughtful is also a personality, and -

RuPaul Charles: I guess it’s just not one that’s particularly fun to watch.

Nina West: I don’t know, you get a bit of vodka in her, and it is extremely fun to watch. [laughter] Occasionally disturbing, frequently sexually confusing, but always fun.

RuPaul Charles: Brooke, do you agree with Nina? That people were too hard on you this season?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: No. 

RuPaul Charles: Do you think you owe some of the other queens here an apology? Because I know you all worked really hard to be here, and then you chose -

Plastique Tiara: I don’t think Brooke owes us an apology.

Nina West: No. Absolutely not. She doesn’t. That’s -

Rajah O’Hara: I think she does. If she wanted to go home so bad she could’ve taken my place.  She didn’t want to dance against Vanjie, fine, I would’ve.  She should have sent her own self home Week One. That’s how I’m feeling.

Yvie Oddly: Girl, come on. That’s bullshit.

Rajah O’Hara: We all busted our asses to get here, we all of us have friends on this show, we have people we don’t wanna send home.  But we do it anyway, and to see someone just throw it away pisses me off.  It’s how I feel, I’m not gonna apologize for that. 

Scarlet Envy: But props to Vanjie. I mean, whose dick do I have to suck to get into the Top 4?

[Vanessa Mateo gets up, takes off microphone.]

RuPaul Charles: Vanjie -

[Vanessa Mateo leaves the stage.]

Scarlet Envy: Oh my god - it was a joke.

Silky Nutmeg Ganache [standing up]: You want to come for my girl, you come for me too.  Okay? She ain’t deserve that, that’s the fucking tea. That’s some shady ass -

Scarlet Envy: It was a joke!

RuPaul Charles: Silky, I know that emotions are running high but -

Silky Nutmeg Ganache: Nah, I’m serious -

Rajah O’Hara: Bitch, this ain’t about you!

[Brooke Lynn Hytes takes off her microphone.  Brooke Lynn Hytes leaves the stage.]

RuPaul Charles: Well. Okay. [pause]  Anyone else have somewhere to be?

[End transcription]

Brooke runs in the direction Vanessa left, through scattering P.A.s, over lighting cables and through the back stage area. She ends up in a hallway, sees Vanessa stomping it like it’s a runway down at the other end. Brooke hurries to catch up with her.

“We have to talk.” When Brooke touches her arm, Vanessa shrugs her off.

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes we do! I need to explain -”

“Explain what?” Vanessa looks up at Brooke and the hurt in her eyes is like lightning. “I came here wanting to show I was more than just a joke, that I was somethin’.  And now that’s done. That shit that Rajah said back there, that shit Scarlet said, that’s what everyone’s gonna say!  I’ma be the bitch who didn’t make Top Four on her own -”

“No. No one is going to think that -”

“They already do, Brooke!” Her hands are moving wildly. “You think I needed this? That you had to throw it for me?”

“No.” Brooke will swear to the grave that she never once thought that.  That she went into that lip sync with no intentions and then in the moment - the moment she saw that fucking tear run down Vanjie’s face - everything stopped.  “I know you could have done it, I’ve seen you dance and you’re fucking fierce.  I’m the one that fucked up, I’m the one that made a choice -”

“You made the wrong choice!” Vanjie’s angry now, in a way Brooke hasn’t seen since Untucked. “I didn’t ask you to do that!  I didn’t want you to do that!”

There is a camera person and a security guard moving silently down the hallway toward them, and Brooke cannot have this conversation be part of some reality show available to the fucking world. She takes Vanessa’s hand and pulls her around the corner, down another hallway and out of an emergency exit. The door slams shut behind them and they might be trapped outside in an alley for the foreseeable future, but at least they won’t be on camera. 

“I’m sorry,” Brooke says.  Vanessa has her arms folded.  She looks smaller than usual, even in her three inch heels. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t ask for this.  And I didn’t go on that stage with any sort of - plan, it just -”

“You felt sorry for me, right?”

“That’s not true -”

“That’s what it looks like, though. That’s what everyone is gonna think!”

“Let them think what the fuck they want then.  Does it matter? You’ll know -”

“Does it matter? You say that to me - it’s my life, my life they’re gonna be talkin’ ‘bout! Me as a queen! My career - everything -”

“It’s my career too.  It’s my whole life too,” Brooke’s voice is rising with frustration - frustration with the situation, with Vanessa - but most of all with herself.  “I have friends, family, they’re going to see that episode and they’re going to be fucking furious at me for what I did. I worked hard to get here, I worked damn hard, and when people find out that I just gave up -”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you now?”

“Well, I didn’t makethe Top 4.” Brooke regrets the words immediately (Vanjie’s eyebrows knit together and it’s the end of the fucking world.) 

“So what do you want? A thank you card?” Vanjie’s hands are so tight on her arms that Brooke can see her acrylics leaving indents in her skin. 

“No. Jesus. I just - don’t know how to fix this.  Would you be any happier, would this all be okay if I had sent you home? Is that what you wanted?”

“So that’s what woulda happened, hey? That’s the only other option here?”

