#I think they’d be happy together not in a god damn dog house

[bigbarabelly]

Lmao lets see if this is ok to post

Jimcurly 👊🫡

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[steviewashere]

Dream Come True

Rating: General CW: Minor internalized ableism on Steve's end Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Adopting a Child, Parenthood, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Let Them Live a Quiet Life God Damn It, Mild Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is about healing each other's wounds."

💕—————💕

They haven’t discussed children since the second month they were together. Was that probably a little too early in their relationship? Probably—Eddie will be brave enough to admit that right now. But, considering where they’re at now: Steve is forty-seven and Eddie’s forty-eight, their wedding bands are simple and gold (something easily spotted amongst the silver ones that Eddie still wears), the house they took a loan out for is painted yellow with white shutters installed (well, they paid Dustin and Will to do it. They were happy to help), they live in Massachusetts away from public eye, and though they don’t have a dog—not yet, the service dog process has been a long and weary one on Steve’s end—they have their little brown tabby cat. They’ve got a well furnished home. And years of love between them.

Nearly twenty-eight years in total. Nineteen years wedded. Six years of that are legally recognized. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is they stopped talking about the prospect of having kids.

Eddie’s initial answer at the beginning was, “Maybe. I think it would be neat. But, I’m gay, Steve. That isn’t really a possibility.” He chuckled a little bit. “I meant like adopting, but in a technical sense—Considering what’s in my pants, the possibility is still out the window.”

Steve’s was changed from what he told Nancy in that Winnebago. “I still want children. Or, just one. I want a quiet life. Even if you make it as some big rock star, I want a quiet private life.”

It was doable. What Steve had whispered on Eddie’s shoulder, that was doable. The question for years though was, When does he want that? And also, When will he leave to pursue that?

The answer was clear. Steve was never going to pursue that. That, sure, they’d have the quiet life. But never have children. And Eddie saw him wilt a little further and further. When they passed by the playground at the park. The daycare up the street from their home. After the seizure diagnosis, Steve stopped looking and thinking about it all together. It hurt Eddie’s heart.

He may have got the quiet life. And Eddie may have lived out his simple dream. He’d been a rockstar for a little bit in the late nineties and early two-thousands, retiring before they got married. But…Steve hasn’t lived his dream. Eddie hates that he thinks it’s being held back from him. Eddie’s determined to heal that hurt inside him.

——— Steve comes home from his Wednesday teaching shift around four in the evening. Eddie’s already on the couch, combing Poncho’s fur, watching the local news. He’s got a very important print out laid neatly on the coffee table. He hears Steve set down his briefcase on the dining table, his footsteps retreating to their kitchen to rinse out his thermos, coming back to the front door and placing his loafers on the shoe rack, and he hangs up his coat. Then, he enters the living room, hands scrambling to undo his tie, body leaning over the arm of the couch to press a kiss against Eddie’s mouth.

But then he pulls away, turning his whole body to watch the news. And that’s when he spots it. The flyer. He shuffles over on his mismatched socked feet, hands falling away from the collar of his dress shirt. He swipes up the paper. Behind his glasses, he squints.

It’s advertisement for the adoption agency some forty minutes out. Eddie hopes, by everything, that this will heal the pain in his own chest, and the emotional line of thinking in Steve’s brain. Hopes with everything that his body can physically give.

“What’s this about?” Steve asks. His voice is neutral. Almost…dare Eddie say, steely. Okay, maybe he made the wrong move. “We haven’t even—“

“I know,” Eddie immediately says. “I know we haven’t talked about it. But, sweetheart, just listen to me, alright?” At Steve’s confused and hesitant nod, Eddie tries to arrange his words. “This is something you’ve been wanting since forever ago. And I know that I haven’t really voiced my wants on it. But I also thought that it would never happen.

“That it would never be something people like me—“ He raises his eyebrows and points to the keyring attached to Steve’s belt loop. The short rainbow garland that sits discreetly among his keys. “—Would ever get the chance to do. But I—Steve, god, I want it so bad. I want to be able to be a dad and chase around a kiddo of our own while you’re busy at work. I want to see one off for school for their first day and cry like I’ll never see them again. Wanna make them a lunch they can bring to school, the same time that I make your lunch for your school. I want to watch them grow up with your goofy dancing skills and our combined love for music. And I—I want to be a better parent that I could’ve ever imagined.

“I want it with you,” Eddie breathes. “I want all of that with you. And I know that you still want it. Your forlorn looks at couples with babies. Every time you see Lucas and Max and their spitfire teenager, your eyes get this brightness to them that I—I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ve seen you happy like that since we got married.” He swallows at some of the implications there. And it’s not meant to be accusatory, but gosh does Eddie notice. The way his sunflower wilts. “This is just something for you to think about, okay? I know my decision on it. But think about it.”

Steve’s grip on the paper trembles. And his eyes are searing Eddie in a way that melts him. Blazing with adoration and love. “You want that?” He shakily asks. “You want to raise a kid with me?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, baby. I really, really, really do.”

“Even though…Even though I have seizures that could scare them shitless? And I get so angry some days that all I can do is hide in our bedroom and cry? And I—You want that with somebody like me?” He hesitates to ask again. Eddie doesn’t answer, but his arms open in comfort and his eyes soften with earnest. Steve doesn’t move from his spot, though. He looks back at the paper. “What’s the—Our first step?”

“We apply. And they determine if we’re worthy and that it’ll be safe,” Eddie answers. “If they see us fit, they’ll look at our house and things like that. We’ll come back to that later on. If that’s something you still want.”

“Okay,” Steve states with fervor. “Let’s do this.”

——— After a tedious process, Eddie realizes how correct he was.

It’s a Saturday. The curtains are open. Dinner is simmering on the stovetop. And Eddie stirs the soup while he listens in on Steve’s activity in the living room.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Steve is cooing. “Good job, Carmen. Look at you.” He’s been supervising her tummy time everyday he’s able to. Loves being able to lay on his back on the floor, eyes watching their daughter, his fingers combing through her hair as she uses her wide brown eyes to wonder about the world around her.

Eddie bites back a smile.

“That’s Poncho,” Steve is saying. He’s introducing them like they’re all acquaintances around a water cooler. Eddie, maybe, snickers a little bit behind his hand. “He’s gonna be your buddy. He likes the space between his shoulder blades scratched. Just like you, huh?” And hears the moment that Steve dully traces his fingernails on Carmen’s back. She gurgles a little excited babbling. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” Steve murmurs. “Daddy likes that, too.” He’s talking about himself. Because he practically fought tooth and nail for that title. Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

From the kitchen archway, Eddie surveys the display on the living room floor. And Steve’s on his back in his pajamas. Glasses smooshed awkwardly up his face as his cheek is pressed against the carpet, eyes gone soft and glistening while Carmen is on her belly. Her hands are sprawled in front of her, squeezing at the soft toys they had gotten. He’s brushing his fingers through her short, curly wisps of brown hair. Then, his hand travels back down to massage and scratch at her back again. She’s wearing a pink striped onesie and a pair of white socks on her little feet.

He clears his throat to make himself known. Steve looks up at him, softly smiling. “I reckon things are going good in here?” Steve only nods, too enamored with petting at Carmen’s back. Eddie finally smiles at him. “Good,” he whispers. He leans his weight on the doorway. A dish rag thrown over his shoulder, arms crossed low over his belly, hair thrown up in a loose bun on his head. Domestic life has really begun to suit him, if he’s honest. He finds himself at ease about it now.

As he turns back to the kitchen, to serve up their bowls of soup, Steve calls his name. He immediately turns back around. Greeted with his husband’s soft face, his deepened smile lines, his messy hair spread on the carpet. He’s more youthful than ever, fatherhood has changed him for the better, at least Eddie thinks so. He hums to see what Steve needs, because by god, he’ll do anything for him.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers.

“For what?”

“Making my hurt go away,” Steve says. But Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. And Steve clarifies, “Allowing me to accomplish my final dream. I’m really happy that it’s with you.”

Eddie crosses into the living room, crouching down to kiss Steve’s forehead, pecking Carmen’s soft head, too. He combs his own fingers through Steve’s hair. Smiling at the way he keens. “You made me believe that I could be a good dad,” he admits. “I can’t wait to do this right.”

Steve brings a hand to Eddie’s cheek. His index finger softly tracing down the side of his face. “Love you,” he murmurs.

Turning his face, Eddie kisses the tip of Steve’s finger. “Love you, too,” Eddie easily says in return.

Sure, he got to be a rockstar, but he thinks that this life—Steve soft and middle aged and smiling at him, petting down their daughter’s back, cooing soft as if he’s not almost fifty—is much better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed. Maybe filling the hole in Steve’s soul, the remedy that their daughter brings—Maybe that heals something for Eddie, too.

💕—————💕

[buckybarnesdiaries]

wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

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[messers-moony]

Pretty Face | S.B

Paring: Young!Sirius Black X Fem!Reader

Summary: Sirius takes his girlfriend to his family home and Walburga takes out all her pent up jealousy out on her. 

Inspiration: Click

Walburga Black didn’t have the life every girl dreamed about. She always dreamed of an extravagant wedding with the man of her dreams. Perhaps a tall man with a sweet personality. One to take care of her when she had a bad day at work. But that was not the life she got. 

Instead, Walburga Black had an arranged marriage with her cousin Orion. The wedding was extravagant, but she definitely wasn’t marrying the man of her dreams. Sure he was tall, with dark hair and gleaming grey eyes, but he wasn’t sweet. He was quite the opposite. He had a tongue of silver, and his brutal words brought a knife to her heart. 

Waking up to Orion was like waking up on Christmas Day alone. You can feel it; it’s so close, but yet it’s never quite right. The feeling of loneliness is there, and it never fades. Walburga was beautiful, or at least she thought so. Beautiful thick raven hair and eyes bluer than the sky, cheeks full and colored. If she was this beautiful, then why did she deserve this cruel of a fate. 

Pressure is the worst motivator. Walburga’s mother - Irma - pushed her and Orion to have children before she couldn’t carry them. Irma wanted grandchildren, and Walburga needed to produce an heir before; for some reason, she couldn’t. The Black family name needed to continue and get passed down. 

As a result of Orion and Walburga’s parent's pressure, she got pregnant with their first child. She hated this. She hated knowing that this child would grow up without a loving parental relationship. Orion and Walburga couldn’t love each other. They just couldn’t. But she wished that for her unborn child, they could. 

After much debate, they decided to name him Sirius Orion Black the Third. Sirius was the brightest star in the Canis Major - the dog constellation. His middle name was a regular hand-me-down. Most boys got their middle name from their fathers first, and most girls got theirs from their mothers first. 

Sirius was the most beautiful baby boy. Maybe she was biased, but she thought he was gorgeous. His skin was beautiful porcelain, and his eyes were so bright, energetic, and full of life. Something Walburga used to have but no longer did. He was her pride and joy—his little giggles and his voice when he began to talk. Sirius Black would be her everything - her one reason. 

But eventually, that one reason would become two. She was pregnant again. While her first pregnancy, she felt entirely alone. Now she had Sirius, and he was so sweet. During days where Walburga didn’t feel like getting out of bed, leaving Orion to take care of him, Sirius would sneak away to spend time with his momma. Sirius would crawl to the side of the bed and poke her until she held him in her arms. 

He would lay on his side and snuggle his back into her chest. Walburga would place her hand on his stomach, placing the covers over them both. She couldn’t believe how lucky she got. Orion was god awful, but her son was everything. 

Nine months later, Regulus Arcturus Black. His first name was a star in the Leo constellation, while his middle name was inherited from his Grandfather. The same pale skin as Sirius and sparkling silver eyes. She now had two reasons to continue. Her little boys, till the end. 

It wasn’t until both boys were five when Irma had a talk with Walburga about how they should be raised. Personally, Walburga thought they were the perfect little boys. Okay, sometimes they would break something, but that was normal, wasn’t it? They were boys, and they cause a ruckus. Sirius had tuffs of straight black raven hair. Regulus’ hair was wavier but still held the dark color. 

Of course, they knew their manners. Saying titles such as ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir,’ but apparently, that wasn’t enough in Irma’s eyes. They needed to sit straight, only speak when spoken to, begin their studies and stop being childish. But they were children. They’re supposed to be children. 

Irma did the cruelest thing when this was brought up by saying that if Walburga didn’t straighten her boys up, they’d be banned from the Noble House of Black. So she tried. But Sirius and Regulus were already so in their roots that trying to get them to stop was damn near impossible. So she resulted in using spells as punishments. 

By the age of seven, they were terrified of their mother. Walburga thought that Orion’s words could hurt her, but nothing hurt more than seeing her boys cower at the sight of her. She so badly wanted to cup their cheeks and give them kisses all over. She tried to baby them. She wanted them to have a childhood. But that couldn’t happen when you’re in the Noble House of Black. 

So why did she feel this way? Was it envy? Was it jealousy? Why did she hate it when Sirius brought his girlfriend home? 

Walburga couldn’t deny it. The girl was gorgeous. Her hair was silky smooth, rid of all tangles. Eyes of hypnotizing e/c. She seemed shy but still managed to be formal—greetings with the titles of ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir.’ 

Sirius was fourteen, him getting a girlfriend was bound to happen. He only got more good-looking as he grew up.  His hair got longer, and his face became more defined. Not to mention how tall he got. He was taller than Walburga now. Her baby boy, who used to snuggle with her, was no longer such a baby. Of course, Walburga had scolded him for being in Gryffindor, but in reality, she was proud of him. 

This girl - Y/n - was in Slytherin. She wasn’t a pureblood, in fact, she was a half-blood. But regardless, she was a Slytherin. Perhaps that could do some good for Sirius. Maybe Walburga wouldn’t have to ban him from the family-like Irma kept telling her to. Even as an old woman, she was a pain in the ass. 

They all made it to the dining room, and Sirius pulled out Y/n’s chair, gently pushing her in. It made Walburga grit her teeth. Why couldn’t Orion show some decency when around guests? Why didn’t Orion do that? Is this what she’s been missing the entire time? She tried to swallow it as they began eating. 

Y/n wiped her mouth with her napkin, “Thank you, Mrs. and Mr. Black, for this meal. It’s terrific.”

Walburga did nothing to acknowledge her. It dampened Y/n’s mood a tad, not knowing what she had done to tick them off. Sirius reached his hand under the table, intertwining their fingers together. With his thumb, he drew hearts and smiled wildly. Their love made Walburga sick to see her son with that dopey smile on his face. 

Regulus made conversation first after minutes of the awful silence, “So, Y/n, I saw you talking with Pandora and Marlene before the break. Are you guys friends?”

“Mhm.” Y/n nodded, “Pandora is so sweet. She’s astute too.”

“Well, she is in Ravenclaw, makes sense.” Regulus shrugged, “What about Marlene?”

“Oh, well, we practice Quidditch together even if we’re on opposing teams.” Y/n answered, “Normally, someone else will join us like James or Nick, so Marlene throws the Bludgers at us while we throw the Quaffle around. It helps us learn how to dodge.”

Regulus had stars in his eyes, “That’s brilliant!” 

“Thanks. You can always join us if you’d like.”

“I’d love to.”

Y/n smiled warmly at him as Walburga spoke up for the first time that night, “So, you and your friends hang out often?” Her tone sounded condescending. 

“We do.” Walburga gritted her teeth, “I hang out with Leia the most, though. She’s been with me since the first year.”

“You guys must go out every night.”

She chuckled, “No, ma’am. Most of the time, Leia and I study. Sometimes Sirius and I sneak out to Hogsmeade, though.”

Sirius smiled as Y/n nudged him with her shoulder, gently kissing the top of her head, “You guys don’t have a care in the world, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re ruining the Black family name.” Walburga snapped, “All you have is a pretty face. You’re too happy and pretty for this family.”

Sirius tightened his grip on Y/n’s hand, “You shouldn’t get to choose who you marry. You’re in Slytherin. You get an arranged marriage.”

“Mum, I think that’s-“

“No!” She yelled, and both boys flinched, “You’re so pretty, aren’t you, doll? That doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things.”

“Looks mean nothing.” Walburga growled, “One day, Sirius will find better, and he’ll cheat on you because that’s all he’s ever seen.”

Sirius stood up abruptly, “That’s enough!”

“Walburga!” Orion shouted, and they turned to him, “Leave the girl alone.”

Walburga hmphed and sat back down in her seat. Y/n was flabbergasted, trying to digest everything that had just been said to her. Sirius was glaring daggers at his mother. That was improper and awful behavior. He wished that Y/n didn’t have to witness it. After dinner was over, they went up to Sirius’ room, where he packed a bag of some stuff, and they left to go to Y/n’s house. 

Sirius had met Y/n’s parents prior, and they were so kind to him. It’s where he usually went over winter and Easter break. That night hon of them had gotten ready for bed. Sirius was in a hoodie and sweatpants. Y/n was wearing his Quidditch jersey and shorts. 

Both of them slipped under the comforter of Y/n’s bed, and Sirius’ arms went around her waist, pulling her back close to his chest, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“It’s not your fault, Siri.” Y/n rubbed his hands, “You told me it was a bad idea, but I insisted anyway.” 

“That’s because it’s normal to meet the parents.” Sirius sighed, “Mine just aren’t normal.”

Y/n turned to face him; his face looked crestfallen; she cupped his cheek, “Your parents were forced together. There was never any love in their marriage. That’s what makes them different. I think your mum saw us together and was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Has your dad ever pulled out a chair for her?”

Sirius shook his head. 

“Has he ever held your mum’s hand?”

Another shake.

“Kissed her?”

“Not by choice.”

“She’s jealous because you do all those things for me. You’re a gentleman, and she hates that.” Y/n replied, “She wanted a man like you to love her, but she never got that.”

Sirius kissed her palm, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Y/n kissed his forehead, pulling his head to her chest, “I promise I’ll love you till the end.”

He kissed her neck in thanks, “Get some rest, puppy.”

[gohyuck]

pairing: rich!mark lee x rich!reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: rich people, neglectful parents, mention of deceased pet and said deceased pet’s grave, descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of God, alcohol consumption, an argument that isn’t actually an argument, heartbreak (but it gets fixed!)

fic length: 6.1k

commissioned: yes

When Mark had been younger, he’d always wanted a pet.

His aunt had raised his cousins alongside a beautiful chocolate lab named Fudge, a sweet, playful dog that had taken to Mark just as much as she’d taken to her own masters. Many of the times Fudge had gently nuzzled a toddler Mark, making the young boy squeal, or the moments where Fudge had patiently nudged Mark off of her as the human menace had unknowingly pulled her ears or tail had all been recorded for posterity on VHS camcorders. The tapes themselves are currently collecting dust in a shoebox under Mark’s bed.

At age 7, when a shy Mark had gone to Donghyuck and Jeno’s house from school, his own house locked as his parents worked and him being too afraid to play with the other kids his age, he’d played catch with Fudge and his little cousins for hours on end. At age 10, when Mark’s grandmother had unexpectedly passed away, Fudge’s fur had soaked his tears in, night in and night out. At age 12, when he’d been petsitting for his cousins, Fudge had run into the pretty neighbor girl’s yard, forcing Mark to finally talk to you for once rather than stare at you from across your gardens.

Fudge had died three weeks after Mark’s 15th birthday. This time, it’d been your shirt that had taken in all of his tears, your hand gently running through his hair as he bawled his eyes - and heart - out into your chest. It’d been you that’d suggested burying Fudge in the woods near the cliff that overlooked your city, and it’d been you that’d managed the impossible and convinced Mark’s parents to let him skip a flute lesson to help bury the dog he so truly and deeply loved.

Mark’s parents had never gotten him a pet, going so far as to cite his devastation over Fudge as reason enough for him not to get a dog after her passing. What they had gotten him, though, at age 16, was a Suzuki AEM Carbon Fiber Hayabusa and the okay to get a motorcycle license instead of a standard driver’s license. Mark had taken one look at the price tag - a clean $200,000, deal made via private dealer - and decided then and there that he’d never ask his parents for anything again.  

To be fair, he hadn’t necessarily wanted the bike, either. It’d simply been a happy surprise. What he’d actually asked for - and had never gotten - was to be able to spend his birthday with both of his parents. They’d both sent regretful texts to him at the same time, two hours after he’d asked them each individually: two different variations of ‘I’ve got work, love, I’m sorry but I swear I’ll make it up to you!’

They were both high up enough in their respective jobs to be able to choose when to take days off. Mark had always suspected where he lay in terms of priority. His parents had just confirmed it that day.

Therein, Mark supposes as he stares down at Fudge’s makeshift grave, hammered-together cross as a gravemarker and all, is the true reason he hasn’t asked either of them for jackshit since he turned 16. He’s currently looking at the grave of the only entity that’d ever lived that truly gave a damn about him.

This is a lie. He knows it the moment it surfaces in his mind. He has his cousins, his aunt and uncle, his friends both from late childhood and college. His parents have love for him too, he’s sure, even if they’re damn awful at showing it. The real issue, at least at hand, is the question of you and how much you care about him.

God, he’s fucked up. He tells Fudge so.

“God, I’ve fucked up,” Mark murmurs, voice hoarse from not having spoken in hours. He’d been driving around for hours, only stopping to fuel - and think - after his discussion with you about 10 minutes out from Fudge’s grave. It’d been then that he’d realized how disheveled he must look - Mark had only thrown his black leather jacket over what he’d been wearing at home, not sparing you a second glance as he’d gotten out of a situation he could not stand to stay in any longer. The few minutes spent fueling had felt like an hour then, weighing down harder and harder on Mark’s shoulders the longer time passed.

Now as the wind whips at his face - his helmet is slung over the handlebar, and his bike is parked a few meters back so it’s at a safe enough distance away from the steep drop of the cliff - he wishes he’d at least thought to grab a scarf, or something. The Brunello Cucinelli suit he’s got on may look warm, but it isn’t. He is not dressed in a way that’s suited for the weather.

Still, he has to be here. He has to tell someone how he feels, why he does what he does and says what he says. He has to be understood... But he thought you understood him? You had understood him once, right? What’s changed? Why don’t you -

It’s sudden in the way these things are. Mark’s breath gets punched out of him, and it’s as if his tears have an agenda of their own. He’s gasping for air before he realizes he’s doing so, and the water that drips down his cheeks is flung back towards him before he gains the presence of mind to turn away from the wind. It’s as if his lungs are too small and his chest is too big, and for a moment, Mark fears that it’ll always be like this. That this is his life now. He doubles over, staying there for a moment before letting out the kind of groan that could wake the dead and sinking to his knees.

The ground is sodden, and he knows that these new soil stains will never come out from his clothes. Mark doesn’t care: he reaches out, even, grasping at the wet leaves and wet soil in front of him for some semblance of balance.

“It’s not her fault,” He rasps out, actively gulping for air before continuing. He’s talking to the cross - Jeno and him, 14 and 15, had hammered it together with a single nail and Hyuck had tied it together with crossed strings, all through tearstained eyes the day they’d buried Fudge - but he’s really talking to himself. He’s talking to Fudge, to God, to whoever will listen, knowing damn well that even when God hears all, it’s himself who needs convincing, even when his conscience knows that it’s true.

“Oh my God, it’s not her fault,” He manages again, though, this time, Mark actually takes in a heaving breath of cool, fresh air. “I should’ve just said that I want her to stay, that I envy her. Why didn’t I just say that I…” He dissolves again, tears flowing freely in their entireties now.

“I essentially told her that she’s fine to go, even though it hurts,” He finally whispers once he regains some semblance of control over himself. The words are bitter against his tongue, and for a moment he feels as if he should spit what he can onto the ground, but the bile won’t rise to his throat. At this point, he’s recapping the events of the night for himself, trying to figure out how he can salvage his most precious worldly relationship. You’d been the one to truly show him that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. You’d, frankly, been the only one by his side for the past almost-decade, from playing video games with him during middle school to defending his choice of college (Brown University, an Ivy League institution, just not the one they’d wanted him to choose) to his parents when he’d asked you to, from kissing him first under the stars a month before you’d moved into your Yale dorm and he’d moved into his room at the University of Pennsylvania (his parents had won the argument, and to the Wharton school of business he went) to… to now.

You’d done everything for him, as far as he’s concerned. You’d come to him with your dream once, just once, though, and, out of shock, he’d found himself suddenly unable to support you. He supposes the discussion, not a fallout, but a possible end, had been coming for weeks, truly simmering after you’d told him of your plan to drop your business degree and pursue journalism instead at a public university. His immediate reaction had been one of subdued surprise - Mark had never considered that you’d actually give up your family’s business, not when you know your parents are likely to cut you off entirely for it, even though you’d discussed it with him at length - followed by genuine admiration. He’d kissed you with vigor once you’d told him your plan, that you’d already applied for a transfer and had been accepted, that you and him had already been long distance, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain your relationship.

It had all been fine at first. It had all been fine, right up until the jealousy had started to set in. It’d always been you and Mark, Mark and you. Why were you suddenly giving up your current life to pursue your dreams when… when he couldn’t?

Mark’s always wanted to be a writer. He looks through the English courses in the course catalog wistfully for hours upon hours, staring at the same professor reviews over and over and over again while knowing full well that he’ll never truly get the experience he wants. He won’t truly get the life he wants. He knows it’s selfish of him to want to give up the great luck of being born into the family he’s born into, but he has the nagging feeling that he’d feel far more free doing what he wants rather than what he must.

Where you’ve been more lighthearted, more outward in your displeasures in life, Mark’s always been the quieter, more stoic one. He plays the part of the good son well, groomed for a life in a world he knows all too well and hates even more so. You’re the only one who even knows about the career he wishes he had, and even then, you don’t know the extent of it. He’s always been the ‘reasonable’ one to your wildcard self. It’s caused an ache that he thinks even you can’t fix, sometimes. Not asking his parents for anything involves following what they give him, he supposes. Not asking his parents for anything means not asking the world for anything, either. Not even for pieces of himself back.

Seeing you pursue your dreams without fear had caused him to evaluate his own life, what it has been and what it will be. He’d allowed the bitterness to simmer, had allowed himself to wallow in it for days upon days right up until tonight, mere hours ago, the first night he’d been able to see you in person for weeks, considering school had taken up your time and his. It’d been at the party his parents had thrown ‘in his honor’ after officially making him a majority stockholder in Lee Architects & Engineers.

You’d sent him four texts beforehand, and Mark had hit his breaking point immediately after reading them.

Babe 💘 sent you a message: remember that my flight is tomorrow!!

Babe 💘 sent you a message: i’m excited to see you again i’m so glad i get to beforehand

Babe 💘 sent you a message: of course i’ll keep you updated constantly

Babe 💘 sent you a voice recording: i love you

For what must’ve been the first time in his life, he’d simply pocketed his phone before responding to you. The ‘i love you’ that should’ve been on the tip of his tongue had been replaced with something far more sinister, and he’d found himself unable to reply to you at all. You didn’t deserve his anger. You don’t even now.

If you’d understood his reason for not replying, Mark is unsure. You had said nothing else afterwards, seeking him out at the party instead, finding him alone on a balcony. Even through the fog in his mind, he can remember everything he’s just run from very, very clearly.

He’d experienced it through his own point of view: someone lost, struggling, that feels as if he’s about to lose his one life-line.

He does his best, this time, to see it from your perspective: someone who’s leaving everything they know and everything they’ve ever loved behind.

“You’re leaving.”

It isn’t a question - it’s a statement. You’re hardly surprised - Mark has never been one to ask, not with you. Even though you know he’d rather do anything else, he actively lives his life through gold-tinted lenses rimmed by imperatives. He always has. 

You’re terrified that he always will.

He’d probably heard your footsteps, though he doesn’t turn around to look at you. You know Mark like you know the back of your hand, and you’d forced yourself to expect him to be temperamental upon seeing him in person since you’d declared your new plans for your life to him, but it still hurts. He understands, you know he does. That makes it worse, somehow.

He moves to stand beside you, resting against the balcony’s railing easily as he does so. You don’t miss the way his knuckles tinge white as his fingers curl around the metal just slightly harder than they need to. Than they should, you suppose. The stem of a half-empty glass of rosé rests, deceivingly relaxed, between two slim fingers of his other hand. Mark leans forward in the same manner he does when pretending to be properly engaged in his mothers’ clients’ conversations. 

As always, he’s the poster-child for silver-spoon upbringings. Suit jacket unbuttoned in a way that still shows polite reservation, cuffs perfectly sharp. Mark oozes ease; he’s the dictionary definition of rich, powerful, and unbothered. This is the persona he reserves for everyone that isn’t close to him. You’ve terrified him more than you’d thought you would. There’s no hint of a smile on his face, no softness in his eyes. He looks too put-together.

At least, he would be if his right hand wasn’t a startlingly pale contrast to the rest of his body. You almost smile at this - you’ve always loved his moments of vulnerability, now matter how, when, or where they manifest. It’s the why’s that do matter, you’ve found. You ignore those, still. If you don’t, they’ll soil your enjoyment in knowing that he’s human, that he exists beyond Lamborghinis and Louis Vuitton. 

The situation at hand, of course, knocks the burgeoning grin right off of your face. You turn towards him, unfazed by how Mark hasn’t looked at you yet. The nonchalant facade has burrowed itself deep inside him, far past face value. It lives in his heart.

Mark is too far gone. At least, he believes so. You’re not so sure.

Still, you aim to save yourself.

“It’s how I rolled my dice -” You start, a bitter laugh cutting you off before you can get anywhere. It’s the one he reserves for those he loves - those he truly cares for. You pretend as if you don’t know this, though not for him. Mark is the only reason that could hold you back from following your dreams, and you’re terrified of this. He laughs again, shakes his head, and downs the last of his drink in one go.

You realize, with a shock, that he really is hurt. He’d been all smiles and laughs over the phone, but now that he’s had time to think about it, he’s aching. You wonder if he feels as if you’re moving on somewhere without him, when that isn’t the case. You wonder if he feels as if you’re living a life he can’t, when that isn’t the case either. Mark keeps speaking.

“Did you roll your dice, or did you let the dice roll you?”

The question is simple enough, but you bristle at his tone, going so far as to take a step back and take his form in. You take note of more than just his bruising grip - still active - on the railing this time; Mark’s usually pristine shirt collar is unbuttoned, shoulders taut and tense underneath his fitted clothes. His hold on his glass is so limp, so lazy that, if there had been anything left in it it would be long gone by now - a stain against the pavement directly beneath his family’s penthouse. The party behind the two of you back inside is technically for him, but you know he feels entirely detached from it. You definitely do.

“You left the party just to argue with me, I suppose,” You throw back, ignoring his question. Mark has a preconceived notion of your answer, anyways, and there’s nothing you can - or will - do to change it. It is not your job to make him understand you - not if you don’t want to cry. His leaving the throng of people upon catching sight of you had not escaped you, he realizes. You must know that he hadn’t responded to your texts on purpose. For a split second, his heart feels as if its tearing: what is he doing? He loves you. He supports you, too, even if it’s killing him. Still, he presses forward without regard for you or himself. It’s as if he’s on autopilot as he utters a-

“No shit,” His anger with the situation shining in its full glory for a split second. Mark catches himself, though only after he’s let the - pained - words slip, clearing his throat as a form of polite apology right after. He turns, his back to you entirely now. You catch him shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“It won’t work,” You gently reproach him even as tears catch behind your tongue, reaching your empty hand out to flit your fingers across the expanse of his shoulders before laying your palm flat against his back, fingers splayed out as if you’re is all that’s keeping him from falling back. Maybe you are, at this point. 

You aren’t quite sure. He is, but he wont’ admit it, not when you won’t be here tomorrow. You don’t question why he hadn’t brought up his dissatisfaction with your choices earlier, waiting until now to talk about it. You suppose the pain is too much for him. 

Mark shakes his head again, moving once more so his back is now to the railing. A stray drop of forgotten rosé follows its tilted path off the rim of his now completely upside-down glass, dropping silently onto his impeccably polished shoes. For once, he doesn’t take notice of it. 

You decide against pointing it out. Instead, you rotate back to your original position: outwards, facing the beautiful skyline. 

“No shit,” He repeats eventually, voice quieter by a thousand commands. It’s as if he knows he’s lost. It’s as if he, himself, is lost. Still, he forges on.

“I know why, I do, but I have to hear it from you. I think I’ve had to hear it from you. Why?”

“I’ll never be what I want to be with all of this money,” You stare straight ahead as you respond, knowing that you’re defenseless against any and all possible rebuttals. Mark won’t offer any, you’re sure, but the fear underlies your every word. You’re lying, anyways - it isn’t the money that you mind. It’s the atmosphere. It’s all of the hurt, the pain, the lies, the fraud. It’s the questions you don’t want to ask. It’s the answers you wish you didn’t have. These are things you can’t tell Mark if he questions you further, mainly because he knows them all anyways. He feels them, too. You’re bothered. He is, too, but he’s not likely to do anything about it.

You know you deserve better. Mark believes that he doesn’t.

You’ve both always been equally level-headed, matched in sharpness of wit and quickness of reason. As heaven-made a match as any. This - this endeavor you’re about to take on - will be your first ever risk. Even if you’ve been slightly more of a firecracker than Mark, you’ve never done anything to change the trajectory of your life before. 

“What do you want to be, then?”

Mark’s voice is earnest and, when you glance up to meet his eyes, they are as well. You’re momentarily transported back, back to when you were both 12 and your parents were meeting for the first time at your house. He’d asked you the same thing then; though, you recall, his eyes had been filled with galaxies at the time. You wish those stars hadn’t died away.

You’d said astronaut at the time. He’d said chef. Both sets of parents had laughed, shared a word or two about childhood naivety, and then had taken their children their opposite ways, leaving you both feeling like ships in the night before you’d even dreamt of learning the phrase’s meaning. 

You understand the concept intimately, now. You wish, wish so desperately that you’d kept your relationship with the separation of hearts literary. You don’t want to have your own green light, your own Great Gatsby moment, your own inevitable heartbreak. 

And yet he’s standing right beside you. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that, by the time the night is over, he will have broken your heart and you will have broken his. Neither of you need to do so, but you will. He knows this now, too. 

“(Name)?” Mark asks again, and your heart jumps to your throat. You realize that you’d never answered him.

“Human,” You sigh, one weight leaving your chest to be replaced by the other. “My first flight leaves right before noon. Haven’t written notes to my parents yet. I don’t know if I’ll cut contact with everyone or not, but I probably will. For a little while, at least.”

You don’t know why you say this. Your plan has been to keep in contact with Mark and only Mark the entire time, regardless of what both your and his parents tell him… and they absolutely will tell him to forget about you. You’re trying to save yourself from a future heartbreak, you tell yourself. 

Meanwhile, Mark knows that, for the first time, he falls under the umbrella of ‘everyone’. The idea of his life no longer being about ‘Mark and (Name)’ or ‘(Name) and Mark’ makes his chest feel as if it’s caving in on itself. He understands neither heads nor tails of what you’re about to do, and he’s beginning to think that he never will. You’re about to experience another life. He’s about to get left behind.  

Something clicks. 

“Will you…” He pauses, and you act as if you aren’t registering how forlorn he sounds. You almost expect him to ask if he’s getting a note, too. You can’t - you won’t - tell him that there’s been five rewrites of his alone, all stuffed to the bottom of the bin under your desk at home. His is the only one that’s been started, let alone finished. Mark lets his breathing fill the silence as he collects his thoughts, and you don’t mind. 

“Will you ever be back?

“I don’t know, Markly,” Without looking, You reach down, lacing your fingers through his. You’re lying through your teeth once again: you’ll always come back for him. He means everything to you. 

“Will you miss me?”

You squeeze his hand in response.

“Will you miss me?”

He squeezes back.

“Touche,” Mark smiles down at you, mirth and melancholy melding together in his dark eyes. “You should get going if your flight is in ten hours. Get everything figured out.”

“I should,” You say, punctuating with a sigh. You glance up at him, your eyes meeting his once more. 

“Mark?” Your voice is far quieter than you mean for it to be.

“Yeah?”

“I really do love you, you know.”

“I know,” Mark responds, and his unspoken ‘I love you, too,’ is not lost on you this time. You raise his hand up to your mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it before dropping it gently from your grasp. He raises the same hand to his heart, unaware of his own actions. You feel your heart break. 

“Goodbye.” You call behind you as you hesitantly move away, gracing him with one last smile before disappearing back into the hordes of people milling around in the penthouse. You don’t look back. He doesn’t look forward. 

Mark doesn’t hear your “I’ll find you,” lost between the wind and its whispers in the inopportune manner that always comes with love. You do, however, hear the brilliant shattering of his glass against the balcony’s concrete. Dropped, not thrown. It doesn’t make a difference - both are just as careless as the other. Nobody else seems to even notice.

It’s all part of being rich, powerful, and unbothered. Unbothered in the way Mark’s parents were when they’d gifted him a motorcycle instead of their time. Unbothered in the way yours were when they planned your life out without your input. 

You don’t want to be any of them. As you push through people, all polite smiles and quite “Excuse me”s, you’re well aware of the tears that are budding at your eyes. He’s been the only love you’ve ever known. You’re leaving your gold-tinted lenses behind with Mark, just as you are your heart.

He’ll hold onto both for you.

It’s now that it fully hits him: you’re about to leave. You’re about to leave, and you’ve promised to even cut contact for a bit, and you- and everyone- and- and- and-... and he hadn’t told you that he loves you. You’re holding his heart in your hands, and you’re about to take it with you on a journey he won’t be on, and  he hadn’t even - he hasn’t even - told you that he loves you. 

This realization shocks him so much that he almost immediately stops crying, the last of his tears running their course. He licks his lips, tasting the salt from his sobbing as it coats his lips. 

You’re leaving in mere hours - he checks his Rolex, realizing that it’s only seven hours left until your flight, and winces reflexively - and you haven’t heard him tell you he loves you. If there’s anything he can do to change any part of the situation the two of you have created, it’s this.  

Mark stands up, shaky as he regains his balance. There’s dirt covering his hands and his pant legs, but he cares about that less than he cares about getting home to you. He wipes both hands against his thighs, wincing at the feeling of cloth underneath his raw palms, before raising a hand up so he can press his face against his bicep to dry his face. Once he’s satisfied with that - the wind is less harsh, and he feels as if he isn’t being punished as much as he was before anymore - Mark glances down to take one final look at Fudge’s grave. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” He says, though he knows Fudge doesn’t mind. Nonetheless, Mark mutters the same apology up at God. It’s only once he’s done repenting - and after he gives Fudge’s grave one last glance - that he finally makes to leave, stumbling backwards for a moment before he regains his footing and jogs back to his bike.

The ride back to your apartment is simultaneously too long and too short. Mark’s left alone with his thoughts for a good hour or so, but an hour is too much of the short amount of time you have left. If you leave now, it won’t be on a sour note: there’d been no real fight. It just… 

The two of you have never been stagnant, still, at any point of your relationship. He’ll be damned if he makes you start now. 

By the time he’s parked in his usual spot in your apartment’s garage, his mind is almost entirely blank. Mark, for the first time in his life, feels like he truly can’t count on anything anymore. He can’t even count on himself saying everything he needs to say. It doesn’t matter though - none of it matters, not when he realizes it’s six hours until you very possibly go no contact for an unknown amount of time. 

The idea alone makes his chest constrict.

Mark has the sense to wait on the elevator even as his heart is screaming for him to run up every flight of stairs as if he’s in some kind of happy-ending rom-com. You’re up in the floor right underneath the penthouse, rent paid by your parents. He knows the way by heart. Before he can stop himself, he’s rushing out the elevator as its doors pull open, running to pound at your front door. 

You swing it open, one of his old and massively oversized - even on him - shirts draped over you and baggy sweatpants on, a polite expression of surprised on your face, and after the split second in which the two of you stare at each other and take the other person in, Mark promptly bursts into tears. 

He’s muddy, and his hair is all disheveled, and you know by the look in his eyes that he’s just been at Fudge’s grave. Your heart cracks along a million tiny little lines. 

“Come in,” You say, doing your best not to sound choked up as your own eyes well with tears. “Wash up, get changed - you know which one your drawer is - and then we… we can talk.”