“No but – I don’t know what you want me to say! This was my dream, Vanessa. Okay? I’m still a little fucked up about it, and I don’t know -”

“I didn’t ask for your dream. I didn’t want it!”  Vanessa wipes away a tear, and Brooke is taken violently back to that moment on the main stage right before everything fell apart. “You can’t put that on me.” 

“I’m not putting it on you, I’m just trying to explain.”

“Explain why, then.” Vanjie pins her flat with her gaze, the way she did that first time she looked at Brooke across the werkroom (and every damn time since then.)  “Why did you do it?”

A hundred thoughts go through Brooke’s head. A hundred moments between her and Vanessa: passing each other in hotel hallways, sliding folded letters under doors, kissing in shadows like they were starving for each other, could never get enough.  Brooke opens her mouth and wants to scream these moments out of her chest, take them, take them, they hurt too much. She tries to put it into words.  Tries to piece it together like a mosaic made of glass shards.  She tries.

“We’re done,” Vanjie says quietly, and then her eyes squeeze shut. 

(There is something howling beneath Brooke’s skin, a wounded animal.)

“Jose -”

“Nah, nah, I can’t - do this right now.  You don’t even - we’re done.”

“Don’t -”

“It’s done.” Vanessa takes a step back. She doesn’t say anything else, just moves cautiously around Brooke until she gets to the door.  It opens and Vanessa goes inside and she’s gone then.  She’s gone.  It’s done.

At some point, Brooke slides to the ground.  She doesn’t know when, doesn’t feel herself moving, but she’s on the ground just the same.  

At some point, she hears the door slam shut. She has no idea how long she’s been out there., maybe minutes, maybe days. When she finally looks up, she sees A’Keria Davenport leaning against the brick wall, single eyebrow raised.  

“Everyone’s looking for you on the inside,” she says, “The pair of you sure know how to make a scene.”

Brooke doesn’t have the strength to respond. 

“Mama Ru was not happy everyone leaving her set, no ma’am. Thought she was goin’ to flip her wig when you took off after Miss Vanessa.” A’Keria pauses, and then she laughs.  It’s a wholly unexpected laugh, warm and without judgment. The pearl beading on her gown clicks together as she moves.  “Next season probably no one’s gonna even show for the reunion.  They’ll just all be off dealin’ with their drama somewhere.”

Brooke might laugh but then things might escalate, and any emotions are potential threats at this point.   

“Shouldn’t be sittin’ on the ground in chiffon, girl.  Show some respect.”

A’Keria offers Brooke her hand, and Brooke reluctantly lets herself be pulled to her feet.  She dusts off her gown through sheer force of habit.

“You gonna come inside? Or you live here now?”

The thought of seeing anyone else is paralyzing. Brooke doesn’t know if she can manage it.

“Maybe – a few more minutes. Is Vanessa –“

“She and Silk are off somewhere, don’t you worry ‘bout it. We’re takin’ care of her.”

“I’m glad she has you.”

“She is a lucky bitch, that’s true enough.” A’Keria gives Brooke a gentle touch on the shoulder. “But you got people too, Miss Brooke. Don’t forget that.”

From somewhere on her incredibly ornate dress, some magical secret pocket, she produces a cigarette and a slim silver lighter. 

“Shouldn’t be encouragin’ your nasty habits, but I thought you might need somethin’. And – when it comes to Vanjie –“

She looks thoughtful, the way she looks in the werkroom when she’s sewing, quiet and focused while Silky and Vanjie spout all manner of nonsense beside her. It strikes Brooke suddenly that of all the queens this season, A’Keria might be the one she knows least of all.

“You know, some people are better at gettin’ stepped on than gettin’ lifted up. See what I’m sayin’? You get stepped on enough, you start to think that’s how it goes.  So when something good happens, like someone gives you somethin’ you didn’t even know you deserved -  you don’t know what to do with that. It messes with that story in your head. The one that tells you what you’re worth.” 

“I wasn’t trying to give her anything. I know she could have made it without me -”

“Girl, you really think I’m talking about the show?” A’Keria moves gracefully back toward the side door. “I’m sayin’ she ain’t mad at you.  Not really. She just don’t know what to do with – all this. It can be a lot to hold.” She smiles, a bit sad. “I’m goin’ in. You take care now.”

Brooke thinks about A’Keria’s words long after she’s gone.  She stays outside and smokes that cigarette down to the tips of her burning fingers and then steps on it, crushes it between the pavement and her heel.  She counts to twenty-five, then thirty, then forty in her head.

She goes inside.

At the live finale, Brooke watches from the audience as Nina West is named Miss Congeniality, and Vanjie lip syncs for the crown.

Then she flies back to Nashville, alone. She feeds her cats, she works, she travels. She calls her mom, she jogs along Cumberland River, she dances at bars with men she doesn’t want.

She smokes too much, and doesn’t sleep enough.

She dreams.

She doesn’t see Vanessa for five months.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

The Photo Shoot

Here’s my take on the adorable request given to me by  @a-bad-actor !! Hope you like it!

Tony needs a photo of a young and happy face to put on Stark Industry’s website and requests Peter’s aid. When the grumpy kid can’t seem to smile normally, Stark takes matters into his own hands.

word count: 1,800

“Mr. Stark, couldn’t you find someone else to do this…?”

Peter squinted uncomfortably beneath the harsh lights, pulling at his collar. He felt like a bug being studied under a microscope—a bright, judgmental microscope. Tony Stark stood behind the camera, fiddling with the settings.

“Nope. You’re the only intern that’s here this late. And the youngest, therefore the most endearing and inspirational to potential applicants.”

“But I’m not even a real intern, Mr. Stark. It’s a front, remember?”

“Who cares? You think the 20-something-year-old grad students scrolling through the Stark Industry’s website are going to know that?” He narrowed his eyes as he racked the lens. “I just want a nice picture of a welcoming face to put on the online brochure. It’ll help encourage youngsters such as yourself to apply for all the internship positions and project grants my company is now offering.”

“That’s really cool of you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, swallowing. “But, um…I’m just not very photogenic. I hate getting my picture taken. And my face is crazy broken out right now, so can’t you just hire someone tomorrow to pose for—?”

“The re-vamped website goes live at midnight, so no.” Tony clicked one last button on the camera’s screen, then stepped away. “Relax, kid—you look fine. Just think how awesome it will be to show all your friends a pic of your handsome mug on Stark Industry’s home page.”

Peter hung his head. “Yeah. So awesome…”

Tony scoffed. “What’s your problem? I thought you’d love this.”

The kid shrugged haphazardly. “Whatever. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Alright then, grumpy pants,” he snorted. He held up the shutter remote and gave it a shake. “Say ‘cheese’.”

The smile Peter pasted on his face was so pathetic, Tony thought he was just holding back a sneeze. Or crushing something between his teeth. He stared at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement, waiting for him to actually attempt to smile, his finger hovering over the shutter release button.

“Uh…seriously? That’s the face you’re going with? That’s what you want a quarter million people to wake up to tomorrow morning?”

Peter huffed miserably. “I told you I’m bad at this, Mr. Stark.”

“Just smile. Like you always do. Don’t think about it so much.”

The kid rolled his eyes and tried again. This time, it looked like he was in actual, physical pain, like someone was holding a knife to his back and threatening to kill him if he didn’t pretend to look happy. 

And boy, was he bad at pretending. 

Tony took a picture just to see if he’d look any better on camera. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t. If anything, he actually looked worse. Stark couldn’t help but laugh.

“Geez, Pete, are you trying to look constipated? Is that the new fad among you Gen Z types? Cuz if so, you are killing it.”

Peter blushed and stared at the floor. “I hate you.”

Chuckling, Tony stepped forward. “Here,” he said, giving his shoulders a shake. “Loosen up. Don’t stand so stiffly.”

“Why don’t you just take a picture of yourself? You’re so much better at this kind of stuff.”

“The whole website is already plastered with my face. We need a dash of youth and freshness to spice things up.” He licked his fingers and ran them through Peter’s hair, making him grimace. “But if you want, I can show you how it’s done.”

He walked behind Peter and struck a few casual poses, boasting a subtle yet winning smile. He snapped a few photos just for show while the kid threw his hands in the air.

“But see, that’s what I’m saying—it’s easy for you. For me, it’s just…not. I can’t do this. I give up.”

Tony caught him before he could sulk away. “Just one more try, that’s all I’m asking.” He turned the dejected teen back to the camera. “Imagine you’re receiving an award, or smiling at a girl you like. Anything like that. Think of something that makes you genuinely happy, and channel that energy into a nice, natural smile. You can do it.” He took a few steps back and to the side. “I’ll stay behind you so you don’t feel pressured.”

Peter sighed helplessly and stared into the daunting eye of the lens. He tried his best to do as Stark said, he really did. It wasn’t working in the slightest, but that was okay. Because Tony didn’t expect it to work. He just needed something to keep the kid distracted while he executed his real plan to make the kid smile.

When Tony stopped firing the shutter, Peter figured he was doing something wrong, and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m telling you, Mr. Stark, I can’t do it. Either find some other stupid intern for your photo, or steal a stock pic from the Internet. I just—I can’t—”

Peter’s angry rant was interrupted by two hands seizing him around the middle and squeezing his sides just above his hips. The kid let out a shriek of surprise, followed by a flood of laughter.

“AHAhahack! Whahat the—?” He sprung away, wrapping his arms around his midsection, flustered to his core. “Mr. Stark! W-what was that for?”

“Ha! I knew that would work.” Tony stepped around him and turned the camera screen for Peter to see. “Look at that smile! It’s perfect!”

In the photo, Peter’s eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was wide with smiley laughter. His head was tilted back while his cheeks glowed a gentle pink. He looked truly, genuinely happy; Stark could hardly believe it, especially compared to the slew of depressing shots taken previously.

Upon seeing the picture, the kid’s face burned. “No, no, please don’t use that.”

“Why not? You look so happy. It’s like you’re in an Old Navy ad.”

“But it’s…embarrassing,” he murmured.