Mark obliges, because what else can he do? He’s a mess - physically, because of the mud, yes, but also emotionally - but you don’t deserve to be subjected to it when you’re about to leave - forever, the voice inside his head whispers - and he’d shown up uninvited anyways, not that he needs an invitation all the time, but… yeah. It’s a lot, and it’s all hitting him at once. He’s uncharacteristically quiet as he makes his way past you and into the main bathroom, stripping down to nothing before quickly but surely rubbing himself raw in order to get the stench of soil and sadness off of him. 

He wraps a towel around his hips once he’s done, ignoring how water drips from the tips of his hair down his nose and cheeks. Are those actually tears? Mark’s unsure. He rummages through his - your - drawer for a pair of his sweats and a loose tank top, carefully pulling both on. Now that he’s here, with you, he’s not quite sure of how to approach you.

You’re the closest person to him, but he feels like a deer in headlights at the moment. 

His suit’s crumpled, totally ruined, unceremoniously thrown into your dry bathtub. He’ll clean it out himself right after. Right now, he needs to see you. He has to talk to you.

When he ambles out into your living room, surprising himself with his quiet reluctance - over what? letting you leave without a proper goodbye, probably, he surmises - to approach you first, instead waiting for you to slowly stand up from your place on the couch. There’s nothing in your hands, nothing on the TV… you’d been waiting for him and doing nothing else. Mark’s heart aches. 

You open your mouth to speak at the same time as he does, and it’s suddenly as if the words can’t come out fast enough. 

“I couldn’t let you leave without telling you that -”

“I moved to a flight that leaves next week because -”

“Wait,” Mark interrupts both of you at once, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. “Hold on, what?”

“I didn’t feel right leaving tonight because it felt unfinished between us.” You explain, and Mark takes note of how heavily you swallow. You’re keeping tears at bay. If his heartstrings weren’t severed before, they are now. 

“It isn’t finished between us,” Mark responds, voice tight. “At least I - I don’t want it to be.” A beat passes, and he realizes he has more to say. “But - if, if you like, fuck - if you think that leaving will make you happiest, that’s what I want. That’s what I want for you, for you to be happy, because I love you. I love you so much..” His words gain speed as they fall from his lips, and he realizes that everything he’s saying is true. 

Not even a beat passes before your face goes through every stage of grief, ending with you positively throwing yourself into your boyfriend’s arms. Mark makes a subdued huffing noise as the air is punched out of him, stumbling backwards but regaining his balance while wrapping his arms around your middle. Without thinking, he presses the side of his face against the side of yours.

Your cheeks are wet. He raises a hand to the other side of his face. It turns out that his are, too. When had he started crying? When had you?

“This is the first time we’ve felt like a couple all night.” You mumble offhandedly, and he can’t help but agree. Somewhere along the road, you’d both lost sight of each other. He can’t fathom letting it ever happen again, not now, not when you fit into his arms so perfectly. 

“I uh - I couldn’t let you leave without letting you know that I love you, and that I support you.” Mark eventually lets out, realizing that you’d explained yourself but he hadn’t returned the favor. “I realized that we never really talked about it, I guess. I felt a little left behind, but I made no effort to catch up.”

“I sprung a lot on you in a kind of short amount of time,” You respond, though Mark mentally refuses to let you take any blame. “And I - I guess even I wasn’t totally ready for all the plans I made. I actually - God, it’s silly, but I - I mean, the reason I - fuck.” You hiss out the swear, and it’s obvious that you aren’t quite sure of how to phrase what you want to get across. Mark tracks a hand up and down the expanse of your back as soothingly as he possibly can, doing his best to ease your tense muscles enough for you to say what you want to.

Eventually, the tension starts to dissipate between your shoulders, allowing you to take a deep breath before finally letting Mark in on all of your thoughts. 

“I wanted to know if… if you’d be willing to move with me eventually. It doesn’t have to be next week or anything, I just - it was just a thought.” You pull away to give him a watery, apologetic smile, only to see Mark looking completely expressionless. Oh.

“It’s stupid, I know -” You’re quick to try and backtrack, but it’s unnecessary: Mark surges forward, pressing his lips to yours. His hands clutch at your back as if he’s terrified of ever letting you out of his grasp again, and your hands naturally swing over his shoulders and pull him impossibly closer in response. There’s a passion in the kiss that neither of you have found in each other recently, a love almost rekindled, and you can’t help but want more, more, more. One of his hands climbs up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing away residual tears on impulse as both of you tilt your heads to deepen the kiss. 

It’s so natural. It’s perfect. 

Once the two of you finally pull away, solely due to a lack of air, Mark can’t help the beaming - albeit watery - smile he gives you. You want to wonder if that’s a yes in response to your pondering, but you can’t bring yourself to ask. Not now.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” Your boyfriend asks, kissing your forehead right after. You wrap your arms around his waist, bringing him as close as possible before sighing and nodding, tacking your own sentiments on as an afterthought.

“And we have an entire lifetime to talk about all of it.”

Mark laughs at this, though it’s in agreement rather than any sort of dispute. He presses a kiss against your forehead again, almost overwhelmed by just how warm he now feels. It’ll all be alright. He’s finally sure of it. 

“I love you,” He whispers, fully meaning it. You’re smiling, and he knows this, even if he can’t see your face. You let out a sigh that has your full weight behind it before responding, finally feeling free in a way you thought you’d felt before. 

“I love you, too.”

[lovemeleo]

I absolutely LOVE your Asher Pascal series, just makes me go🥺🥺 could you maybe do something along the lines of Asher receiving a pair of skates for his birthday and then them all going to the rink to try them out possibly? Just think it’d be so cute!

Your writings amazing, absolutely love reading it!!❤️❤️

Thank you so much, anon! I’m so glad you enjoy it. 

Sorry it took me so long to write this but, you guys!!! Our baby is turning one! Yes, this is the very much requested fic of Asher’s first birthday. I hope you all enjoy it as much I enjoy writing it. The SW world belongs to the forever fantastic @lumosinlove! 

If you haven’t caught up with the series yet, here is the masterlist!

**

365 days. 12 months. 1 year.

That’s how long their baby had been on this planet.

It was hard to believe that they were the parents of a one year old, but Asher was growing more and more every day. 

Remus knew it was impossible because Asher wasn’t biologically either of theirs but oh my god did he look like a mini Sirius. Sometimes they would be sitting at the kitchen table and Remus would just watch as Sirius tried to convince Ash to eat his breakfast, and they’d both just get this stubborn set to their jaw. It was crazy. Sirius said the same about Asher and Remus though. He could see it in dimples in their cheeks when they smiled, the crinkles by their eyes. It didn’t matter if Asher didn’t have any of their genetics, he was their child through and through.

They first started planning Asher’s birthday two months ago, deciding to have everyone at the rink. With all of the family and friends that were coming, it would’ve been too hard to fit everyone at their house.

Remus and Sirius had put on the invitations that people didn’t need to bring gifts as Asher was already very spoiled. But here they were, watching as Asher opened what had to have been his 200th present. Luckily it looked to have been the last one. Well almost the last one. Unsurprisingly it was a giant book of dinosaurs. 

Dinosaurs were Asher’s current favorite, so that was the theme of the party. It seemed like he received every dinosaur toy, figurine, and book on the planet.

“Alright, bub. One more from your daddy and I.” Remus said with a smile, setting it on the table in front of the one year old.

Asher’s eyes widened, as they had for every present, “For me?” He gasped, his hands on either side of his face. The small crowd of people watching him chuckled as Sirius rolled his eyes fondly.

“Yes, mon chou. It’s your birthday, so all the presents are going to be for you.” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to the messy curls that covered Asher’s head.

Wiggling happily in his chair, Asher began to tear off the wrapping paper. As soon as he could see the box, he quickly opened it and let out a happy squeal, “My skates!?”

After weeks of searching, they had finally been able to find a pair of ice skates for Asher. But not just any skates. They were dinosaur skates. Who knew it would be so hard to find a pair of kid skates that had dinosaurs on them? Not Sirius or Remus.

“There’s dinos!” Asher cheered, holding a dinosaur covered ice skate above his head. Everyone clapped, watching as he held it to his chest before moving to hug his dads. “Thank youuu!”

Remus smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “Anything for you, bub.” He said with a soft smile. 

Looking around the room, Sirius clapped his hands together with a smile, “Well now that presents are done, why don’t we get out on the ice?” As soon as he finished, the entire room was moving to get ready. 

Sirius felt a tug on his shirt and looked down to see Asher, clutching his skates to his chest, “Me too?” He asked, puppy dog eyes in full effect. 

Laughing to himself, Sirius lifted Asher onto the bench, “Of course you too, mon petit. We wouldn’t go without you.” He said as he began to help Asher get them on.

“Will you help me next, Cap?” Logan asked with a cheeky grin as he sat next to Asher with his own skates.

Asher shook his head as he watched Sirius tie up his skates, “No, you gotta ask your daddy.” He said, shaking his finger at Logan.

Logan grinned, “Alright, little man, you got it.” He said before turning to look around. “Dumo! Asher says you gotta help me tie my skates!” 

Raising an eyebrow, Dumo looked up from where he was helping Katie with her skates, “Mon fils, if you can’t tie your own skates, we’ve got a problem.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, I’ll help you with your skates. I’m done with mine.” Leo said with a laugh, kneeling in front of Logan.

Wiggling his eyebrows, Logan smirked, “Oh, so you were the daddy Asher said I had to ask.” Before he could finish his sentence, he was cuffed on the back of the head. Glancing back, he was met with a glare from Remus.

“Children, Tremz. There are children here. My child is right next to you.” 

Logan pouted, rubbing the back of his head, “Rude, Loops. And violent! You’re teaching Asher that violence is the answer.”

Happily oblivious to the entire conversation, Asher swung his feet after his dad had finished tying them on, “You like my skates, Le?” He asked.

“Very cool. I wish I had a pair of dinosaur skates.” Leo said with a smile, tying off Logan’s skates before sitting back on his heels.

If it was possible for Asher to smile any bigger, he would. “If you wanted, my daddies could prolly get you some too and then we could match!” He said as Remus lifted him down off the bench.

“I’m sure Leo would look very cool in some dino skates, bub,” Remus said, holding his hand as he wobbled his way to the ice. “You ready?”

Asher got a determined look on his face that reminded Remus so much of Sirius, he let out a laugh, “I got this. And Fish says it’s okay if I fall ‘cause if I get hurt, I’m still a pro.” Asher assured his dad before stepping onto the ice.

“Yeah but let’s not make that a goal, Ash.” Finn said as he came past.

Everyone started making their way onto the ice, some skate helpers in the middle just in case anyone needed them. Asher stayed in between his dads for awhile, getting used to the new skates as well as the big rink. 

Kuny skated by him for a bit with Nado, chatting happily with the little boy, “You skate so good, already better than Nado.” He said with a teasing smile.

Shoving the other man (carefully so neither of them bumped Asher), Nado stuck his tongue out before turning his attention back to the small boy between them, “He’s right though, Ash. Already crushing it in those dino skates. What position do you wanna play?”

Asher hummed softly, his eyes on the ice as he tried to go a bit faster, “Dunno. If I can go really fast, I can be a wing like Daddy. Or Goalie like my Le.” 

“I think you’d make a great goalie.” Leo said as he skated up, staying behind Asher as the three of them formed a kind of barrier around him. Asher grinned back at him, his eyes lighting up as he saw his favorite person.

The four of them chatted for a while before splitting off, everyone getting their chance to skate with the birthday boy. He even beat Pots in a very dramatic race around the rink, James sliding in seconds after him. Remus and Sirius kept an eye on him the whole time as they made their way around the rink.

After around an hour of skating, Sirius looked away from where he had been watching Remus to find Asher again. His eyebrows furrowed as he couldn’t see him skating and no one on the ice was holding him. 

“Re? Where’d he go?” Sirius asked as he caught up with his fiance who was skating with Leo. 

Leo laughed, “I’d check the bench, Cap.” He said as the two of them continued their way around the rink. 

Eyebrows furrowed, Sirius skated across the rink to the benches and couldn’t help the ‘Aw’ that left his lips at the sight. 

Sprawled across the home team bench was Asher, Logan and Kuny. Sirius remembered seeing him skating with the two boys, but Asher must’ve gotten tired at some point during their skate. It looked as though they had all sat just to take a quick break but ended up taking a nap instead. Logan was leaning against Kuny’s side, his head on the taller man’s shoulder and Asher’s legs in his lap. Kuny had a protective arm wrapped around Asher where he was sprawled over his lap.

After taking a few photos, Sirius skated off, letting the three sleep. He knew the boys would take care of Asher, just like they took care of him. He was so lucky to have this team, this family. Sirius wasn’t sure he would’ve gotten to this point in his life without the Lions. Now his son had the same supportive family behind him. Sirius may not have had the best support throughout his childhood, but he would make damn sure his son did. 

[chicgeekgirl89]

Puzzles and Limes and Family Times

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes

Summary: Parenting kids is tough. Growing up and parenting your parents is even harder. Luckily T.K. and Carlos have each other to help figure things out. A post-ep for 2x11 "Slow Burn." Thanks to @bluenet13 for the help with the spicy food stuff and for inspiring what will likely be a prequel. And for just generally always being a supportive friend! 

                                   XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“How about a book?” Carlos asked.

T.K. shook his head. “He has books. I want something different. Something that will really distract him.”

“I still think a couple DVD’s might do the trick,” Carlos told him. 

“He has every streaming service known to man. If he can’t find it on one of those, it’s probably not worth watching.”

“T.K. as nice as it is that you want to get your dad a gift for his surgery, maybe we should think about it a little more since you don’t seem to know what you want.”

They’d circled the aisles of Target more than once, T.K. turning down every one of Carlos’ suggestions. “I just want something that’s going to keep him busy,” T.K. said. “He’s terrible at sitting still. I’m afraid if we don’t do something he’ll try and run a half marathon three days after surgery and kill himself.”

“Babe I don’t think there’s anything in the world that’s going to keep your dad recovering the way you want,” Carlos said. “He’s kind of a strong willed guy.”

T.K. sighed and turned the cart into the next aisle. “I know. I know, I just have to at least try.” He paused and grabbed a box off the nearest shelf. “What about this?”

Carlos raised his eyebrows. “A puzzle? Your dad doesn’t strike me as someone with the patience for puzzles.”

“Exactly. Maybe this will help him learn some. And,” T.K. tapped the box for emphasis, “this one has dogs playing poker on it. He loves dogs and poker.”

“That is true,” Carlos said, keeping his tone even and his expression neutral.

T.K. shot him a look of fond exasperation. “I know you’re humoring me but I’m going to pretend that was genuine.”

“And now you can humor me by picking out new towels,” Carlos said with a grin.

T.K. groaned. “I thought we already picked new towels.”

“We picked new master bath towels. We need some to match the guest bath.” Carlos grabbed his hand, towing him along toward the home goods aisles. 

“I didn’t realize you were going to use my moving in as an excuse to redecorate the entire condo,” T.K. said.

“I want it to feel like our place.” Carlos stopped and picked up a washcloth. “How do we feel about cream?”

“I feel like towels are towels. Especially in the guest bath.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and moved further down the row. “We have guests coming next week. Everything needs to be perfect.”

“Speaking of which, are you sure you want to invite my dad to dinner with your parents?” T.K. asked as Carlos silently debated the merits of blue versus off-white towels. 

Carlos looked at him in surprise. “He’s your dad. Of course I want him there.”

“It’s just…he can be…a lot sometimes,” T.K. said. 

Carlos raised his eyebrows and T.K. held up a finger in warning. “If you say I’m also a lot sometimes I’m taking the keys and leaving you here to Uber home.”

His boyfriend smiled and turned back to the towels. “My parents want to meet him. And your dad is very charming.” He looked at T.K., eyes sparkling with mirth. “Just like you.”

Now it was T.K.’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Besides,” Carlos said, dropping the blue towels into the cart, “having your dad there will take some of the attention off of me so my mom doesn’t tell every, single embarrassing story about my childhood. Instead your dad and my dad can try to one-up each other talking about crazy calls they’ve been on.”

T.K. wasn’t convinced yet. “He’s just really not been himself lately. And I have no idea what his mood is going to be like post-surgery. I don’t want him to leave a bad impression with your parents.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, it would be good for your dad to get out of the house. Be around family.”

T.K. sighed. “I guess at least if he’s with us I’ll know he’s safe. And it will give him something to do to keep his mind off how bored he is.”

“I thought that was what the puzzle was for,” Carlos said with a teasing grin as they walked toward the checkout.

T.K. sent him a withering look. “Just let me pretend it’s going to work and not sit on a shelf in the closet until the next time he has a garage sale. It makes me feel better.”

Carlos nudged him good-naturedly. “I will let you keep your delusion.” He stopped pushing the cart and leaned against the handle. “But it’s going to cost you.”

T.K. took a step closer and bit his lip. “Oh is it?” he asked, wondering exactly how randy Carlos was going to get in the kitchen appliance aisle. 

“Yep.” Carlos grinned. “We’re having camarones a la diabla for dinner tonight.”

T.K.’s face fell. “What? No! Come on I already looked at towels with you!”

Carlos just smiled and sauntered away with the cart, leaving T.K. alone in the middle of the aisle to hurry after him. “Okay but only a little spicy all right? Not ‘accidentally almost kill T.K. spicy’ like last time?”

“That was your own fault and you know it,” Carlos called back.

T.K. huffed. “That’s exactly why we don’t need a repeat!”

Carlos stopped and let him catch up. “If we’re going to live together we have to build up your tolerance to heat. Don’t worry,” he said, patting T.K.’s cheek, “I’ll be gentle.”

T.K. eyed him warily. “Nice try Reyes. I know behind that smile is a conniving, spice loving, diabolical monster.”

“What if I promise you homemade ice cream for dessert?”

“What because I’m a five-year-old and can be bribed to eat my dinner?” T.K. asked.

Carlos cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

“Fine,” T.K. said grudgingly. “But I want chocolate.”

“Then chocolate it is.”

                                XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

T.K. had never seen his boyfriend panicked before. Upset yes, excited for sure, but the most emotionally intense his mild mannered boyfriend typically got was moderately annoyed. Tonight however, he seemed like he might actually be about to lose his shit. And as intrigued as T.K. was to see where that might lead, a little voice in his head reminded him that Carlos losing his shit five minutes before his parents were due to arrive was probably not going to leave a favorable impression.

“Where are the tortilla chips?” Carlos asked, his voice sharp and pitched a note or two higher than usual. “I thought you picked them up on your way home today.”

“Right here,” T.K. said smoothly, opening the cupboard and pulling out the bag of homemade chips he’d purchased from a favorite restaurant down the street.

“And you told them to make the guacamole fresh right?”

“Yes, I stood there for fifteen minutes while the guy went out and hand picked the avocados,” T.K. said, trying not to let too much amusement color his tone.

Over the last few days the tension in their home seemed to have changed direction. As T.K. had grown more comfortable with the idea of his dad coming for dinner, (despite the one minor, running into a burning building incident that T.K. was trying not to think about) Carlos had gotten increasingly tense. 

The condo, always in a state of near perfect cleanliness now sparkled like something out of a magazine. And the list of instructions Carlos had left for T.K. to complete after his shift had been so detailed and exact that T.K. wondered if he’d stayed up all night writing it. Personally he thought that doing a deep clean of the refrigerator and painting over scuffs on the baseboards was a little bit of overkill, but he’d done as asked. Now, as he watched his boyfriend dart from one side of the kitchen to the other in a slightly manic state, he was wondering if he might need to intervene. 

Carlos pushed past him to take the perfectly made guacamole out and put it in a bowl. “Did you put a clean hand towel in the bathroom? The blue one?”

“Blue? I thought you said black.”

Carlos froze and glowered at him. “I’m kidding,” T.K. said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Blue towel is freshly laundered and in the bathroom. I’m not sure exactly how the color of a hand towel could ruin the evening but I certainly didn’t want to risk finding out.”

Carlos’ face dropped a bit, emotional exhaustion pulling at him. “I know I’m being crazy.”