Tony smiled softly. “No. It’s cute. Anyone who sees it will love it.”

“Not me…”

Stark sighed and faced the camera back towards the teenager. “Fine. I guess we’ll just have to keeping taking more until there’s one we both like.”

Without hesitating, he marched up to him, causing Peter to wince. “W-wait, what—?” Before he could get away, Stark scooped the kid into his arms and started drilling his tummy with tickles, kneading his fingers up and down his sides. The response was hysterical and instantaneous.

“Whaha—AHAHA NOHOHO! M-Mihihihister Stahahahark!” He kicked and squirmed and laughed like crazy, grappling at Tony’s wrists, his face bright and happy. “Stohohahap—wahahahait! Eheeheehahaha!”

“But this is the only way to make you smile normally,” Stark replied, chuckling at Peter’s adorable squirminess, “which would’ve been nice to know about a lot sooner. Now I know exactly how to cheer you up whenever you’re being a grouch.”

Peter managed to flail right out of his arms, but that only led to Tony pinning him to the ground and spidering his fingers underneath the kid’s T-shirt, scribbling his bare tummy in tickles. His laugher jumped in both volume and octave; his wriggling transformed into wild floundering.

“AHAHAHAHAAA!” he cried, whipping his head back and forth, bucking and squealing like a helpless piglet. “OHO SHIHIHIHITNOHOHOHAHAHA!”

“All we need is one good picture we both agree on, and then we’re done. Since you’re so picky, I’m trying to make sure we get every angle.”

“AHAHAHANY ONE! USE AHAHAHAHANY ONE! I DOHOHOHOHON’T C-CAHAHARE HAHAHA!” Tony’s evil hands clawed all over his ribs, belly, and underarms, driving the ticklish teen mad with giggles. “JUHUHAHAST STOHOHAHAHAHAP! MIHIHISTER STAHAHAHARK! EHEHAHAHAHA!”

When Stark saw tears flooding the poor kid’s eyes as he fought pathetically to escape, he finally let up. Peter was left in a bundle on the floor, panting with relief. Tony smiled down at the giggly hero. He was so cute, it almost made him sick.

“You think we got one you might like?” he chuckled.

“M-Mihihister Stahark…” he moaned, laughter still clinging to his words. “Whyhyhy…”

Tony sighed solemnly and offered him a hand. “Look, if you really don’t want your picture on the website, I won’t put one on there.”

Peter stared up and him, blinking in surprise.

“I can figure something else out. Maybe stick some silly graphic on it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Peter hesitantly accepted his help and stood, blushing at the floor. “N-no, it’s fine. Go ahead, I don’t care.”

“Yes you do.”

The teenager winced. Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Why? What’s got you so worried about it? 99% of the people who see your picture on there won’t even know you, and probably won’t pay it a second thought.”

“Yeah, but I…” He paused, licking his lips. “I don’t know. I’m used to seeing Spider-Man’s face online, in newspapers, whatever. It’s just freaky to think about my actual face on an important website, without my mask on.”

“Don’t you use Instagram and Snapchap or whatever? You post pics of your face on the Internet all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’m in control there. And my Instagram only has, like, eighty followers, so…” Peter scratched the back of his neck. “I just wish I could have my mask on for the photo. Could we do that instead? People would much rather see Spider-Man on your website than me.”

Stark’s heart tore as he stared down at the kid. At his center, Peter Parker was still just a teenager, with all fears and insecurities that came with it. Like any teenager, he’d much rather present a facade to the world than something authentic: his true self. Tony knew it could be scary. Releasing a slow breath, he placed his hand on his head and ruffled his hair.

“But they would be seeing Spider-Man. The real Spider-Man. The best part of Spider-Man.”

When Peter’s expression stayed stony, he fluttered his fingers against his neck, causing him to cringe and giggle.

“And I for one would much rather see Spider-Man’s smiling face than some dumb mask that hides it.”

Peter glanced up at him with a shy grin. It was the most endearing thing Stark had ever seen.

Tony walked back to the camera to look through the media. Not, of course, before snapping a quick photo once he was out of frame.

“Now come on. You pick which pic makes the final cut.”

…

As anticipated, the photo didn’t stir up much of a buzz. Peter did feel a bit like a celebrity among his friends, especially the ones who refused to believe that he worked with Tony Stark. Until now.

Peter would never admit that he actually liked the picture. And Tony would never admit that he had all the pictures from the laughter-filled photo shoot saved on his network, and that he would look at them as a choppy video sequence whenever he was feeling down.

[tracies-tales]

Letter by Letter

Dear Arin...

Dan’s pen paused. He pinched the tip and wiggled it as he surveyed his work. He’d written plenty of love songs in his day, comedy variety though they were. Writing out an actual love letter was basically second nature. Although, it wasn’t helping him get his feelings out and onto a tangible page as he’d hoped it would. He’d heard that pouring one’s soul out in words was a way that helped some people manage their emotions.

Looking at the letter again, Dan was pretty positive this had only deepened his infatuation.

It reminded him of everything he loved about Arin. It was filled end to end with the feelings that he tried to convey to Arin every day. Once he’d begun spilling the things he desperately wished he could find the courage to say out loud, he’d found it difficult to stop.

Because this letter also contained his terror.

As much as his heart was laid out in ink, so too was the underlying fear that this letter could mean the end of their friendship. He didn’t truly believe Arin would shun him if he knew how Dan felt, but he knew things would never be the same. Not really. You can’t just confess your undying love for a person and not experience a change one way or another. 

A sigh parted Dan’s lips as he folded the paper and laid it on his chest beneath his hand. Somewhere, deep down, a piece of him yearned to give Arin the letter. The worst that would probably happen was Arin would apologize and say he didn’t feel the same way. Then they would go back to their lives, recording Game Grumps sessions, laughing at dick jokes, doing his best to hide the pain behind a smile.

He shifted to lay down on the Grump couch, utilizing the space while everyone else was absorbed in their own projects. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned into his palms. He tried to get himself to accept the fact that Arin’s gay jokes were just that--jokes. But he said them too often, the inflection of his tone always just lilted enough to make Dan’s heart flutter and his thoughts turn to static. The way Arin’s hand would always linger on Dan’s arm or shoulder, or ass, on special occasions, made Dan unable to help but wonder. 

“Whatcha got there?” Arin asked.

Dan jumped and snatched the letter off his chest, crumpling it into his fist. “What’s what?” he asked, far too quickly to be convincing. He hadn’t even heard the door to the studio open.

Arin’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Ooohhh, secrety secrets?” he prompted as he shut the door behind him.

Dan snorted, unable to help but chuckle at his tone. He figured he might as well play along. “Yes, the tippitiest toppest of secrets.”

“My favorite kind!” Arin walked over. Dan didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced to Dan’s hands as he sat up.

Dan shook a finger at him, “No siree, they’re secrets for a reason, Ar.”

A pout immediately overtook his features. They almost made Dan feel guilty enough to show him right then. “Dannyyy,” Arin whined, sitting next to him and leaning heavily into his shoulder. “Come on, at least give me a hint.”

Dan hated when he called him Danny--it was so damn cute. “Dude, cut it out,” he smiled, ruffling Arin’s hair with his free hand. 

“Not until you tell me,” Arin looked up at him.

Dan pursed his lips. He was distracted just long enough by Arin’s puppy eyes for the letter to be snatched from his grip. “Hey!” Dan yelped, leaning to try to grab it back.

Arin stretched his arm to its maximum limit and leaned away from him, holding the paper out of reach. “Dan, come on, how bad can it be?”

“It’s just stupid song lyrics!” Dan blurted, immediately cursing himself for such a blatant lie.

“You’re never ashamed to show me your ideas for new lyrics,” Arin retorted. However, he relented and shifted back up, holding the letter out. Dan grabbed it, but it felt like some otherworldly force was stopping his hand from yanking it away.

Dan frowned down at it, refusing to meet Arin’s eyes. “I know,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm up with a tingling blush. 

“So...what is it?” Arin asked, his tone much less jovial than it was a minute ago.

Dan bit his lip. He shut his eyes and said, “It’s...a letter. To you.”

That made Arin’s brows knit in confusion. “To me?” 

“To you.”

“So why the hell were you so adamantly against showing it to me?”

“Because, I-” Dan’s voice got caught in his throat. “I wasn’t...sure if I was ready for you to know,” he replied, letting the paper go.

Arin glanced to his hand and back up to him. Waiting for approval. Dan grinned in spite of himself, through all the roiling fear tearing his guts apart; he was touched that Arin was actually double checking to make sure he had permission. Dan nodded, but he couldn’t meet Arin’s eyes. He tucked his knees up to hug them as he heard the crinkle of the paper being unfolded and straightened out. Then Arin began to read aloud, which only made Dan’s grip on his legs tighten.

“Dear Arin, 

Where do I begin? I guess all letters have to start somewhere. So here it is, greatest intro to a letter there ever was. Smooth, Avidaniel

How was I supposed to know? I need to stop starting lines with questions How could I have known how big of a part you were going to play in my life? 

Maybe it was your charming smile. Maybe it was your musical resounding laugh. Maybe it was the way you wanted me, a 38 year old nobody, to be your Game Grumps partner in crime. I don’t fucking know, but somehow you took a hold of me and never let me go.

No amount of words in pen, text, audio recording, or verbal assault will ever be able to quantify what it means to me. What you mean to me. Because, fuck dude, you mean the world. 

You deserve everything you have. I mean it. The internet popularity, the lovelies, the job, you’ve worked your ass off for this. Everyone is so proud of what you’ve accomplished, and I couldn’t be happier or luckier to get to see you shine so brightly. I don’t care that the spotlight isn’t on me--you’re more of a star than I’ll ever be.

Shit, I’m running out of paper already. Curse my own large-print hubris! 

I suppose there is one way I could have summed this up rather than write a whole ass essay about the subject.

What I’ve been struggling to write this whole time, because once I’ve written it I’ll know for sure it’s true:

I love you, Arin. 

Nothing’s ever going to change that, whether or not you do, too. 