“Oh I think we surpassed crazy about two hours ago when you were picking individual pieces of lint off the throw pillows,” T.K. said with an amused smile. “Relax. Tonight is going to be great. You’re making a damn soufflé. How could anyone not be impressed by that?”

“Maybe I should have gone with something more traditional,” Carlos said, running an agitated hand through his curls for the hundredth time that evening. “My parents are traditional people. But your dad is coming so I wanted to pull out all the stops.” He peered through the oven door at the soufflé. “Maybe I should have done the beef. I’m going to take it out just in case.”

“Carlos, Carlos whoa, hey,” T.K. stopped him by putting his hands on his shoulders. “The soufflé is going to be great. Everyone is going to love it. Do not take that beef out of the refrigerator.”

Carlos’ eyes widened. “Oh my god I forgot to put the ice trays in the freezer!”

“Whoa, hey, nope,” T.K. held on a little tighter and didn’t let him go. “You asked me to do that this morning. Let’s just go sit for a minute—“

“I need to—“

“What you need to do is take a few deep breaths and get yourself together,” T.K. told him, pushing him gently onto a bar stool.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

“Babe I know. But it’s not going to be. Nothing ever is, so you need to let got of that expectation. It will be a great dinner because everyone who’s coming loves you and wants you to be happy.”

Carlos slumped a bit, mussing his curls a little more with his hands. “I’m nervous.”

“I know. But I’m going to be right beside you the whole night. And nothing your parents say is going to make me upset. Or want to leave.” T.K. leaned a little closer as Carlos deliberately avoided making eye contact. “That’s what you’re really worried about right? Not that they’ll say something to make you upset, but that they might hurt me?”

Carlos chewed at the inside of his lip and covered T.K.’s hands with his own, twining their fingers together nervously. “They just might not be as careful with their words as I want them to be. Sometimes they speak without thinking. They have old biases, things from church and the family…”

T.K. brought one of Carlos’ hands up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I know the difference between willful hate and accidental ignorance. I’m not worried.” He ran a hand through Carlos’ hair, fixing some of the damage he’d done to himself. “And nothing, not even rude parents or a fallen soufflé, would ever make me want to leave you.”

T.K. watched as some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “I love you,” Carlos said quietly.

“I love you too,” T.K. said, squeezing his hand.

There was a knock on the door and Carlos sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

T.K. leaned forward so their lips met in a sweet kiss. “Absolutely.”

[fanficimagery]

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner [Part 1 of 2]

Summary: Imagine being the “baby” of the group.

Words: 2.8K Warnings: Language. I tried my best, anon. I hope you like it either way. Requested by Anonymous who said: hi! i’ve had this idea in my mind of being younger than everyone else in the VS (maybe like 19/20?) and literally everyone calls you Baby like it started as a joke but it’s gotten to the point they’re introducing you to others as “Baby” and they’re all super protective of you and yeah just a cute thought i’ve been having hehe

While you've heard of the Vlog Squad and watched David Dobrik's videos to pass time, you didn't think nothing much of the group who were living their best lives and posting for everyone to see. They seemed like they'd be fun to hang out with, and though you lived quite close to where David apparently lived, you never once rushed to the random pop-ups or ran into any of them when they were out and about.

But that all changed one day when you were playing with your puppy in the park, and you were surprised when David, Natalie, and Jason walked up to you. Natalie had fallen in love at first sight of your Beagle puppy and David chanced walking up to you in hopes of getting his friend some play time with the dog. You were surprised to see them and then quickly explained your surprise, and they were pleased to learn you watched their videos. You had then happily let Natalie play with Milo, the four of you sitting on the ground as you teased Milo with doggie treats. It was then David, Natalie, and Jason learned some about you, the three of them surprised to learn you were not yet twenty-one when David had jokingly invited you out for drinks. Jason grumbled about hanging out with toddlers, and David had giggled as he recorded Natalie and the puppy.

You figured running into them was a once in a lifetime type of deal, so you were surprised to run into David and Natalie again about a week later. While waiting for some food for yourself and your parents, the two of them had walked in to order an outrageous amount of food. They had spotted you first and you were shocked they remembered your name. Then as the three of you had chatted while waiting for your food, David invited you back to his place to eat when he realized you didn't live that far. You had politely declined because you had to get the food back home, but David urged you to join them. He suggested that you could eat with them and their friends, and Natalie suggested she go with you to your house so you could drop off the food, pick up Milo, and then she'd direct you to David's. They were eager to have you join them, and to pick up Milo, that you couldn't say no.

It was a bit surreal to meet Zane, Heath, Mariah, and Todd, but the group welcomed you without even batting an eye. Jason, upon spotting you when he arrived, jokingly referred to you as Baby. Everyone seemed confused, but when they found out why the baby jokes were soon to start. And from that day forward, you were introduced as Baby to everyone else you had yet to meet and the name just stuck.

You're sitting on the floor of David's living room, a bowl of sliced cucumber in hand and a smaller bowl of Ranch dressing balancing on your knee. David's editing not far from you and Natalie is playing with Milo in the backyard.

The front door opens, someone shouts to see if anyone's home, and you shout back to confirm that there is.

Erin, Carly, and Jeff walk around the corner, the three of them laughing at what they were previously talking about. "Hey, Baby." They all greet.

"Hey, guys." You see Carly glancing around the floor and you grin. "Milo's out back with Nat." She chuckles before walking to the door, Erin walks into the kitchen, and Jeff plops down on the sofa right behind you. "Snack?" You ask, holding the bowl out for him over your shoulder.

"What'd you put on it?"

"Just lemon juice and a sprinkle of salt. There's also Ranch."

Jeff huffs a laugh at your bowl of Ranch, but does accept a couple slices of cucumber. Erin soon joins Jeff on the sofa, and the girls come in from outside with an excited Milo in tow. As Jeff and Erin then attempt to grab your dog's attention, your phone rings with the telltale sound of a Facetime call.

Erin takes the two bowls when you answer the call, you quickly thanking her before one of your other friend's excited face fills the screen and her voice spills out of the speaker. "Happy birthday, bitch!" You cringe and smile in thanks, avoiding the gazes of those around you as they suddenly go still. "We're getting fucked up tonight! You're finally legal!" She squeals.

You sigh. "I don't know, Em. I don't drink much and I'm not too fond of having strangers grind on me."

"Come on, girl!" She groans. "We're in the prime of our lives! You need to let loose at least once in your life."

"Yeah, Baby," Jeff lays out behind you, his face just visible behind your shoulder. "You're in the prime of your life. Go out and have fun."

Your friend's eyes widen on screen and you faintly grin. But before she can question you, David's piping up. "It's your birthday? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I don't care for celebrations," you shrug.

"But it's your twenty first!" Natalie says. "You're supposed to let go once you turn legal."

"Oh my god. Our Baby is no longer a baby," Erin realizes. Carly laughs, she busy playing with Milo again. These people really loved dogs.

When you meet your friend's gaze on the phone, you sigh yet again. "Em, this is Jeff. Don't even think about it. I forbid it."

"But-"

"Nope. Now if you want me to go out tonight, you'll forget all about the hot person behind me and text me where I'm supposed to meet you guys tonight. Okay? Love you. Bye."

As soon as you drop your phone beside you, your friends are on you.

"It's your birthday!? Oh my god," Natalie says. "I can't believe you hid it from us."

You laugh sheepishly. "I didn't exactly hide it. I just- I didn't tell you. I didn't want you guys to feel obligated to get me anything or do something."

"But you're twenty-one," Carly says. "That's huge!"

"Not really. It's rare that I'll have a drink. I'm not too eager to get shit-faced and wake up regretting my life's choices."

"Well tonight you are," Natalie says. "Come on. We'll raid my closet for an outfit and get you ready."

"But-"

"No buts," David muses. "You have this night with your friends and then next week you'll celebrate with us."

"But Milo," you say, picking up your Beagle and holding his face to your cheek. "I can't leave him all alone."

"On it." Jeff takes Milo from you and you pout at him. "What? The sitter's got Nerf for the night. I'm not doing anything."

Chuckling lightly, you let Natalie and Erin pull you up to your feet. Carly follows behind you and you readily start picking through a drawer of your stuff in Natalie's room for underwear you kept there for emergencies. She hands you a towel and a robe, and instructs you to not wash your hair. You oblige her, taking extra care to pamper yourself in the shower before making your way back to her room.

Mariah has now joined them, she surprising you with a cupcake and a singular candle. They quietly sing happy birthday to you as to not attract all the boys, and snap several pictures to post later. Carly then does your hair and Natalie your makeup. Once they're done, you get to choose between four outfits they had put together and laid out on the bed.

One outfit in particular catches your attention- anything that sparkled was a weakness of yours- and you spend a little too long staring at the metallic sequined crop top with a plunging v-neck.

"Why don't you try it on?" Carly asks.

You huff. "And risk flashing my tits? No thanks."

"That's what the tape is for." Mariah laughs.

Natalie and Mariah then help you into the crop top, taping it down so you don't flash anyone when you no doubt let go at the club later that night. The top pairs with high waisted, faux leather shorts that fit almost like a second skin and a pair of chunky heeled boots that stop just above your knee. You have to endure a mini-photoshoot for your friends before they let you out of the room where they then direct you to the kitchen without even addressing the boys.

"A round of shots for the birthday girl," Natalie says, immediately seeking out a bottle of liquor and shot glasses. Carly, Erin, and Mariah cheer. Shots are poured and then passed out, you grabbing it and raising it in front of you so Natalie could finish her toast. "May you let loose, have fun, and call us from a jail cell so one of us can go bail you out."

"Don't jinx me!" The girls all laugh and then you down your shot, grimacing.

There's a sudden commotion as others arrive and you make small talk with Erin and Carly as more people enter the kitchen.

"Oh hey, when did we get a new hot gi- oh my god, it's Baby!" You whirl around at the sound of your name, slowly grinning at Todd's gobsmacked expression. You wink.

"Damn, babygirl," Zane whistles, "who is you trying to impress?"

"Alright, alright!" David shouts, camera recording. "Everyone gather 'round." Zane, Todd, Heath, and Jeff enter the kitchen, everyone gathering the kitchen island. "So today is Baby's twenty-first birthday-"

"WHAT?!"

"Shut up, Zane, and let me finish." Everyone laughs. "As I said before I was rudely interrupted, today is Baby's twenty-first birthday. She didn't tell us because she didn't want presents or a party-"

"BOOOO!"

"-so tonight she's going out with a few friends-"

"Not dressed like that, she's not!" Heath then interrupts.

You and the girls all cackle, even more so when the other boys are seen vaguely nodding along.

"But next week she's all ours. So, Baby," David says, coming in closer so the camera is practically in your face, "any last words before you're too drunk to make good choices?"

"Yeah. If my tits pop out of this shirt, I'm throat punching Natalie for encouraging me to wear it."

"Hey!"

More laughter rings out and you can't help but laugh as Zane, Todd, and David struggle to not look at your chest.

"Jesus, Baby," Heath mumbles. "Will you please change?"

"Nope."

"If you don't change, we're following you to the club," Jeff says.

You grin. "Well then I guess you're following me to the club."

Thirty minutes later, you're sitting on Todd's lap on one of the middle seats in David's Tesla. He and Jason are in the front, you, Todd, Jeff, and Zane in the middle, and Heath and Ilya in the back.

"You know, I didn't think you were actually serious that you'd accompany me to the club," you say. "Or pick up Jason and Ilya."

Ilya laughs from the back seat. "Todd sent me a pic of your.. chest. I was torn between wanting to put a shirt on you and ogling the picture some more."

"Todd!" David laughs. "You didn't?!"

"I'm sorry!" He laughs.

"She's like our baby sister, man," Jeff chuckles. "What is wrong with you?"

Todd laughs, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist. "I was so confused! I mean, I know it's Baby, but.."

"We ain't never really seen Baby's boobs on display like this. It's confusing. And upsetting," Zane says.

"Now you boys know how it feels for us girls when you walk around in nothing but your boxer briefs. I mean, you guys are like family. Sort of. But you're all still so pretty. It's confusing."

The rest of the drive doesn't take very long and soon enough David's pulling up to the club your girl friends are all waiting outside of. And before you can open the door, Todd's holding on tighter as Jason turns around in his seat. David records what comes next.

"Ground rules," Jason says, putting on a mock serious expression. "Very little alcohol, no drugs, no boys, no hook-ups, no-"

"Yes, dad, I get it. Have fun, but not too much fun." You sigh. "Can I go now?"

"Listen here, young lady." You snort and all the boys snicker at Jason's tone. "You are only just barely legal-legal. You're lucky I'm even considering letting you out of this car!"

"I love you guys, but you're all idiots. I'm going now." You tap on Toddy's arm to let go, which he does, and you make your escape soon after.

Then making sure the tape has done its job and kept you covered, you pull down on your shorts from where they'd ridden up. You wave to the boys as soon as the door closes, but you only make it a few feet before Jason's voice is ringing out.

"Call us if you run into any trouble! We mean it, Baby!"

You stumble and glare over your shoulder when people start to stare, you flipping off all the boys now laughing. Your girl friends then walk up to you, staring between you and the car of boys in amusement. "Don't ask," you grumble. "I need a drink asap."

          - X - X - X - X - X -

By the time you're stumbling out of the club, every one of your girls are completely smashed. Makeup is smudged, shoes are in their hands, and one of your girls is a crying mess. Your mind is a little fuzzy and some things look like they're in slow motion when you move a little too fast. Thankfully, however, you had enough of your wits about to order an Uber for the girls and call David to come pick you up just because.

The Uber gets there before David, so you quickly wrangle up the girls and get them in the van. Then left alone, you take a seat on the curb and mess about on your phone to keep yourself occupied. Your Instagram has blown up with notifications from all the sloppy pictures your girls had posted and tagged you in, and all the comments your other group of friends had left on them.

There's whistling behind you, followed by some catcalls that make you slightly uncomfortable, but you do your best to ignore it.

Finally the familiar white Tesla pulls up and you sigh in relief. The front passenger window rolls down and Todd's beaming smile greets you. "Someone doesn't look like they've had fun."

"I was until some idiots ruined it."

"Aw, Baby, whose asses do we have to kick?"

You huff a laugh as you attempt to get up, only to trip and bump into the side of David's car. You can hear him cackling from the inside. The back passenger door opens, and Zane and Jeff are recording you with their phones.

"Seriously, Baby, who pissed you off?"

"Just some-"

"Yeah, sweetheart, flash us those tits!"

The shouting startles you and you grimace, looking towards the source of crude remark. The guy who shouted, plus all his friends, laugh as they shove each other around and continue staring at you. Todd leans his head further out the window and Zane halfway exits the car.

"Flash us your tits! Flash us your tits!"

"Suck my dick!" You suddenly bark back, your anger spiking. The catcalling morons seem startled you spoke back, they still laughing but no longer chanting. "What? You think it's cute to act like jackasses? You wanna see tits so bad, go home and jerk off to PornHub."

"You tell 'em, girl!" A random group of girls cheer you on.

"Fuck, Zane, get her in the car!" Jeff says.

"You wanna go, you little bitch? Lets go, motherfucker!"

"Zane, grab Baby!"

You start to walk off, but arms wrap around your waist and pull you back.

"Yo, man, come get your girl! She's fuckin' crazy."

"What the hell did you just say?" Zane stills and suddenly you're the one nudging Zane back to prevent him from marching up and starting a fight.

Suddenly David's in your face, the light on his camera blinding as he laughs in your and Zane's face. Todd and Jeff do their best to calm the situation, and then you're being herded into the Tesla. And even though there's two perfectly empty seats in the back, you're seated on Zane's lap in the middle seat with Jeff beside you.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Jeff suddenly muses, chuckling the further David gets from the club. "You went from 0 to 100 in a blink."

You frown. "They started it. I ignored it at first, but the chanting really got under my skin."

"You're a mean drunk," Todd giggles. "You went off on those guys. I seriously can't wait until next week."

"I can. Everything feels super slow right now. It's almost making me dizzy." Since you're sitting sideways in Zane's lap, you place your head on his shoulder and snuggle in. "This sucks."

"No, no, no. Don't you dare puke in my car."

You burp. "No promises."

[parrisher]

ooh ronan pov of the bllb scene?? fuck yess!!

anon i love u endlessly

on ao3

As Ronan fluttered back to reality, he realized two things very quickly. One, he was frozen in place, lying in a pew. Two, his clothes were drenched —he looked as far as he could without moving his head—his own blood.

Well, technically his own blood. And technically, those were his own whimpers echoing agonizingly through the pews of St. Agnes. But Ronan’s mouth was stuck shut.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam start awake.

Fuck.

Adam jerked back from the twitching dream-Ronan before he even seemed to fully realize what he was seeing. Ronan watched, still helplessly stuck, as Adam’s eyes raked over dream-Ronan’s arched spine, his shaking fingers, his desperate eyes. Adam sucked in a sharp breath. His lip began to curl, quivering, and Ronan tore his eyes away.

Watching Adam grieve felt too private to watch, even for the grieved himself.

He heard the shuffle of denim against carpet and finally, as Adam scrambled over to the body that pleaded with Ronan’s own voice, Ronan’s body sagged against the hard wood of the pew. The manila envelope, stuffed with a hundred different horrors, almost fell out of his hand before he tightened his grip, refusing to let go of everything he’d just sacrificed for.

He had to get up, he had to get them out of there. But as he lay there, Ronan couldn’t think of anything besides the panic in Adam’s eyes. The heat of a thousand different emotions mounted in his chest.

The simple, wringing sadness from seeing death. The heart-stopping fear of his nightmares. The pain in Adam’s gasp that had lodged like an arrow in his chest and, above all, the frustration that Adam had insisted on staying. That he’d been sappy enough to let Adam stay, that he’d had to see this-

“Ronan-” Adam’s voice came out strangled. Ronan sat up in a rush, but Adam wasn’t talking to him. Bent over dream-Ronan, bleeding out on the church carpet, his voice was barely a whisper, no life behind it. “Oh, God.”

A prayer fit for a church. Ronan didn’t miss the irony.

The pain, the guilt, the tears straining to be held back all exploded in his chest with those two damn words. Watching Adam move helplessly over Ronan’s own body, beautiful hands fluttering from blood-soaked stomach to ruined throat to chest, Ronan had the sudden impulse to run before Adam could see him. Another impulse immediately followed, barely stronger than the first.

You can't run from this, idiot. He thinks he’s watching you die.

How many more burdens would he throw carelessly onto Adam’s shoulders? How much more could he take? He’d watched the bags under the other boy’s eyes grow deeper and deeper as the hunt for Glendower had stolen more time from Adam, and now—Adam didn’t deserve this, he didn’t need the nightmares. He was running on empty already.

Frustration spiraled up again, faster than he could push it down. Anger picked a target before he could stop himself.

“Are you happy now?” Ronan regretted the words as soon as he’d spit them out. “Is this what you wanted?” He gritted his teeth as Adam jumped, looking around wildly. When his eyes finally landed on Ronan, he looked-

Emotion swelled again in Ronan’s chest. Adam looked lost, gaze faint. Unreachable. His voice came from miles away. “What’s-” he blinked several times to no avail. “What’s happening.” It wasn’t a question.

Dream-Ronan let out a shivering cry. Real-Ronan knew how he felt.

He couldn’t stop the fear-sorrow-anger from flashing across his face as he saw the version of himself bleeding out on the ancient St. Agnes carpet. Somewhere deep in the fog of his brain, something told him he should scream. Something else told him that it could have been worse.

At least Adam hadn’t had to put the pieces of him together.

Ronan looked back over at Adam, and found that he was watching Ronan intently. He still looked about ready to faint, but the fog in his eyes had cleared. What was underneath, though—an unguarded sadness, pain, pity written all across his perfect cheekbones--was somehow even worse.

It was the fact that he’d seen this part of Ronan, all the shit inside his head. Adam was crouched over a hard copy of all the bad decisions he’d made, all the times he’d gone to bed wondering if he would be around to bring anything back. All the terrible, too-real things he’d brought back. Wasps in Monmouth. Adam’s t-shirt. Slit wrists.

Maybe Ronan should scream.

Maybe he should break down, throw his arms around Adam, beg him not to let him die.

But if there was one thing he and Adam had in common, it was that they couldn’t stand to be pitied. So Ronan dragged the ice back into his tone.

“You wanted to stay?” he snarled. He thought of Kavinsky. Leash your dog, Gansey. “Well, here we are. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

Adam pushed himself up from where he’d been kneeling by the body. There was a tiny red bloodstain—Ronan’s blood—on the worn-out neck of Adam’s shirt that Ronan couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Dream-Ronan was still gasping for air. “Why would you- why?” Surprise met with his Henrietta twang as they laced their way through his voice. “What did you do? What happened?”

What had happened?

Nightmares. They should’ve known. Even if Ronan had tried to dream a godddamn lollipop, he would’ve had nightmares, but dreaming this kind of shit? To get photos, he had to stage them. To get a hand, he had to cut it off. Adam’s plan was the kind of grisly detail that nightmares eat for breakfast. And he’d been in there so long…

The dream-Ronan gave a last shuddering cry and went still. Ronan knew Adam was watching, could feel Adam’s eyes on his face, and he tried to keep his face neutral.

But God- he’d just died, for fuck’s sake.

“I tried for too much at once,” he said. His voice betrayed him- it was too flat, too emotionless even for him. Adam’s eyes flashed with guilt growing more watery by the minute, and the resulting stab of self-hatred shocked even Ronan with its force. He stared resolutely past the other boy. “I was in there too long. The night horrors came, and then-” he realized in horror that his voice was shaking. He took a breath in and refused to meet Adam’s eyes. “Then I heard the wasps, and I knew I would bring them back, and then-” he gestured with practiced thoughtlessness towards dead-Ronan. “That would be me. But, like, for real.” He could see Adam’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. He refused to let himself think about what that meant, and this frustration only added to the mix of emotions coloring his words. “Easy solution. Dreamt a new me, fresh and ready-to-die. Woke up. Here I am. Here I am, again.” He was spitting the words out now. “What a cool trick. What a damn cool trick.”

He finally glanced over, but Adam’s face was unreadable. He had a look in his eye like he was putting together a puzzle that was, as he went, gaining more pieces. Ronan felt far too known.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He had to get out. Some corner of his mind reminded him why they’d gone through all this in the first place, and he only remembered the envelope in his hand as he was shoving it towards Adam. “Here’s your shit.” The words came out embarrassingly wounded. Ronan could feel his window of escape slipping.

It seemed to take a second for Adam to recognize what the envelope was, and a second longer for him to reach out his hand and grasp it. The blood-stained manila looked wildly out of place in his long fingers.

There was a moment of silence as the two faced each other. It was obvious from in the pain in Adam’s eyes, in the way he seemed to wilt in on himself, in how his breath hitched that he had lost something precious in this church. That Ronan had ripped something from him.

Dream-Ronan’s eyes stared up at the chapel ceiling, seeing nothing.

A sigh broke the silence. “What now?” Adam sounded almost embarrassed. “What do we-”

“Nothing,” Ronan interrupted. His eyes had just caught the bloodstains on Adam’s knuckles from the dreamt envelope. He thought about crossing over to him and wiping them away. He thought about pausing, hand in hand, looking into the cornflower eyes that had shed tears over his dead body, lifting a tan knuckle to rough lips. He thought about running away and leaving Sister Whoever to find his dead body. “We do nothing. You go.”

Adam’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, then crinkled in confusion. “What?”

Heat was rising in Ronan’s chest again, that same fiery mix of grief and anger and fear and this time love, maybe. He couldn’t breathe. He realized he was shaking. “I said I didn’t want you here in case this happened. It happened. Look at you.”

Any trace of grief or even embarrassment was suddenly gone from Adam’s eyes. He was the magician again, making bargains with Ronan’s dreams without ever feeling a thing. “Asshole.” His mouth twitched. “This wasn’t my fault.” Ronan knew it wasn’t Adam’s fault. Of course it wasn’t Adam’s fault. Adam wasn’t the one who had made Ronan watch him die, slowly and painfully.

But he still couldn’t breathe right as long as Adam was standing there staring at him, and by now, the bloodstains were sinking into the carpet. The chapel was starting to feel less like a house of worship and more like a place where demons were made. “Just go,” he said in a voice too low, too rough, not to mean the opposite. “Get the hell away from me.” He stared up at Adam, and Adam stared back, and he knew they both could feel the echoes of a thousand past fights, a thousand times where neither had backed down.

“I’ll ask one more time.” There was steel in Adam’s voice. Ronan knew, instinctively, that they would never mention this again. There was a part of him that wished they could. “What now?”

But another, stronger part needed to watch it all burn, if only for a moment. Ronan wished desperately that he could shove it down, but it set his jaw and drew his face into a scowl before he could stop himself. “Bye. That’s what.”

He was an idiot who deserved whatever came to him.

“Whatever.” Adam stepped around dream-Ronan on his way out. Ronan couldn’t tell if he imagined the way Adam’s expression faltered when he looked down or not. “Next time you can die alone.” His footsteps faded up the stairs to his apartment. Much later, so late it would almost be early, Ronan knew those same stairs would echo with Adam’s panicked shout as he woke from seeing Ronan’s glassy eyes over and over again. He knew he would do the same.

He knew he’d hide a worn-out gray t-shirt underneath his bed.

He finally screamed. It echoed off the chapel ceiling, past the altar, back to the stairs where Adam and his cheekbones had just left, until Ronan couldn’t tell if the sound had come from himself or the pale dream-Ronan still lying in a pool of his own blood.

“What’s happening?” Adam’s shaky voice, scared because of him. “Ronan, oh god.”

Ronan fell into the pew and buried his head in his hands.

[irrlicht-writes]

the path we choose to walk on Pt.2

Part 2 of my Fix-It! Do note that this is NOT THE END. There will be at least one more part (god hope please) @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @insertdeeplyrics @cass-said-i-love-you ALSO SOMEONE WANNA JOIN MY TAG LIST STILL 

READ PART ONE FIRST HERE

Ao3

PART 2: a barn in which we meet

Sam is ecstatic. Eileen just revealed to him that she’s pregnant. Dean has been waiting to see Sam’s reaction and he couldn’t be happier. He’s moved out of their place a month ago and is now living in a rather crappy apartment but he’s always over at their house anyway.

I’m gonna be an uncle, Cas.

It feels weird but Sam is so happy. Sam hugs him and Dean makes sure to tell him that he’s gonna be a great Dad. Of course, Dean is going to be a greater Uncle, no two questions about it. Eileen laughs at them and it feels good to have a family. Miracle barks and Dean laughs to include the dog in the hug.

Cas would be proud of him. Dean has a job. It’s not a great job, but it’s a job outside the life. In time, he’ll make friends, too.

 “He kissed you?” Sam asks three months later and Dean nods.

“What was it like?”

Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t know. David had been flirting with him for about two months now and Dean wants to explore this side of him, it’s just – it’s just difficult. He feels as if he’s done a disservice to Cas.

“It wasn’t Cas,” he says and Sam nods.

“I know, Dean, but – Cas is gone. Don’t you think he’d want you to be happy?”

Of course Cas would want that. Cas would want Dean to get a partner. Cas would want someone in Dean’s life that would do everything the angel had never been able to do – but it still feels wrong. It’s not Cas. Maybe that will be the fault with everyone: they will never be Cas.

“Go on a date with him,” Sam says, “just to see what it’s like. If you don’t like it, then stop it, yeah? But give him a chance, at least. He’s not a creeper, right?”

No, David is nice. Under different circumstances, Dean might’ve even liked him.

“We’ll see,” Dean replies and they both know that nothing will come of it.

It’s not Cas.

 Eileen was eight months pregnant when Sam found a case. “Something’s killing monsters,” he says.

Normally, Dean wouldn’t be too concerned with this – monsters could kill other monsters for all he cared but this – whatever it was, it killed too many too quickly. It would make whole nests mad and then they’d beseech the town.

Dean doesn’t want Sam to go, not so shortly before the birth of his daughter but he can’t go alone, either. So they’re going to go together. If everything goes well, they don’t have to kill something. After all, whatever monster-killer is out there might not be aware of the impact of what they’re doing.

“Let’s go, then,” Dean says.

Eileen is upset about staying behind but she knows it’s better this way. “You look out for him,” she says to Dean and he laughs.

“With my life,” he promises.

 It feels good to take the Impala on a long stretch again. Miracle stayed behind with Eileen and it’s just him and his little brother on the road. It almost feels like the old times. They were rushing in to save the day, heroes once more.

Cas would be proud of them.

“Know anything about that monster-killer?”

“No,” Sam says. “But get this: all the killings happen in the same place, suggesting that it’s not moving around. In fact, it might even be that the other monsters seek it out for whatever reason so maybe it’s acting in self-defense?”

Dean just nods. That might be possible.

A long time ago, he believed that all monsters were evil. But he’d been wrong. They were also just trying to survive. If they were good, they got to live. And if they were bad, they got dead. If one would look at it from this angle, it wouldn’t be that complicated at all.

 It doesn’t take long to arrive at the scene. No humans have come to harm as of yet, so there’s no need to identify as the FBI again. They could just get in and get out.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Sam warns him and Dean nods. He’s not suicidal. He has his gun and he also has his angel blade. He’d be fine. Castiel’s coat is in the trunk. Dean took it with him wherever he went. He would never be too old for a comfort blanket.

It’s a barn. Somehow, Dean was expecting this. He looks around. There are no monsters than he can hear so he hopes that they’ve come at a good time. The trees though – they look odd. They are all bended outwards as if a bomb had dropped.

“Where are the bodies?”

“Maybe whoever is killing them gets rid of them after?”

Sam shrugs, and Dean mimics him. It doesn’t really matter, either.

“Stay behind me,” Dean says and Sam scoffs. He steps up next to Dean and looks at him.

“Together,” he says and Dean smiles.

 They don’t get attacked when they enter. Maybe they’re not a threat to that thing. The barn has numerous holes in the ceiling so at least a little light is shining through. They cautiously walk further in. Dean is expecting an attack any second and the longer time goes on, the more anxious he gets. He just doesn’t want the monster to jump out of the dark and attack Sam. What would he tell Eileen? Dean is still crap at Sign Language.

There is a loud, and yet muffled sound and Dean points his gun at it. He looks over to Sam who just nods and Dean takes the lead. There. He can see it, nestled against the wall. It’s a blob that looks vaguely human-shaped. Its hand is outstretched but the arm is shaking and the thing looks like it’s covered in goo.

Dean lowers his gun. Whatever it is, it’s afraid. Sam steps up next to him, also putting his gun away.

“Hey,” Sam starts in a soft tone and the thing flinches, “we’re not here to hurt you.”

The hand stays outstretched for a moment but then the arm gets lowered. The poor thing is shaking.

“My name is Sam,” the thing moves a little, “and I’m here with my brother Dean.”

There is a low keening noise and Dean doesn’t know what to make of it.

“We want to help you, if we can.”

The thing falls forward on all fours and drags itself closer to them. Whatever the goo is, it clings tightly to the body and Dean feels sorry for whatever’s underneath. The thing has to stop every few inches, clearly exhausted. Dean feels for whatever it is. It starts punching its hand into the ground and Dean realises that it’s writing something down.

Where, it says.

“You’re in Kansas,” he replies and the thing turns in his direction. It shakes and Dean thinks it’s just about to collapse. How long has it been here, weighed down by this goo? How long has it waited for someone like Sam and Dean to show up?

“Hey,” he says a little softer. “We’re going to get that stuff off of you and then we can talk, like civilised people, yeah?”

The thing’s head droops a little and Dean finds it very endearing. It looks almost like a head tilt. “Okay, so,” he starts but then there are noises outside. Dean realises instantly that more monsters have come.

“Sammy,” he hisses but Sam is already in position. Dean stays close to Goo who’s heaving a little. Dean doesn’t understand why he wants to protect Goo but he finds he simply has to.

Seven guys trot in and Dean guesses that they might be Vampires. Damn, he’s packed the wrong bullets. Still, shooting them would slow them down for a moment so that he could stab them with the knife. It’s easy to slip back into the Killer Dean Winchester and he hates it. What would Cas have to say about all this?

“Ah, the Winchesters! I had believed you had retired. So sad to see I was wrong. But no worry – me and my friends will gladly help you along!”

Damn he hates vampires. They just fucking suck.

“Oh yeah? So how about you eat... this...”

They just exploded. In front of his eyes, they just exploded in a flash of light and Dean looks down at Goo. His hand his outstretched, just like before and something coils in Dean’s stomach. It couldn’t be. No, that’s just ridiculous.

Sam’s looking over at them too but Dean pays him no mind because – because Goo just slumps to the ground and Dean’s heart sinks. No. No no no no no no. Please don’t. He drops his gun and falls to the floor, grabbing Goo and lifting him up. He doesn’t care that he gets the ugly sticky stuff all over himself.

“Cas,” he whispers but Goo doesn’t reply. “Please, please. Cas, please.”

  With Sam’s help, they get Goo into the car. In the back of his head, Dean isn’t looking forward to having to clean Baby from this stuff but he doesn’t really mind. If this is Cas – it has to be, it has to be – he doesn’t care at all. He slides in the backseat and Sam drives towards the nearest motel. Dean shrugs off his jacket and puts it around Goo’s shoulders, hoping to at least fool the majority of people into thinking that this was just another normal person. And if they didn’t – well they are very welcome to lick his boots.

Sam walks into the reception area of this Motel 5 and Dean tries to wake up Goo again but he’s still out like a light.

“Cas,” he says. “Cas, I’ve missed you so much. Please. Please, be real.”

His voice doesn’t sound like his own.

 Together, they drag Goo into their room. Without stopping, they immediately continue on into the bathroom. There’s no tub, sadly – Sam had inquired – so the shower would have to do. They shove Goo inside and turn the warm water on. Dean doesn’t want to use cold water. Cas doesn’t deserve cold water.

“It doesn’t come off,” Dean says and Sam clenches his jaw. Why isn’t it coming off? Dean’s breath starts to pick up until Sam puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe,” he reminds his brother and so Dean takes a deep breath. He nods and Sam turns the water off. The get Goo back out of the shower and haul him into the main room. They lay him upon a bed and Dean sits next to him. Sam gets on his phone, presumably to call Eileen and let her know what’s up.

“Cas,” Dean says quietly. “Please. If it’s you, then please – please give me a sign.”

There is nothing and Dean loses hope. But then he sees a small light flicker in the middle of Goo and Dean’s desperate enough to take it.

“Cas,” he says again and puts his hand on Goo’s face. “I’m here, baby. Tell me how to help you. Please. I need you back, Cas. I can’t – I’ve tried. Cas, I’ve tried to do it without you and I’m fine, y’know but it’s not – it’s not enough, y’know?

There’s this guy. David. He’s nice, yeah? He kissed me a few months ago and – I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t you. But I wanted to try. You’d want me to be happy, to find a partner that’ll love me and – I wanted to try. So I asked him out, Cas. He’s a nice guy. He makes jokes and he likes Baby and he likes Pizza and he even indulges me on my cowboy fetish. Remember when I made you wear that hat? Those were good times, Cas. Anyway, I – we, we had, uh... we had sex. It was just one time, but well, it – I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, I think – I don’t really know, I’ve never done it before, but – it was alright. It was just okay and I’ve told him as much and he looked at me and said you’re still in love with someone else and fuck, Cas, he’s right. I tried to use David as this filler, to try and get over you before I was ready and I –

Fuck, Cas. I love you. I can’t get over you; how do I even start? I think about you every day. Did you hear my prayers? I’ve never stopped. I thought, that maybe, if I pray enough, that you’d hear me someday.”

Dean leans forward and presses his forehead against Goo. It feels gross, but this is Cas.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough last time. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to bring you back. You deserve more than me and I’ll never understand why your dumb ass fell in love with me. Jack became God, y’know? You were right about him. I’m just – I’m so sad you’ll never get to experience the world now. You should’ve gotten the chance to say good-bye to him and I... I...

Cas, please. Come back to me.

I – I know I can live without you. It’ll be empty and cold and sad, but I could. The point is, Cas, I don’t want to. I don’t want to live somewhere where you do not. Even if we can’t go back to the way things were, I need to know – I need to know that you’re alive.

What’s Heaven without its best angel?

What’s the Righteous Man without his saviour?

...

Cas, please. I don’t... I don’t have any other words.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I want to tell you.

I want to hold your hand and I want to kiss your hair and I want to be gross with you and I...

I just want you.

I just...

Please. Cas. Please...”

His throat hurts, and he cries.

*

At night, Dean lies next to Goo. He’s holding Goo’s hand as much as he can and he sleeps. He’s never got to sleep in the same bed as Cas before. He wishes that they would’ve had more opportunities before but it was too late now.

I’ll watch over you.

Dean wishes he could’ve watched over Castiel at least one time.

 Dean wakes by someone shaking him rapidly. He doesn’t want to wake up. Miracle can walk herself. He’s dreaming about Cas walking in a field. He doesn’t want to leave the dream. But the shaking doesn’t stop. So he rolls on his back and blinks angrily at whoever woke him. Sam.

Of course it’s fucking Sam.

“Dean,” he breathes and he there’s this look in his eyes. He’s looking next to Dean and so Dean turns his head and –

“Cas,” he whispers.

Goo is gone and all that’s left is Cas.

Dean cries.

He can’t stop. He doesn’t even try.

 Cas doesn’t really respond to anything when he wakes up. But Dean doesn’t care. Cas is here. Cas is alive. He’s slapped himself several times just to make sure that he was really awake. It’s hard to pry Dean away from Cas even just for a minute.

Sam is worried that Cas is so unresponsive to anything and on some level, Dean is too, but at the moment, he doesn’t care.

“Cas,” is the only thing Dean is really capable of saying and every time he does, he feels like Cas’ eyes snap in his direction at least a little. That’s good, right? That’s some sort of response and that’s good. They’ll figure it out. They always do. Team Free Will was together again and they could tackle everything.

One day after Goo turned into Cas, they made the drive back home. Dean lets Sam drive so that he can stay in the backseat with Cas. It feels so good to have his angel leaning against him. Dean had detested it, but they’ve done a test: they’ve cut Cas with the angel blade and there had been grace shimmering beneath the surface.

On the way home, Dean murmurs to Cas constantly and he wants to believe that the angel can understand him. And even if he can’t – he just wants to talk to Cas. He can’t even count the days since he’s last been so happy.

“I love you,” he whispers again and again and maybe, just maybe, Cas moves his head every time he says it.

 They decide that Cas would stay at Dean’s apartment. Sam had been debating if Cas shouldn’t maybe stay with him and Eileen – after all they had a whole house. But they’d be having a baby pretty soon. Dean was able to devote himself to Cas entirely. And most importantly, Dean doesn’t want to stay away from Cas for any amount of time. He’s utterly convinced that Cas reacted to his voice in the car. Yes, maybe it had been just a coincidence but Dean needs to believe that there is more to it. Cas loves him. He loves Cas.

“Just be careful, Dean,” Sam had said while Dean clutched Cas to his chest. “If anything happens, call me.”

Dean had nodded and ascended the stairs.

Castiel is lying on his couch for most of the day. Dean wants to believe that Cas watches him. He enjoys this – being watched by Cas. It had been too long. He couldn’t stop smiling because he’s happy.

Cas is alive. Cas is here.

It’s like a dream come true.

At night, Cas lies in bed next to him and Dean presses soft kisses against his temple. He doesn’t dare do more and he’s content like this. He holds Castiel’s hand the entire night and if he wishes hard enough he can imagine that Castiel squeezes his hand back.

 “Dean,” Castiel says and Dean cries.

Castiel doesn’t speak again but Dean can’t stop crying.

 “Sam just called,” Dean informs Cas who is lying on the couch. Cas’ eyes flicker to him, half-understanding. “Eileen just went into labour. I wanna go there, Cas, I wanna meet my niece. Do you... do you want to come?”

He’s not expecting a response. He always wants one, but he never expects it.

“I,” Castiel says and his voice is terribly hoarse but Dean drops the phone nonetheless.