You can count on it, Big Cat.”

The silence in the room that followed gnawed at Dan’s stomach like acid. Maybe giving him the letter wasn’t the best idea after all. Was he mad? No, he was probably thinking of the gentlest way to turn him down. The waiting was agonizing, driving Dan insane.

The horrendous ache was quelled by Arin’s arms wrapping around him. They encompassed Dan entirely, legs and all, into a snug embrace. Dan was shocked enough that he forgot to adjust to help as Arin hauled him into his lap. The paper had left Arin’s hand and fluttered to the floor.

A sniffle made Dan turn his head. “Arin? Are...are you crying?” he asked.

“Fuck you, what do you mean am I crying?” Arin laughed, the sound broken up with gentle sobs. “How the fuck am I s’posed to read shit like that and not get emotional?”

“I’m...fuck man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even mean to give it to you, I...”

“So you were just gonna bottle it up like some kind of dumbass?”

Dan blinked, “What?”

“Like I haven’t been hinting this at you for years,” he scoffed. “Years, Daniel! I spent this entire damn time thinking the same shit, more or less.”

Dan was dumbfounded. He felt tears start to well up in his eyes, as well, “Really?”

“Of c--of course really! What the hell do you think I was implying? I was hitting on you but really what I wanted was to bang Ross?”

The curse of the static-brain returned. “Hitting on me?”

“Holy fuck, you really were clueless,” Arin laughed, snuggling his face into Dan’s shoulder. He sniffled again and said, “This is only about a couple years too late, but I love you too, Dan.”

Warmth blossomed in Dan’s chest, and his heart raced with no indication of slowing any time soon. He had succumbed to tears as well, beaming at Arin before he shifted his torso and threw his arms around his neck. When Arin lifted his head in curiosity at the adjusted posture, Dan pulled him into a kiss. 

When they parted, Dan noticed Arin now shared his blush. “I’m glad,” Dan said, unsure that he could manage to say anything else.

They both turned their heads when they heard the door opening to Ross, who said, “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” His gaze drifted to the floor as he noticed the letter. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Dan and Arin said.

cliche? maybe a little

regrets? none

this was inspired by the book “to all the boys i’ve loved before" :) ps i know dan’s 39 i just picked 38 bc idk

edit: this additional little note is to let y’all know i really am taking writing suggestions almost always so if you have ideas or a prompt from somewhere else you want me to tackle, pitch it to me! the worst i can do is say no (and I probably won’t, unless it’s too terribly nsfw) :D

[borrovved]

Another Side

Word count: 3,988

yoongi x reader

Disclaimer: mentions of depression, and suicide

Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi wasn't really an outside person, meaning- he just didn't go outside. Except for photography or the occasional outing with his friends or to play basketball, but that's it. So when it was summertime he didn't party almost everyday and get hangovers, he hunched over his computer screen and dwelt on what to write. Fresh out of college, majoring in English and literature, basic writing stuff, and minoring in music.There wasn't a lot of stability in finding jobs. Jobs that can be careers anyway. He just wanted to write stories, do his hobbies, and enjoy life. “Be the better you than you were yesterday” he likes to say. Which is fucking tricky, when he has depression.

College stressed him out so much. He always had blue rings under his eyes, a slight slouch from bending over his desk late at night to finish those damn essays, falling asleep on his desk, wondered if he should drop out, wondered if this was worth it.

Now a man with a degree, he doesn't know if he's the one that is worth it. He has those pesky thoughts linger in his mind. And tonight, they wouldn't leave. It's pissing him off, with each thought clouding his mind as he's lying on his couch. "Your stories aren't going to fucking sell. They're filled with shit." He tells himself. The music he plays and writes himself just feel like sounds with no meaning behind them. These thoughts are driving him mad, so he gets up, says "fuck it" and is on his merry way to drink his sorrows away.

1:13 am, June 12th

You're driving around aimlessly on a summer night, and it's drizzling. You got into those moods again where you're bored, alone, hella fucking sad, and need to get out of the your place because you've become a hermit. Summer is your absolute, favorite time of the year. No school, no deadlines, no stress. Shorts, tank tops, off the shoulder blouses are totally appropriate to wear. Sun's out, buns out, right? Fucking wrong.

It's been raining for a week straight. Your mood changes when the season changes. (Drastically, too.) You love summer so damn much, but it's probably the worst you've ever felt each time in the year, for the past two years. It's because you don't have a routine to stick to. You get out of bed whenever, eat whenever, get off the internet, whenever and however you want. This unfortunately leads to awful sleep schedules and a lethargic body. Unhealthy, tired, lonesome even. Plus, you hate the rain. You got out of your apartment, showered, ate, and even got dressed up a little for no reason, because pampering yourself is self-care. That small inkling of happiness builds, which brings you closer to a better routine.

Blasting music and driving in solitude was so exhilarating, and liberating to you. You're more of a walker than a driver, but people shouldn't really be listening to music with headphones in at night, walking alone at 1 am. So the car, it shall be. No direction to really go to, but you pay close to mind on where you're going, because you get lost easily. You never really venture out unless it's work, home, the store, or a friend's house. You're not all good at reading maps either. Driving at night at this hour isn't practical, but who said you led a practical life?