“Want,” Castiel keeps on saying before he hacks up an ugly cough. Dean cries and rushes over to him.

Cas looks at him with tired eyes, but he sees him, he looks at him, he’s here –

“Anything you want, baby,” Dean whispers. “Anything you want.”

 The nurses tell Dean that Sam and Eileen are inside but that he’s not allowed to go in. They were nice enough to give him a wheelchair for Cas – as much as Dean loves to pretend he’s a strong macho man, Cas is still six feet tall and really fucking heavy.

“They’re just inside there,” Dean says to Cas who’s looking at the floor. “Sam’s gonna be a dad.”

He can scarcely believe it himself. Sammy’s going to be a dad.

“Father,” Castiel says and Dean smiles. This is good. This is so good. Castiel can hear him and he can even respond.

“I’m so proud of you, Cas.”

Castiel looks at him with his big, blue, unblinking eyes. He frowns. Fuck, Dean had missed him so much.

“Jack,” he says and tries to look around.

“He’s God now, Cas. It’s like you always said – he’s destined for great things.”

Cas looks a bit upset.

“Goodbye,” he rasps and his eyes become frantic. “Where,” he says and starts coughing.

Oh god, no no no no. Cas is coughing up the same black goo he had been covered with.

“Cas, Cas, baby, please,” Dean whines.

Cas’ whole body shakes and Dean can tell that he’s trying to reign the coughs in. His good, pure, strong angel. Cas looks up at Dean, heaving heavily with tears in his eyes.

Dean presses kisses on his face – his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin.

“So good. You’re so good. We’ll fix this. I promise. We’ll fix this, together. I’m not letting you go. I’m never letting you go again, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly and slumps against him. Dean can feel him breathing and he wraps his arms around him.

“I love you,” Dean says and Cas presses his forehead against Dean’s neck.

*

It takes ten hours, but then Dean officially becomes an uncle. Castiel had been asleep for a good amount of time, but at least he hasn’t coughed again. Of course, Dean is a bit worried about the sleeping but he’ll figure that out. All that matters is that he’s got Cas by his side and that he’s now got a little baby girl to spoil.

Once he gets the clear, he rolls Cas into the room and Sam and Eileen both look tired but also so, so happy. They light up even more when they see Cas.

“Cas,” Sam says and smiles at him. Cas looks up at Sam and blinks slowly.

“Sam,” he replies hoarsely.

Sam looks to Dean in utter disbelief and Dean can just smile. “Show us the baby, yeah?”

Eileen moves the blanket aside a bit so that they can take a look at the little bundle of joy. Her face is all scrunched up and she’s just adorable.

“Sammy, are you sure she’s really your daughter?”

Sam shoves him playfully. “You’re such a dick.”

“Baby,” Cas says and Eileen smiles at him.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It doesn’t seem like Cas understands at first, but then he nods. He raises his arms and Eileen places her daughter in them without a second thought. Both Sam and Dean are ready to interfere in case Cas’ arms would not be steady enough to hold the baby but it turns out they needn’t have worried.

“Hello,” Cas says to the child who wiggles a bit in his arms.

“Her name’s Maria,” Sam supplies and Castiel slowly nods.

“Maria,” he says. He slowly puts a finger on her tiny nose. His finger glows and Dean worries. What’s going on?

Cas looks at Eileen but he doesn’t move to give the baby back. Eileen just looks at him, then she slowly nods and smiles. She signs something and Cas turns his head to Sam.

“Fix,” he says. “Heart.”

“She... she has a heart problem?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not... not anymore. I. I fix. I. Take. I...,” he closes his eyes in strain. “It’s gone now. They. Would. They would not have. Noticed. It’s small. But I. I took it.” His voice sounds like it pains him greatly. He slumps in his chair a bit but holds Maria tight.

“Dean,” he says and Dean’s by his side in a flash. “I want. I want to see Jack.”

 *

 When they are back at home, Dean prays to Jack. Cas fell asleep in the car as soon as they started driving back home and he hasn’t woken up since. But he also hasn’t coughed again which is probably a good sign.

“Hey, Jack,” Dean says, looking out the window. He’s put Cas into bed and is sitting next to him. The soft breathing behind him calms Dean and he wouldn’t move away from it for the world.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we got Cas back. I don’t know how, if you were involved or not and if you can even hear me, but – he’s back, Jack. Cas is back.”

It still sounds like a dream.

“And he – Jack, he wants to see you. He didn’t get to say good-bye, y’know? He really misses you and, Jack, he’s – he’s sick or something. We found him covered in some black goo – you know, it kinda looked the Empty Goo thing, but I don’t – the goo is gone now, but he’s weak and he was coughing that stuff up earlier today and – I just... Jack, please come here. Fix him? He deserves it, yeah? So... just please, when you have a moment off from being God, could you... just pop in?”

Dean isn’t expecting Jack to instantly appear in the room, but – he somehow is. He sighs and turns around to Castiel fully. He’s sleeping peacefully and Dean smiles. He takes Cas’ hand and softly strokes the skin.

Miracle miracles herself into the bedroom and sniffs at Cas extensively. Cas doesn’t react to her but Dean smiles at the dog. He isn’t even sure if Cas knows that there’s a dog here. Miracle clearly doesn’t know what to make of the strange new man yet and Dean can’t blame her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, girl,” he says and Miracle huffs. She looks at him expectantly. Dean laughs.

“But this is Cas, yeah? They guy I told you about. The guy that died? I’m sorry, girl. I’ll make it up to you when he’s better. And he’s getting better, he just needs a little more time, yeah? So... how about you help? If we both shower him with love, then he’ll get back on his feet even quicker, yeah? And then all three of us can go on a walk together.”

At the word “walk”, Miracle perked up and started wagging her tail. She then proceeds to climb up on the bed and snuggle up to Cas as if she had actually understood Dean. And he has a pretty good feeling that she actually had. Dean laughed and lays down himself, intertwining his fingers with Cas. His niece had just been born, Cas had been incredibly responsive today and everything would work out.

They just need a little more time.

A little more time, and then all of them could sit a table together, enjoying a family dinner.

[goldenkookietae]

The Book Fortress Tumbles

BTS One shot

Pairing: Boyfriend!Taehyung x reader

Word count: 3,643 words

Warnings: Smut, strong language, sir!kink, dom!tae, teeny tiny bit of angst

Summary: Your exams are starting soon and you’re beyond stressed. You’re trying not to let that show but it all comes bursting out when your boyfriend Taehyung tries to get you to relax. When you realise your mistake, the only thing you can do, is apologise to him. Just not with words.

A/N: My college just announced that our exams will be held starting from 18th September. That’s too less time to mug up the entirety of the semester syllabus. Sigh. This one shot is reflecting my current situation (minus a Taehyung and dedication towards exams). I accidentally posted this when it was half finished lol, I panicked all the time I was taking it down xD.

Disclaimer: This story is an AU fanfiction that I have created using the names of the members of BTS. I do not claim any ownership over the members of BTS. The plot and the personalities of the characters are entirely my own.

Do not plagiarize my work and do not repost.

 *

Moodboard

*I do not claim ownership over any of the pictures. They are credited to their original owners.

“Y/N~” Taehyung sang, skipping up to the study table, a pile of books hiding the person behind from view.

A faint “yes” was whispered softly from behind the walls of what seemed like a book fortress. Taehyung knew that the queen in this fort had probably not even looked up from her current preoccupation.

But somehow, as the “boyfriend”, he had a few special privileges. Somehow he could pull her to cuddle with him when  she had an exam the day next, somehow he could wake her up in the middle of the night and still get her to cook for him, somehow he could steal her ice cream after having his and get her to find him rather cute.

Okay, maybe the last two aren’t true. Those are the things I’d do for her. He thought. Either way, whatever the consequences might be, he felt deprived, almost jealous of bound pages and thick covers.

She had told him a month before, on a day that Taehyung now marked as a blue day in his life, that her exams were coming up and that she’d have to focus on her studies. That she’d have to give her attention to her text books instead of her handsome boyfriend. And the second her exams would be done, they could do whatever he pleased.

Oh, the many many things Taehyung had in mind for everything that pleased him. On top of the list was her name in bold, underlined, Y/N. Y/N had been scanning her books so intently throughout this whole month, it seemed as though she was studying the instructions to defuse a bomb that was seconds from exploding. He hardly saw her around the house, only between the times she came outside to refill her snack jar or water bottle or for her meals. It got to the point where she hadn’t even realised that Taehyung had shifted to her apartment and had been staying with her throughout.

It was funny because they’d share the same bed and wake up inside a warm blanket burrito. Even if she had realised, she hadn’t said a word and Taehyung was more than happy with that. Staying back at his place while she was like this was close to being on an entirely different planet with no forms of communication.

He had picked up a lot of hobbies to distract himself, he played more video games, ate a lot of food, tried cooking (which surprisingly went okay), cleaned her house to make sure she was always comfortable and sometimes worked overtime because everything else was simply boring. But at times when she hadn’t noticed he’d pursue another wonderful hobby. Since Y/N wasn’t really bothered about what Taehyung was up to, he unashamedly spent his time staring at her. She wasn’t even dressed to impress these days, putting on the first thing she reached in her cupboard before sitting down to study.

But she loved being comfortable. And Taehyung noticed how she’d always pick the shortest shorts she had, ones that barely covered the globe of her ass. He would’ve loved those clothes on her every damn day, only if he wasn’t restricted to staying a mile away so she could ‘focus’ and almost suffering from blue balls.

“Y/N~” he whined yet again, choosing to cross over to other side of the fort and poking the bookworm. His plan for the night was to at least get some attention. He had been deprived of it for more than a month, it had reached the point where he would be in an existential crisis from lack of affection.

He would respect all her restrictions, he was being so good at keeping his carnal desires at bay (even if his hand was no match), he hadn’t complained when she finished her food early and left him alone to eat his portion, and definitely didn’t bother her for falling asleep on top of her books. He somehow felt proud of being that boyfriend, the one who’d bring her meals and would carry her back to bed when she’d fallen asleep.

But he just hoped that this, whatever it was, probably a test from the gods, would soon come to an end. And that Y/N would then jump onto his lap and kiss the living daylights out of him to tell him that he passed with flying colours.

All he wanted was a little bit of cuddling that night. The exams were still a week away and she could spare that much for him, couldn’t she?

He poked her again. One last time. And when that earned him nothing more but hummed ‘yes’, he knew it had come down to war. He extended his hands to her waist, caressing the soft flesh before taking on a different turn.

“Taehyungie! Stop!” Y/N hollered, jerking so suddenly that the central defense of her fort broke and tumbled to the ground in all the glory of crumpled and dog eared pages.

All that didn’t bother Taehyung as he tickled her sides, not caring about the curses leaving her mouth at that instant. If he paid any attention, then it would definitely turn him hard.

He picked her up effortlessly, carrying her over to the bed and placing her down. He climbed on top of her slowly, licking his lips as his face leveled with hers.

“Let’s just cuddle for tonight Y/N. You’ve been overworking yourself and it’s okay to take some time off to relieve stress. Relax for today, okay?” Taehyung muttered soothingly, rubbing her arms to warm her skin.

“Or maybe we can do something else to relieve your stress?” He chuckled trying to lighten the passive expression on Y/N’s face but it only made it more poignant. Before he could say anything else, the anxiety all came onto Y/N at once, making her snap.

“Taehyung stop! This is not a joke. My entire career depends on these exams and you’re treating it like a joke! Stop it!” Y/N exclaimed and Taehyung went still. 

He knew she didn’t mean that and she knew that her career was as important to Taehyung as it was to her. He was looking out for her simply. She knew this too.

Sighing, Taehyung slid off her and stood next to the bed.

“Your career is important Y/N, I know that. It is to me too. But you’re taking too much pressure. You need a stress buster once in a while. Maybe this was not the best way and I’m sorry about that but maybe we can watch a movie tonight or-” Taehyung kept thinking of more things but Y/N cut him off.

“No. I am not under pressure. I do not need a stress buster. All I need to do is study and revise like I was already doing.” Y/N said as she looked at Taehyung pointedly, before sliding off the bed and sitting down at her desk.

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” Taehyung gulped. When she didn’t respond, he sighed and left the room as quietly as he could.

Y/N felt bad. When Taehyung had jumped onto her, all her focus flew out of her mind and she finally realised why she had been fidgety all week. Even when Taehyung had offered it to her on a silver platter, she’d refused like a total idiot and was now facing the consequences. From the corner of her eyes, she watched Taehyung through the slightly open door of her room. She could see him laying on the couch, his long legs spread out before him invitingly, his tongue sticking out and jaw flexing as he concentrated on playing the game.

As her eyes slid down, she focused on his hands, his long fingers working the joystick easily, the veins on his arms straining against his skin. Oh, she knew very well what all she wanted him to work with those fingers. The thought made her close her eyes and bite her lip, and she mindlessly clenched her thighs together.

She considered walking up to him right then, but the thought of coming back to him after she’d sent him away so strongly seemed too embarrassing. If that were to happen, Taehyung would never let go of the incident and would tease her about it forever.

In a desperate attempt to calm herself, she turned back to her books, revising topics again and again but still feeling as though she was reading them for the first time ever.  Her eyes slid over to her water bottle as she recited the words she’d just read to herself again.

Tae’s thicker than that. She thought looking over the bottle and imagining a different view in front of her.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” she whispered, realising that her hands were now around the bottle, and she was fisting it with a well known need. Sighing she stood up, knowing she had no choice.

She slipped out of her room, trying not to close the door too hard. Walking straight to her boyfriend, she stood in front of the TV, blocking his view while facing him.

Taehyung looked up at her in confusion, and frowned when the sound of his avatar dying echoed behind her. But as soon as Y/N slid to her knees before him, his lips twisted into a smirk. In a second he threw the joystick in his hand to the side and leaned back into the couch making himself comfortable and pushing his legs closer towards her.

When Y/N bit her lip and stared at him hungrily, he raised an eyebrow.

You just gonna sit there or do something? I’m waiting.

It was so easy to understand everything about him after they’d been together for so long and she didn’t want to disappoint him now. Quickly, her hands unbuttoned his skin tight jeans and unzipped them, while Taehyung simply snuggled deeper into the couch as though waiting for a show about to go down.

Well, something was going down alright. That thing being Y/N.

She struggled to pull off the jeans, huffing every time her strength wasn’t enough, and Taehyung made no effort to help her out. Normally, Taehyung would be praising her throughout, but at the moment her only reward was the delicious view of his thick thighs.

Without wasting a second, Y/N pulled his boxer briefs down to his knees, then to his ankles and her face narrowly missed getting hit by his cock. After more than a month of sexual frustration, her mouth drooled as she laid eyes on his thick, huge cock, veins straining against the length as it stood hard and proud. She was a fool, comparing a stupid water bottle to the masterpiece in front of her.

He was already hard, and Y/N thought he must have been for quite some time through the evening. She’d done that. And she must be the one to fix it.

“Go on darling, suck me off.” Taehyung murmured bringing his fingers to her chin for a moment, tilting her face up and then letting go.

“Yes, sir.” Y/N whispered before taking him into her mouth fully, too hasty and needy to tease him at that point. She flattened her tongue against the smooth skin of his cock, lathering it with her saliva and tasting the salty tang of his precum. As her mouth grew full, she took him as far as she could go, stopping before her gag reflex could hit her and then looking up at Taehyung.

“Fuck. You’re going to kill me with those eyes.” Taehyung grunted, biting his lip harshly and never taking his eyes off Y/N. The sight of her kneeling before him, her mouth full of his cock and her pretty eyes looking at him so innocently - it was too much. His hand raised above his head, gripping the top edge of the couch for support as his jaw slacked and eyes closed.

As he prepared to relax, his eyes snapped open when Y/N picked up speed suddenly and sucked him faster, bobbing her head up and down his length, using her hands to jerk him where she couldn’t take him into her mouth. His eyes threatened to close as hot pleasure shot through him, but he managed to keep them open and fixed them onto Y/N’s eyes. While she sucked him off, he could see the way her hands slid down her body, no doubt seeking for her own pleasure.

But Taehyung was having none of that.

“The only place your hands are allowed to be are on my cock. Understood babygirl?” He glared, and he was surprised that he managed to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Y/N let out something between a whine and a hum, making Taehyung’s eyes roll back into his head. Nevertheless, he felt her figure move and he knew she’d obeyed him.

Straining his eyes to open, he saw her holding her hands behind her back and sucking his cock like her life depended on it. He shifted his hand from his side to her hair, gripping the roots above her neck and momentarily pulling her off of his throbbing member.

“Use your words girl.” He growled, clutching onto her hair tighter and bringing her closer so the head of his cock touched her lips. Y/N let out a soft sigh at the pain, enjoying it more than she should.

“Yes, sir.” she gulped, and immediately Taehyung pushed her back onto him, using the grip on her hair to guide her downward till her nose brushed his skin. Y/N gagged and swallowed, and the sensation made Taehyung’s thighs clench in pleasure.

Y/N didn’t miss that, she kept swallowing and moaning, the soft vibrations of her mouth against his cock, making him climb higher and higher to the edge of his release. And when Taehyung felt her soft hands shift from behind her to massage his balls, his hips jerked and he knew he was close. With three long thrusts into her pretty mouth, Taehyung came with a loud grunt, shooting strings of white hot cum into Y/N’s mouth which she swallowed hungrily.

Taehyung laid there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to normalise his thundering heart. He peeked open an eye to look at Y/N and groaned when he saw her sitting on her knees with her hands on her lap. So obedient.

He leaned forward and held her chin with his hands, tilting up her face and bringing it close to his. His cum glistened on her lips and the thin layer of sweat on her forehead made it look like her skin was glowing.

“That was a very nice apology, babygirl.” He cooed, pecking Y/N’s lips softly. With his thumb, he scooped up a drop of his cum that had dripped onto her chin and pushed it into her mouth, immediately feeling her tongue swirl around his finger.

“And that is forgiveness.” He muttered, cupping her neck and pressing his lips to hers, swiping his tongue against the soft flesh and tasting himself. For Taehyung, it had all been a plan to get attention, and he got more than he had asked for, but if Y/N couldn’t get her release then there was no point.

Y/N felt Taehyung’s hands slowly slide down her skin, coming to rest at her hips where he held her tight. As she deepened the kiss and pushed her tongue into his mouth, he pulled her up and placed her onto his thighs, his cock slipping against the thin material of her shorts.

Her mouth tipped open against his, and she pressed herself onto him, grinding up and down while Taehyung nipped at her skin. When Taehyung cupped her between her thighs she let out a strangled gasp. The sound had woken something primal in Taehyung and he growled against her skin, biting down on the skin above her breast.

It had been so long since they’d done anything together, so long since Y/N had touched herself, that she knew she wouldn’t be able to last long. Taehyung would get his hands on her clit and she’d fall apart and that’s exactly what she needed. More than she had imagined.

Stripping off their clothes was a hasty blur, their mouths never leaving each other’s skin, kissing, nipping, biting, licking and sucking. Taehyung’s hands slid down to Y/N’s now bare heat, groaning at how slick and wet Y/N was.

“You didn’t want to say no to me, did you babygirl? Look at how wet you are.” He murmured, pressing and circling his thumb on her clit making her whimper. She whimpered helplessly when he pushed one long finger into her making her cling to him for support. When his finger curled inside her, she felt a familiar knot of pleasure and she blushed, embarrassed that she was going to come as fast as the time she’d lost her virginity. Too damn fast. She hid her face in the crook of Taehyung’s shoulder, biting down on the tanned skin as his fingers pushed her towards the edge relentlessly.

As Taehyung continued finger fucking her, his mouth was occupied with her breasts, sucking them and littering the skin with deep purple marks.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum on my fingers. Fuck.” He rasped, his teeth pulling at her pebbled nipple and Y/N came all over his fingers, letting out a loud cry and clutching tighter onto his shoulders.

Y/N relaxed against Taehyung’s shoulders, sucking deep breaths to compensate for all the breath Taehyung had knocked out of her with his talented fingers. Taehyung kept his eyes on her heat, pulling his fingers out of her and dragging his tongue over them with a loud a moan.