You don't venture far, just drive around in circles, take a turn here and there, and suddenly you're driving past a bar and realize you drove a little too far from home and never heard of these street names before. You turn around, and try to retrace your steps, because you can't be that far off from home. You drive slowly and see a man with his thumb up pointing in the air. He doesn't look menacing looking, just..a tad tipsy by the way you look at his stance. He's actually kinda cute when you look closer, with the way the little drops of rain start to gather and roll against his nose, his sleepy eyes making him more innocent, the way he's doing the sweater paw thing while his thumb is in the air and holy shit your car is parked right in front of him now.

He looks more wide awake now, with the loud noises of your windshield wipers swishing around. He blinks once or twice. You blink twice or three times. He's walking, you have your eyes on every move he makes, and he gets in. He just casually clips his seat belt and looks at you.

You've picked up a hitchhiker before. You saw a grown man holding his little son's hand. The little boy was wearing a backpack, and the father had his thumb in the air. Of course, you were scared it was some sort of sick scam and that you might get your car jacked because it was the slightly less nice part of town, but you figured you would give this a chance. You parked by them and immediately got your pepper spray out as a warning because you really can't afford to be naive. You drove the boy to school, and his father insisted on walking himself home. This is a different situation, because you left your pepper spray at home. Also, this is even more shady, because it's night time and why the hell did this guy just not get an Uber? God, you're really stupid for letting this guy in.

All this time you were staring at him and letting your thoughts run wild, when you hear him say "You're not a serial killer, are you?"

You've always had a smart mouth, to which you answered, "The chances of two serial killers in the same car is astronomical." He's unfazed by this response, and he just smirks. He really can't be a murderer when he's sporting sweater paws in his lap, can he?

"So uh..where are you heading?" You ask sheepishly.

"Home. I can type in the address into your phone if you want." He's a soft talker. You turn down your music.

"Yeah, you can do that. Here." You hand him your phone, and he's staring at it blankly.

"Hey, is there something wrong?" You ask.

"...this is an android." Jesus. Christ.

"Is that a problem sir?" You deadpan.

"No, simple observation. First time I actually hitch a ride, and my driver is an android user. This is a lot to take in." This time he's smiling, and it's noticeable.

"Are you sure you're not a serial killer? This much boldness and conversation on your end is freaking me out." You say as you start driving. The destination is approximately 16 minutes, not bad.

"I swear. Whenever I get drunk I'm just this outgoing." He chuckles.

"Because I have a complete stranger next to me now, I gotta interrogate you. Why didn't you just call an Uber? Or a friend?" You say.

"My phone died. I don't like the music that plays at the bars so I brought my ear buds, and I didn't charge my phone before I left my place. I was at the bar drinking for a couple hours. I'm one of the oldest out of all my friends, so they're still living on campus at the opposite end of town, any other friends aren't close around here, nor family. So no one can take me anywhere, and I'm not dumb enough to drink and drive regardless of how clear the roads are." He says that relatively fast for someone who's not sober and articulates it in a way that throws you off a bit.

"You just answered all my questions and I haven't even asked the rest of them yet. Are you sure you're not drunk? Or is this just a creatively weird way to pick up girls?" You inquire.

"I've figured I owed you a good explanation because you're practically my savior at this point. Plus, I'm not into chicks who picks up guys on the side of the road. I like cautious, sensible girls. No offense." This guy sure has the balls to be this mouthy at you.

"How are you going to call me your savior when you also just insulted me in one go, man? Gimme a break. I wasn't even planning on stopping for you, I was making a u-turn while slowing down and I stopped without thinking." He turns his whole body to face you.

"So you're telling me you didn't even think about letting a stranger in? You just..let it happen? This really is a fortunate day for me." He leans back in the seat, closing his eyes with yet another dumb smirk. It's not that you weren't thinking at all, you were just checking him out. No way in hell does he have to know that though.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me now. You gotta make sure I'm going the right way." You nudge him with your right elbow lightly. He opens his eyes and now you feel them on you. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter because his gaze is making you tense, you can just feel it piercing you.

"Well, what about you? Why are you driving into the night like this? Getting home from a party?" Part of you is contemplating whether to overshare or tell him to mind his own business. Seeing as you are on some sort of high after picking up a hot stranger and most likely never seeing him again, and you can't possibly push him away or turn him off by your upcoming venting session because it's not like you guys are gonna screw, and he's in your car, so he's forced to listen. Plus, spilling it to someone you'll never cross paths again is better than venting to a friend that will just end up worrying about you and just saying the same thing again: it will get better.

"I needed to get out of my place. Depression has been kicking my ass so I'm just trying to piece myself together again by going out for a drive and fixing myself up. I've been in bed all day on my phone swiping and typing away, barely eating. My apartment is barely recognizable. There was so much shit going on in my head, I needed to get out. I'm not going anywhere, just driving in circles really. Then my dumb ass got lost and I found you." For a moment he doesn't say anything, but just sighs and says,

"That's a decent way of coping with it. On rare occasions I drink to forget about my depression." A soft "oh" escapes your lips.