“So sweet. I missed this.” Taehyung said softly, his eyes closing to savour her taste on his tongue, licking his fingers in a manner to leave no drop untasted.

Just when Y/N had opened her mouth to speak, she jolted in surprise when Taehyung’s cock slid into her, stretching her walls as he reached all the way till he bottomed out. His eyes slowly turned to her, hooded with lust and a glint in his eye that she knew all too well.

This is payback for surprising me earlier.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re squeezing me.” Taehyung groaned, and Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. She couldn’t comprehend words at that moment, her tongue tied with being sensitive and the way Taehyung was rocking his hips into hers.

“You’re still on birth control right?” Taheyung asked through gritted teeth, struggling to pause his movements before his mind spiraled out of control.

“Yes, just please, Tae-” Y/N whined, unable to finish her sentence as Taehyung pulled out and thrust into her. Sitting flush on his lap, Y/N could feel the length of his cock reach into her deeper than ever. With the little energy she had, she raised her hips and pushed herself back onto him at the exact moment that Taehyung thrust upwards.

“Tae!” she moaned, biting her lip so hard she drew blood, a hand coming up to squeeze her breast as the other clutched onto Taehyung’s thigh to make sure she wouldn’t fall off. Taehyung didn’t give her a second to breathe, setting a rhythm, driving deeper and harder into her each time. She knew it was all the built up tension over a month of inactivity and she wasn’t complaining even when her body shook with over stimulation.

Y/N eventually leaned into him, letting him guide her the way he wanted and she loved it. Gripping the soft flesh of her ass he made her ride him, driving her up and down on his cock and getting high on the sounds of their skins slapping together and the way Y/N’s tits bounced right in front of his face.

Despite her usual vocal self, Y/N felt her voice disappear, every word she tried to form dispersing into mewls and whimpers.

Touch me there. She tried to tell him, a moan and a curse leaving her mouth instead, making her frustrated with the building tension. She moved her hand in search of Taehyung’s, sighing almost immediately when his fingers were on her on her clit, rubbing and pinching the bundle of nerves.

Y/N’s orgasm crashed through her with high pitched moan, shattering any coherent sense left in her and numbing her senses where the only thing she felt was the hot seed that Taehyung had shot inside her, his groans muffled by the heavy daze of her mind. It was too much to handle.

“We’re out of practise.” She managed to whisper finally, her voice hoarse and tired. Taehyung chuckled at that, watching Y/N’s chest heave with every breath and syncing it to his own breathing. His thumb rubbed soothing circles onto her skin and he pressed a chaste kiss on her bare shoulder.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby.” Taehyung murmured, softly carding his hands through Y/N’s hair. All the exhaustion she had been feeling caught up to her, what with the tension of qualifying her exams, of meeting everyone’s expectations and the intense overwhelming pleasure she had just experienced.

Her lids dropped slowly, the only thing keeping her awake being the soft brush of cloth against her skin which she assumed was Taehyung cleaning her up. When her back hit the soft mattress and Taehyung’s warmth pressed against her skin, she could barely keep herself from crashing into sleep.

“Sleep Y/N.” Taehyung whispered against her hair, kissing her temple softly and pulling her to him. “Stop making me worry all the time. And don’t you worry either. You’ll do great. And you’ll make us all proud.” He finished, pressing more kisses against her hair and pulling her closer into his chest.

“I love you.”

With those words of reassurance, Y/N smiled just before she drifted off to sleep.

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[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tis the Damn Season

Chapter 6- Last Christmas

Hi all! Sorry she took forever- I edited all by myself, so be gentle!

Plans change. Tickets do too, it seems. Harry's beautiful hope, his gift, it came in handy.

Not in the right way, the intended way. Not because she came to him, ran around the world or even an unfamiliar city with him. Those were dreamy ideas, when she wound up spending all of fall semester in Holmes Chapel. Those daydreams shaded the hospital walls and funeral home with sunny possibilities.

Her father had a heart attack and her mother a breakdown. It was too late, when her mother noticed he'd been out with the dog for too long and the dog was inside whining.

"I knew, in my gut. Day dawned wrong. And then never ended." She'd cried. Her mother had cried in her arms in a reversal Emma felt was way beyond her maturity level.

That hadnt been over the phone. Over the phone had only been muffled sobbing and her dad's name, "John."

Emma didn't call him John, but she could forgive her mother. It was up to her mother's good friend Di to share the news: Emma had always looked up to Di, she'd had some tragic marriage in her youth, and then decided god damned men weren't for her.

At the moment, Emma was of a similar mind.

Emma assumed she'd have a similar life to Di, had planned for it actually. Di had her own house, a thriving career as a solicitor and no children. A life like that, of her own, was Emma's dearest wish before she wished to be able to say yes to Harry.

Now she just wished her dad was still around.

There were so many plans to make, a funeral to finance and a mother to support, to put back together.

It's a wonder Emma wasn't an outright romantic, the way her parents had been, lifelong sweethearts. They still had moon eyes for each other until the very end, could be found holding hands on the couch often. Emma had come home unexpectedly early last year and found her mother sitting on the kitchen counter with her father between her legs making out like teenagers.

It was a lot to live up to.

Emma supposed it was why she kept all her heart eyes and love life in the closet and saved it all up to spend once a year. Just like an old lady's Christmas budget.

This year, she didn't think it would be happening. Harry must have had some rich person thing going on with the ticket, because the minute she decided that rather than ask her mom to buy her a ticket to get home, for the funeral, instead use the one she  had from Harry, he'd called. There was clear excitement in his voice, hot on the heels of her phone call to the airlines. It was August. He was set to embark soon, she'd just got back to Amsterdam. He must have thought she was gonna sneak in a cheeky visit.

"You're coming?"

"What?" She was so disoriented. Coming where? What was going on? Her brain was muffled with plans her feelings kept stumbling over at the knees like a trip wire.

"To see me? I got a notification you used the ticket?"

Her brain was muddled, like an egg in a hot pan, what? How did he do that? "No, Harry, umm I'm not coming. I don't even know where you are right now." She barely knew where she was.

"Whose fault is that?" There was a tiny edge to his voice that would cut her if she could even notice. "You could have answered my calls."

"Harry," she sighed, she had been avoiding him a bit. Mostly because she had an evergreen memory of his disappointed face when she told him going on tour was too much, that she simply didn't have the time. She was glad she couldn't see his face when she said the next bit. His voice was buoyant with hope, she was about to pop that balloon. "I need the ticket to go somewhere else." She couldn't bear to say it, was biting her lip hard not to think it, the liquid memory brimming anyway.

"Yeah, ok. Well, Happy Christmas I guess. See you in four months, maybe." The bitterness in his voice was like an old lemon and she didn't even have time to sweeten it with truth when his phone clicked off.

That made her resentful. How could this truth be sweet in any way? It got worse over time, the resentment just nestled among her other griefs.

Then he wouldn't answer her calls. She supposed that was giving her a taste of her own medicine and it was a quick wash down her throat with no water after the other jagged pill life had just forced down her throat.

And it didn't get better. Though, she had to scoff at herself for even having a square of heart for Harry to break leftover.

Break it did though, when she heard he had a new girlfriend, a blonde, a model, a French blonde model.

Of course.

Emma couldn't help but stalk her instagram. His was useless, ill used, so when she'd finished a day of running the house she'd been a child in while taking care of her grieving mother, she'd torture herself some more and watch stories where the beautiful blonde played in a pool, or made jokes, or showed the big mirror over her bed.

That one hurt most. She'd never seen Harry's bed, nor he hers. The little devil voice inside her head whisper shouted that he much preferred the one he was in now, with the mirror and the model to the tiny inn room they'd spent all their overnights in.

She didn't hear from him, and she never called to explain herself either. What would she say? My life fell apart and I needed your ticket, but it hurt to much to say it out loud and you were to much of an asshole to let me say it.

Harry wasn't an asshole, not really, he was hurt. Emma was stunned she had that power, though she had admitted to herself there was more between them than mistletoe kisses and holiday fucks.

She'd admitted it was more to her.

He acted like it was more to him, unless this was just a bruised ego. She didn't like to think that. Harry had every reason to have a giant head, figuratively to go with the oversized cranium he actually sported, but he'd never shown it. He was cocky at times, just enough to be sexy. All of that was a veneer over a sweet vulnerability that made everybody want to be around him, protect him, love him.

Did she love him?

No, she didn't think so, but given more time, the potential was there, like a rock at the top of a hill, all it would take was a push.

Which, time on tour with him would have been. If she could have went. Which she couldn't. She wanted to explain all of this to him as soon as she has the chance- which she would in 6 hours.

Her promises to herself were that she would not cry and that she would accept his new relationship. His real relationship. Emma would not try to touch him, or kiss him, or confess her almost love to him.

He was probably in love himself, from her internet stalks, she was halfway there, with both of them. Harry edged it out by being perfect in person. Camille, that was frenchies name, could only be half as perfect as Emma made her in her head.

"Do I wear the sweater?" She asked her reflection. She'd had to become her best friend the last six months. Emma might have called her mom her best friend, just based on time spent together, if their relationship was reciprocal, but at this turn of the road, she was supporting her mom as she grieved and got back to herself. Emma could see glimmers. She had hope.

She however wasn't sure she had hope for herself. Was she really contemplating wearing the sweater Harry gave her last Christmas to his mother's Christmas party? How pathetic was that? She was rolling her eyes at herself. He'd had a big year, and he bought lots of gifts, probably for his new girl, so her thinking he'd remember felt narcissistic.

Plus, it was her favorite, which mostly had nothing to do with the fact it was from Harry.

Emma really didn't want to go, but Gemma was expecting her. And she really needed to see her, have her support. They'd been texting, a lot. Gemma had heard about her dad and reached out. It was the only emotionally connection Emma really had, those texts, and she needed to see Gemma, honestly. Even if it meant seeing Harry.

She might have wanted to see Harry.

To explain, and maybe just to see him. Make sure he was happy, feel his warmth, steal him back.

No, that was unlikely. See if he was happy and wish him well.

She wore the sweater.

The house was cozy when she arrived, like it always was and it thawed her heart enough for it to ache a bit. For something new. Her heart ached a fair bit off and on, then went numb. It was the only way she'd survived lately. Emma knew she was putting off really feeling her major loss.

It was a strange pleasure to mourn something as minor as heartbreak.

The hug from Gemma made the trip through the snow and down memory lane worth it. And the people all around her and their laughter were invigorating.

The alcohol helped as well. Their house was pretty dry but had been especially when she started to notice her mom was unconsciously developing a bottle a day habit. When it wasn't there she didn't mention it though, so Emma didn't buy it, except for special occasions.

She was merry, and felt held. Her hand was in Gemma's. She'd stayed away from the back bathroom and the kitchen, even come in the front door.

Emma felt like she was getting away with it.

Harry wasn't there, with girlfriend in tow or not. So all her pontificating about checking on him was all for naught, and she was getting all the crosses. She certainly felt like today was a plus.

Until she heard a tone of elation issue from Anne's happy voice that only motherly joy could produce.

Harry was here.

"Fuck!" Came out of her mouth, and Gemma looked at her sharply.

"What?"

"Nothing, guess I'm jumpy, your mum's shout made me spill." Emma thought she shouted an excuse me while she hurried up the stairs to hide, find a place farthest away from Harry and his happiness. He might be alone, but if he was glowing like a brand, the way he did when they holed up together only slightly dimmed by their parting, now because of it, from some other lover, Emma couldn't stand it.

Plus, she thought she'd heard another name connected to his over her own rated r exclamation.

She was coming out of the bathroom. Emma had suppressed her tears ruthlessly and her bottom lip might bruise from the brutal teeth marks she employed. She'd have given herself some words in the mirror, affirmations helped, but what was she gonna say. "You're happy for him."

She wasn't. She was happy with him.

"Fuck this." Emma decided the only course of action was a straight line to her parents house. her mother's house, she mentally corrected and gave herself a more legitimate reason to cry than over a boy. Even if that boy was Harry Styles.

Who she barely stopped herself from running into as she kept her head down and rounded the bannister to head down the stairs.

"Jesus! You gave me a fright!" She dramatized and kept a hand over her heart and her tear stained face down.

"Emma." His voice was flat, and not cold, but the warmth that snuggled around her name was absent and she shivered. "I wondered if you'd be here." Not Hoped, she noted. "What are you doing up here? Don't your usually use the back bathroom?" There was just a bit of heat in that statement, but it didn't warm, it burned. Was he being mean, that wasn't like him? "Nice sweater." Ok, definitely mean.

Her face came up with that thought, it shocked her out of the sense of control she was exercising.

He did look hard, mean, for a moment, but soft around the edges like a melting popsicle when he caught her face.

"Are you crying?" His hand came up and he stopped it mid air before it wiped away her tear.

Emma felt her body lean into him and another tear slipped out when his warm palm and always chilly finger tips touched her cheek.

God she'd missed him! While she was bolstering her mother, she'd needed support. He was supportive, or would have been. But he wasn't taking her calls, and she couldn't bring herself to text, "my dad died". Then, it was such old news, she figured he'd have heard from Gemma.

He took his hand away like she was a hot cooktop.

He pushed his hair back off his forehead with the hand probably damp with her tears and bravely changed the subject. "How long you in town for this time? Jetting off to some climate refuge hotspot soon?"

Emma flinched. Oh- he didn't know.

"Un, no, I'm living here." She didn't elaborate, maybe saying it out loud was as hard as texting it. "I was actually just about to head home to check on my mum. The back bathroom was in use, and the cold makes me need to pee." What the fuck was she talking about, he didn't need that information.

His dimple pressed in just a bit and he went to say something, but Emma just couldn't. She couldn't look at him anymore, or tell him about why she lived there, or about the ticket he seemed to have been hurt enough to move on over. She definitely didn't want to see evidence of his movement, especially not his upgrade. "Anyway, nice to see you," the words shot out of her mouth, impresonal and true. "Bye Harry."

"Wait Emma!" She thought she heard, but she just kept going. She'd tell Gemma she was sick.

She nearly was when she saw Harry's girlfriend hugging her closest friend in the living room.

"Oh god."

Luckily, when she got home, her mum was awake and feeling chatty, not blue. Emma focused on her and the special she was watching. Let the warm sound of her mother's once common laughter wrap around her as a blanket. It was more comforting than a cup of tea.

She waited until later to cry herself to sleep.

The next day was Christmas- the first without her father. She dried her rightful tears before she saw her mom, though she would have had all the standing in the world for them and she felt better about them than those she's shed the night before. She knew though that her wet face would cause a cascade event, the first drop in a waterfall, so she dried them up.

They had traditions to get through.

And get through they did. They each wrapped a gift for her father that they left under the tree and held each other right before tucking into a late brunch and preparing a boozy and sweet laden Christmas dinner, Emma contributed the puddings.

They were very much her mother's favorite, and she broke out a scandi recipe she'd enjoyed the last several years.

She Skyped her university friends, they exchanged the small gifts she'd mailed them and them her. She missed them something awful. She missed school horribly, so much she even emailed her advisor. All of her heart hoped to return after the winter break.

Emma thought the feeling of missing something was a bit like a paper cut and losing your keys combined.

Harry called late Christmas Day, just a few minutes shy of Boxing Day. That more than stung, it was a gut punch, or a knife plunge, though she'd never had either.

Emma ignored the call from Harry. What was there to say?

Boxing Day, well, Emma wasn't much of a drinker, but it was basically a tenet of British culture to get obliterated while watching the queen.

For the last several years, Emma had been off her face on Harry. This year she chose savingnon blanc with her mum. Two days, then they'd go back to a dry house. Tradition was tradition, and she couldn't think about the one she'd started and ached all over for.

What a pale imitation of ecstasy drunkenness was, though she supposed they both left a hangover, a residue.

Her bed, when she begged off to it early was warm and fragrant, but it smelled all wrong. No sandalwood or black coffee, not even the mint she'd come to associated with the comfort of love, or something like it.

It was worse, because when she closed her eyes, having seen Harry's someone in person, she could see him snugged up to her, so cozy. It was in their place, their room at the Boat's Head.

It was over, Boxing Day, when she puked.

She had another missed call from Harry. 11:59 Her personal witching hour.

The next day was a little bit better, either because she had her literal hangover to tend, or because she'd ripped the bandaid off her hurt and let the wound air.

"Hiya!" Gemma's voice and face were bright, unlike the gray day.

"Hello." Emma smiled and her voice held it, she held onto it. "You're merry!"

"Yeah, I'm at the pub. Everybody is at the pub," she flashed the phone around so Emma could see the waving swaying people, "we wanted to get you outta the house, you made such an effective Irish exit the other day you've let your people down, we need to see your smile. You feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you." Emma thought about it, there was a pull to the pub. "Um, maybe I can swing over."

It only took a few minutes to throw on jeans and a jumper, not her former favorite. The walk was a little longer.

When she found them, her first comment was "Im not drinking!" Over a grimace.

"Too much wine with old Elizabeth, huh? " Gemma Laughed

"Yes! Did you know my mum has a long pour?" Emma shared with a laugh.

"No, but mine's gotten more heavy on the booze with me lately, they must like the new stages. Daughters as actual friends and drinking partners. Mum is thrilled!" Gemma grinned.  "So am I! Harry's a little jealous."

Emma tried to catch her grimace before it stomped across her face. Gemma kept talking and she thought she'd got away with it.

"He wants to be one of the girl's! He came down last night and mum, Camille and I were sharing wine and mum was showing her atrocious pictures. You'd think he'd be mad or embarrassed! He was like, 'Where's my glass?'" Gemma was staring at her while she chuckled.

Emma had less success not responding. Her face was a picture she was sure, a jealous one. And then she heard herself asking, "what's she like?" She gulped down the g word she almost voiced. "Camille?"

Gemma made a funny face, then looked at her again. "Um, she's silly and kinda quiet and I think she's worried my mom will care she's posed nude."

She wouldn't. That wasn't Anne's style. And if she did have an issue, she'd never voice it. She was really big on respecting her kids choices. Even some of the stupider ones Harry had made.

Was she ranked among those now?

"Why do you ask?" The gentleness in a Gemma's voice told Emma she knew more than she was saying.

Emma couldn't explain, she was still in such a tender state, like a fissured piece of glass, she knew she couldn't go over it. "I just hope Harry's happy."  It was the only true thing she could say.

And Gemma, bless her just looped her arm through Emma's and said like she was holding a cracked egg. "He is." She left it at that, before she stood, pulling Emma after her. "And we need another drink." Apparently Emma was drinking, she needed it.

They spent another couple hours at the pub and Emma walked home through the soft snow. Her nose was stuffy, and her eyes were leaking, and she was drunk. Least she realized she must be, cuz she was crying. She really hated crying.

She was still weeping under her breath when she got home and found Harry on her doorstoop.

"You're still here?" She boggled. She assumed he'd taken his girlfriend to his big London home Emma had never been to, since she wasn't ever his g word.

"Yeah." He rubbed his hands over his corduroy flares. She'd consider what that might mean, but the pants distracted her. Those were new, must be getting fashion influences from new places, mew people. Those pants were roomy for him. He looked good in them. He looked good, happy.

"Did you need something?" Seeing himwas ripping her guts out and she could barely keep more tears at bay. Her insides were dangerously close to the skin now, tender and exposed. She hoped the distance between them and the weather and, well, maybe his rose colored glasses brought on by loving some other girl, he wouldn't notice her crying.

Over him. At the moment.

"No, I, um," he swallowed. "I thought we might talk." He made those green eyes at her and she hated it. Cuz they were soft and for someone else these days.

"I think we've said it all."

"We haven't said anything, not really, in a year."

"Yeah, well actions over words mate." Good, she was angry. She tried to go around him, into her door. Out of the cold and this situation.

"Emma, wait." He caught her shoulders and her blood froze in her veins but her tears were hot on her cheeks. "I'mso sorry about your dad." He choked up too.

She looked at him and let hurt run down her face, didn't even bother trying to stiffen her upper lip. When he opened his arms, she went to him and cried in a way she really hadn't let herself, into the comfort of his scent, the hurt of his presence.