"I was about to say sometimes but then I figured it would make me sound like an alcoholic. I swear I'm not." He says. "It's just been a really bad couple of weeks. So bad, I kinda don't care what happens to me at this point. That's why I decided to hitchhike tonight. Things like this happened before, if I walk to my place it will take about an hour and a half. I sober up, think more clearly, and go back to bed."

"You already sound like you're sobering up. I think you're halfway there to feeling better. Even if you feel better temporarily, it's still good." You say.

"Oh babe, I'm most definitely not sober right now." Even in the darkness you're worried he saw you blush after saying that. The conversation is flowing nice even though you literally met less than twenty minutes ago. You don't want it to stop yet, and try to talk as much as you can.

"What are your coping skills for when you feel like this? Do you like music? Maybe you could play it and drive like how I'm doing." You said.

"That's a nice idea, and I love music. It's one of my hobbies. Although I don't like the idea of wasting gas, I'm not really made out of money to do that. I write in a journal about how I'm feeling. Maybe play basketball. I try to surround myself by people who love me, but it gets overwhelming when they see you like that, like this." He points at himself. You notice how he has earrings. Pretty silver hoops. Always had a soft spot for piercings.

"I get it, I usually pace around my room with earbuds in to listen to music. Or outside and do that..but seeing as it's late I can't really do that. Also, your happiness matters. Nothing is ever a waste if it will make you feel better." You say, eyes still straight ahead.

"I like your way of thinking, I wish I was more positive. I'm actually way better compared to how I was a few years ago but sometimes you have a shit day. Or month. I'll keep that in mind, though." He says, sounding a little defeated.

In your car you were playing a pretty mellow playlist. It's all songs that you liked recently. A lot of them were sad though. Some old favorites here and there for added nostalgia too. What you forgot what you usually did though, was adding one song that was incredibly energetic and random from the rest of your playlist, so you wouldn't be sad the whole time it was playing. One minute you're listening to a symphonic ballad, and then you hear Super Bass blasting from your speakers. You're about to change it when you hear him laugh, pretty hard too.

"Oh god. This song reminded me of a really funny story. In high school I had a bad episode where I came pretty close to offing myself but then fucking SUPER BASS came on shuffle after my sad music ended, and I just remember laying on my bathroom floor thinking 'I can't kill myself to this song, it's Super Bass' so I just went to sleep." He finished saying while holding his stomach, not trying at all to contain his laughter.

You were about to ask what "offing yourself" meant and then replayed the story he told you in your head, and almost swerved the damn car from laughing so hard. After the laughter simmers down, you ask,

"So you said music was your hobby, what did you mean by that?" You ask.

"Well, I write songs. I make music, I produce. Just a bunch of underground stuff. That doesn't really pay the bills so I work a side job too." He says.

Not much is said after that. Words exchanged here and there like, "this is a good song." There was one moment where both of you said it at the same time and laughed some more. You want to pat yourself on the back in your choice of clothes and doing your makeup on a whim, because you're almost sure he was checking you out too.

You don't know why you haven't realized this before, but this person lives in the same apartment building as you, as you start parking in your spot. You were so caught up in the conversation that you didn't realize you ended up driving here on your own without really looking at the map on your phone. The stranger unbuckles his seat belt and turns to you.

"Hey uh, thanks for the ride. I hope you don't live too far away or anything." You turn off the car and unbuckle your seat belt, which makes him a little apprehensive.

"Calm down, I live here too." You start getting out of the car and walking towards him. You can see how flushed his cheeks are under the streetlamp.

"I've never seen you around though." You said.

"Well, I've never seen you around either. Maybe we are both serial killers." He has a very lovely smile.

"Thanks." Well, shit.

"Oh god you weren't supposed to hear that." You start playing with the hair tie on your wrist and looking down on the ground, seeing yourself in a little puddle separating between the two of you. He just starts smiling wider, and changes the subject. Thank God.

"We should get inside, before it starts pouring." It's almost 2 am, and you can feel yourself get worn out. Both of you walk inside the building and go into the elevator.

"What floor are you?" He asks.

"Third."

"Maybe that's why I never see you, I'm on the second." He says. You lean back on the wall and evaluate how your day went. You did the dishes at least. The whole place is still a mess. You took a shower, that's good, right? And you brought someone back to their home safely. Good karma is always needed. Your attention is on him now. He's about to step off on his floor.

"Later, stranger." You say. He's out of the elevator now, and says,

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi is my name." The doors start closing but before it does, you see him getting into his apartment. It feels good opening up your feelings and leaving your home for once. You finally get on your floor, and get inside your place. You head straight for your bed and stare at the ceiling. You remember all the dumb stuff you did tonight (and said) and remember the words exchanged between that guy, Yoongi. Now, you could just let this guy be and remain as acquaintances, or scheme ways to run into him more. It doesn't take long to try to find ways to run into him though. You have no choice because it's him, that runs into you.

Part two, coming whenever the hell that is