Emma wasn't sure how long she cried, they wound up siting on the cold stone bench when their knocking knees froze.

"S that why you used the ticket?" He whispered against her hair sometime later.

She nodded. Sniffed up her tears and his pain laced smell.

"Why didn't you call me?"

She shrugged.

"I would have understood. And I would have come, to be with you."

Her tears apparently hadn't run out. She knew that, but she was hurt, by his hurt and his expectation.

She looked up at him. Her lips were so close to his, the outer edge that felt so plush and lovely.

That was a Liberty she didn't have. Maybe never a right she had, like him just expecting her to drop her goals to go to him.

"Where's your girlfriend?" She said the word like the four letters it felt like it was to her.

"Um," he stumbled over the subject change . "She was tired."

"You tell her you were coming to see a girl you used to fuck?"

"What?" He looked at her with a frown and Emma supposed she was being mean, mean but honest. "Don't say it like that. That's not what we were about."

Emma quirked a brow at him. "No?"

"Listen, why are you being like this?" He swallowed and looked like the wronged party when he was the one who assumed the worst of her, then abandoned her, moved on, and showed up, she could only assume, to rub it in her face.

The last year had been the worst of her life, and he'd been part of that. Mostly his absence.

Whoever's fault that was.

"Look, I don't need your pity or your condolences. Or your forgiveness. You just assumed I was taking advantage of you like you didn't know me at all. Which I realized is true apart from knowing what I look like naked, right? Let's be honest Harry? Huh, I'm just the girl you used to fuck over break. Your Christmas bit of fun. Til you found your next model. Who you couldn't wait to come home and show off, right in my face. So if we were more, you're a heartless asshole." She was crying over him now, but half the tears at least were angry and her face must be bright red.

The kicked puppy look on his face was so genuine and felt so false to her she could scream. "Why would I even think you would care if I had a girlfriend or not? If anybody was just the person the other thought of as a holiday fling, it was you about me, Emma."  He huffed, took down the finger he'd stood up to point at her. "I tried for more, asked for more?"

"When?" He'd asked for more, how'd she miss that?

"What'd you think the ticket was for? That was me asking you for more, at least more time?"

"I don't have extra time." She countered. Emma supposed that was some mealy mouthed passive way of saying you wanted to spend time with a person at least.

"And I do?" He yelled that before taking a big breath and muttering sorry. "Listen, I know what you're about, and that you are very serious saving the world, but I'm just as busy as you, more, and I would have made time for you."

"Why?" She stood up into his space. "So I could just miss you more, fall more for you and not get to have you in any real way? To torture myself?" And there is was. Emma knew the ache of the first weeks without him, and she'd always counted their brief time together as worth it. Subjecting herself to more just seemed masochistic. "Have more time with you so I have to get over you all over again multiple times a year."

"Who says you would have had to get over me? We could have been together!" Both of their voices had escalated past the bounds of polite disagreement.

"Together in every way except literally?" She threw her hands out at her sides. "What's the point of that?"

"The point?" He huffed. "The point is that I wanted you and you wanted me, and we could have had each other, but you're too busy," he sneered, "and couldn't talk to me."

"I couldn't talk to anyone!" She screamed. "I was supposed to text you that my dad died and I needed to use the ticket that was supposed to be a gift but was more like a curse, to take care of my mom. That my dream was at best on hold while I made sure my mum could get out of bed?" He looked a little slapped. "While you were off what? Being a rockstar? Having a record breaking year? Moving on? Out of spite?!" She didn't want to think that, but she'd wondered. She knew she was giving herself to much credit. "Why you made sure to bring her to Holmes Chapel? You take her to the Boar's Head too? Or just fuck her in your mum's powder room?" The words were explosive, the cadence like charges lighting off each other. Emma felt like a powder keg.

He was shaking his head. "Stop it. No, no, I didn't move on, not until I thought you were done with me."

"Oh, when I needed you and you wouldn't answer my calls?"

He looked at the ground then. When his eyes came up , the lovely green of them was even more vibrant, due to the tears crowding around their ages. "Emma, I'm so sorry about that. I'll never forgive myself."

His sincerity softened her, though the anger she'd wrapped around herself like a coat was all that was keeping her ribs together.

"I'm so sorry, I know the last year has been more than anybody should have to bear, especially alone." He took  a big breath. "But Camille, I didn't, it's not," he stumbled over the words like they were glass edges, but Emma had a feeling she was the one who was about to get cut. "Um, she and I just met and, well, we, we get on." That was a kind way to put it. "I wasn't looking for somebody else. But I was lonely and she's," the changes on his face ripped through Emma. "She's lovely. I brought her home, because I wanted mum to meet her." That told Emma everything.

"You love her?" She already knew the answer.

He ran his hand through his locks, avoided eye contact until the last second, "yeah, yeah, I think I might."

Emma was nodding, biting her lip to gatekeep the fresh round of tears threatening. "That's good Harry, I'm," she breathed, "I'm happy for you."

He looked at her then. "Really?"

"Course, I care about you, your happiness." That brought on the tears and he reached for her and she had to throw up her hands to keep him away. "No, no, please don't touch me."

His phone rang, he was the only person she knew who actually kept their ringer on. Well the only person under 50, it made her smile. Then cringe, the weird personal knowledge she had because of how much of an almost they were. From his face, Emma knew it was his actual calling.

"Um," he shady buttoned the call. "I have to go."

"Yeah," was all she could respond with, she already knew that. "Well, have a happy nee year Harry. You sticking around?" God she hoped not. May have to convince her mum to go to London if so.

He shook his head, "Um no, we're going to Paris." Ouch. Emma tried for subtle when she wrapped an arm around herself. "Sorry, I'd like," he always looked so genuine lately, in every interview she'd watched to hurt herself, his heart on his sleeve, in his eyes now. "I'd like to hug you, think you could stomach it?"

Emma nodded and went to him for the barest second and then concentrated on the pressure behind her eyes while he kept her close. "I'm so sorry Emma, for everything. I'd really like to be friends," he'd pulled back to hold her eye line at that.

She nodded, she wasn't sure how she'd handle that, but at best it was a couple phone calls, and no weekends away, they hadn't mentioned that in their middle state, she didn't think it would be to hard to keep him at arms length when they had continents between them most times. "Yeah, ok, friends. You take care of yourself, Harry." Emma was a strong girl, woman now, she could handle some texts and a phone call or so.

He kissed her cheek, a continental affectation she closed her eyes over and turned to go. He was almost out of the gate when he turned back. "I'd never take her to the Boar's Head, by the way, that's our place. I'd never take anybody else there." Before she could even think of a response he looked away quick and started to go. "Take care of yourself, Emma. Happy New Year." That came back to her on the wind.

Blew away like the hold she had on the heart she'd given him last Christmas. At least he was someone special.

[gohyuck]

all that glitters (mark lee) teaser

pairing: rich!mark lee x rich!reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings (in teaser): rich people, neglectful parents, mention of deceased pet and said deceased pet’s grave, descriptions of a panic attack

teaser length: 988

fic length: 5-6k

commissioned: yes

When Mark had been younger, he’d always wanted a pet. 

His aunt had raised his cousins alongside a beautiful chocolate lab named Fudge, a sweet, playful dog that had taken to Mark just as much as she’d taken to her own masters. Many of the times Fudge had gently nuzzled a toddler Mark, making the young boy squeal, or the moments where Fudge had patiently nudged Mark off of her as the human menace had unknowingly pulled her ears or tail had all been recorded for posterity on VHS camcorders. The tapes themselves are currently collecting dust in a shoebox under Mark’s bed. 

At age 7, when a shy Mark had gone to Donghyuck and Jeno’s house from school, his own house locked as his parents worked and him being too afraid to play with the other kids his age, he’d played catch with Fudge and his little cousins for hours on end. At age 10, when Mark’s grandmother had unexpectedly passed away, Fudge’s fur had soaked his tears in, night in and night out. At age 12, when he’d been petsitting for his cousins, Fudge had run into the pretty neighbor girl’s yard, forcing Mark to finally talk to you for once rather than stare at you from across your gardens. 

Fudge had died three weeks after Mark’s 15th birthday. This time, it’d been your shirt that had taken in all of his tears, your hand gently running through his hair as he bawled his eyes - and heart - out into your chest. It’d been you that’d suggested burying Fudge in the woods near the cliff that overlooked your city, and it’d been you that’d managed the impossible and convinced Mark’s parents to let him skip a flute lesson to help bury the dog he so truly and deeply loved. 

Mark’s parents had never gotten him a pet, going so far as to cite his devastation over Fudge as reason enough for him not to get a dog after her passing. What they had gotten him, though, at age 16, was a Suzuki AEM Carbon Fiber Hayabusa and the okay to get a motorcycle license instead of a standard driver’s license. Mark had taken one look at the price tag - a clean $200,000, deal made via private dealer - and decided then and there that he’d never ask his parents for anything again.  

To be fair, he hadn’t necessarily wanted the bike, either. It’d simply been a happy surprise. What he’d actually asked for - and had never gotten - was to be able to spend his birthday with both of his parents. They’d both sent regretful texts to him at the same time, two hours after he’d asked them each individually: two different variations of ‘I’ve got work, love, I’m sorry but I swear I’ll make it up to you!’

They were both high up enough in their respective jobs to be able to choose when to take days off. Mark had always suspected where he lay in terms of priority. His parents had just confirmed it that day. 

Therein, Mark supposes as he stares down at Fudge’s makeshift grave, hammered-together cross as a gravemarker and all, is the true reason he hasn’t asked either of them for jackshit since he turned 16. He’s currently looking at the grave of the only entity that’d ever lived that truly gave a damn about him. 

This is a lie. He knows it the moment it surfaces in his mind. He has his cousins, his aunt and uncle, his friends both from late childhood and college. His parents have love for him too, he’s sure, even if they’re damn awful at showing it. The real issue, at least at hand, is the question of you and how much you care about him. 

God, he’s fucked up. He tells Fudge so. 

“God, I’ve fucked up,” Mark murmurs, voice hoarse from not having spoken in hours. He’d been driving around for hours, only stopping to fuel - and think - after his discussion with you about 10 minutes out from Fudge’s grave. It’d been then that he’d realized how disheveled he must look - Mark had only thrown his black leather jacket over what he’d been wearing at home, not sparing you a second glance as he’d gotten out of a situation he could not stand to stay in any longer. The few minutes spent fueling had felt like an hour then, weighing down harder and harder on Mark’s shoulders the longer time passed. 

Now as the wind whips at his face - his helmet is slung over the handlebar, and his bike is parked a few meters back so it’s at a safe enough distance away from the steep drop of the cliff - he wishes he’d at least thought to grab a scarf, or something. The Brunello Cucinelli suit he’s got on may look warm, but it isn’t. He is not dressed in a way that’s suited for the weather.

Still, he has to be here. He has to tell someone how he feels, why he does what he does and says what he says. He has to be understood... But he thought you understood him? You had understood him once, right? What’s changed? Why don’t you -

It’s sudden in the way these things are. Mark’s breath gets punched out of him, and it’s as if his tears have an agenda of their own. He’s gasping for air before he realizes he’s doing so, and the water that drips down his cheeks is flung back towards him before he gains the presence of mind to turn away from the wind. It’s as if his lungs are too small and his chest is too big, and for a moment, Mark fears that it’ll always be like this. That this is his life now. He doubles over, staying there for a moment before letting out the kind of groan that could wake the dead and sinking to his knees.

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[keichanz]

More Than

so i was listening to the song More Than My Hometown by Morgan Wallen which is now my new obsession and i shit you not, the ending to this little drab popped into my brain so fast i knew i had to write it down. thus, this angsty little blurb was born. 

now as i was writing, i realized that it was giving off sooo many One Last Ride vibes, written by the ever so talented @lemonlushff​​, that i decided to tweak this so it could tuck somewhere into the story itself as a sort of unofficially official glimpse of their breakup. i’m happy to report that it has Lemon’s official seal of approval and she loved it! 

so now i’m gonna share it with all you fine folks and i hope you enjoy it too! :) and since it is in the OLR universe, there will be angst hahahaa. 

so this is for you Lemon, my sweet and sour friend~ ❤️ 

one last thing--i highly recommend either having the song above playing while you read this, or at least listen to it beforehand. yes, it’s a country song, but it really is so good and the lyrics - which i’ve italicized and bolded - seem to reflect Inuyasha’s thoughts perfectly, which is why i thought it fit so well with OLR’s theme. 

....shit okay one last last thing: i swear to fuck that the ending jumped out of a scene from a goddamn western harlequin romance novel with its level of cliche and drama and yes i am entirely proud of that fact ;ljadfilajflkahjsfue

She stood beside the bed, feeling empty, cold, hollow as she stared down at the pillows and blankets. It was still unmade, the sheets twisted, messy from her hasty retreat just that morning. Tears burned her eyes as she remembered why; the argument, the begging, the screaming. The heartbreak.

Her heart twinged and Kagome gasped, closing her eyes as she brought up a hand to cover her mouth. Was this…was this really it? Were they really going to leave things like this, unresolved and painful between them? God, she didn’t want to. She wanted to run outside, run through the night to his house, throw open the front door and beg him to—

Her bedroom door crashed open and Kagome gasped, whirling around with wide, liquid eyes, heart in her throat. Golden eyes, furious, hard, bore into her own and suddenly a heat suffused her body, chasing away the previous chill, and her stomach swooped as he shut the door and stalked toward her.

Her breath left her in a stuttered exhale, body trembling, coming alive from the heat in his gaze.

“Inuy—”

“Shut up,” he growled, grabbing her waist, hauling her in tight against him. His lips fell over hers, swallowing her gaps, the crush of his mouth hard, unforgiving, punishing.

Hands – frantic, desperate – removed clothing, touching, grabbing, caressing. They fell on the bed in tangle of limbs, skin against skin, heart against heart, flushed, needy, desperate. Growls, moans, whispered pleas echoed throughout the darkness of the room as they rocked together, moving in a dance as old as time. Fingers grasping sweat slicked skin, hearts thundering wildly and then perfectly syncing in a moment of euphoric completion. A stuttered breath, a gasp of a name; then silence.

Tears trekked down her flushed face as she was gathered against a hard chest, as familiar arms wrapped around her stated body and held her as she cried.

Girl, our mamas are best friends and so are we The whole town's rooting for us like the home team Most likely to settle down Plant a few roots real deep and let 'em grow

Kagome stood in front of the full-length mirror and ran a brush through her still damp hair, the yellow and blue sundress she wore complimenting the blue of her eyes. Blue eyes that were dull as they stared at her reflection, but didn’t really see it.

Which was just as well. She didn’t know why she picked this dress to wear, but had felt compelled to wear it anyway, even if looking at it made the vice on her heart tighten even more.

A gentle knock on her door startled her out of her thoughts and she blinked. Kagome turned her head in time to watch her mother crack open the door and poke her head inside, her smile kind, but her eyes sad. The older woman took in her daughter and her smile faded, but she didn’t comment as she stepped inside.

“Souta brought the car around,” she said softly. “And the keys are in it. Do you need help with your bags?”

“No,” Kagome answered and looked at her reflection again. “I packed most of them in the car last night. I just have my carry-on left.”

Mama nodded but said nothing as gazed at her daughter. Her heart ached at the pain she saw reflected in those dear features, in the eyes were that identical to her late husband’s—Kagome’s father.

“Kagome…” she started, but then sighed as those sad, sad eyes turned toward her once again. Mama shook her head. “Are you going to say goodbye?”

Kagome’s breath hitched. She didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the butterflies that took flight in her belly.

“I…I’m going to try,” she whispered and god help her, but she couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes. “But Mama, I don’t…he probably doesn’t want to see…”

Her throat tightened and she pressed her lips tightly together to stifle the sob that welled up. Immediately arms, warm and familiar, surrounded her. Kagome buried her face in her mother’s shoulder as the tears spilled from her eyes.

“I’ll talk to Izayoi,” Mama murmured and kissed her daughter’s head, her heart aching for her little girl as she felt her own eyes getting hot with the threat of tears. “If anyone can talk some sense into that boy, it’s his mother.”

Kagome sniffled and nodded, grateful that her mother would help her in this endeavor. It was unlikely he’d want to see her, but she had to at least try…

Closing her eyes as her mother rubbed her back and smoothed her hair, Kagome clung to her mother and let herself remember, the memories flashing before her mind’s eye and then fading away just as quickly, only to be replaced by another one, fresher, more precious, more painful than the one before.

But we can't stop this real world from spinnin' us Your bright lights called, I don't blame you for pickin' up Your big dream bags are all packed up and ready to go But I just need you to know

“Shhh! Quit laughing or they’ll hear us!”

Another badly stifled giggle echoed in the night as he drew her into the darkness of the trees, toward their secret spot they’d found years ago. One hand held a six pack while the other held tight to her hand, fingers laced, and he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face before an exhilarated chuckle of his own burst from his lips.

Darkness gave way to the orange glow of a fire, the soft crackling of wood breaking the stillness of the night.

“Why is this so good?”

“Because we’re seventeen.”

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Shut up and maybe we won’t be.”

“Hey, this was your idea—”

The rest of the words were stolen in a kiss, a hand coming up to cradle her jaw as a ragged sigh whispered against her lips. He tasted like beer and spearmint gum. She smiled. A strange combination, but it was him, and she loved it.

--

“You should have seen it, Inuyasha,” Kagome gushed a year later, sitting on her bed as she excitedly gushed about her time in LA to her best friend. “The sunset was absolutely gorgeous, like nothing you’ve ever seen before! God, I wish you were there with me. I just know you’d love it.”

Inuyasha smiled and reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I doubt I can love anything more than you.”

Blue eyes widened as a flush spread across her cheeks; her breath hitched, lips forming his name and eyes drifting closed as he leaned forward and took her mouth in a warm, lazy kiss.

--

“Would you ever wanna go?”

“Go where?” Fingers racked through dark hair and her sigh was blissful, a soft melody in his ears.

“California.”

“…You mean like…visit?”

“Well, maybe longer than a visit…like an extended trip, or something…lots of opportunities out that way…”

A brief pause before the fingers continued. “No. …Do you?”

“Mmm…dunno. Maybe after graduation? I had so much fun last time, but…”

“But what?”

A pause. Then, “Nothing. Kiss me.”

A husky chuckle before a pair of lips covered her own and any thoughts about the Golden State far, far from her mind as she returned his kiss.

That I love you more than a California sunset More than a beer when you ain't twenty-one yet More than a Sunday morning Lord Turnin' some poor lost souls 'round, Hallelujah bound

“Ewww, get that away from me!”

“C’mon Kagome, it’s just a worm! It ain’t gonna bite ya!”

“Eeee! Inuyasha, don’t you dare—!”

Laughter as he chased her around with a baited hook, the sound of water splashing as bare feet waded into the lake.

“Wait, I think I got something!”

The crank of a fishing rod as he reeled it in, the water splashing as whatever was caught struggled against the pull. Grunting, muttered curses, and soft giggling before with a splash the bass burst from the water, dangling from the hook.

“You got it!”

“Damn, ain’t nothing more satisfying than that feeling when the bass hits the hook!”

“I can think of one thing…”

Soft lips, warm and smiling, pressed against his own and Inuyasha abruptly decided that yeah, this was definitely better.

--

“California?”

“Yeah! Can’t you just imagine it, Inuyasha? The lights, the nightlife, the ocean, and no more snow! You always complain about the snow.”

“Yeah, but…Kagome, I don’t know…”

“Just think about it, okay? I’m not asking for you to decide right now. But this is something I’ve thought about for a while now, Inuyasha, and I just…I want to experience it with you. Please?”

A pause, and then heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

A brilliant smile, soft lips pressing to his cheek in a warm kiss. “You know I love you, right?”

“…I know, Kagome. Me, too.”

--

“I can’t believe you’re reading that crap.”

“It’s not crap, it’s romantic. You could probably learn something or two from these books, you uncultured dog.”

“Uncultured? Really?”

“Besides, I like it when the guy gets the girl at the end. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“I can make you feel all warm and fuzzy, too.”

Her gasp was cut off as lips pressed against her neck and hands slipped beneath her shirt to roam across soft skin. The book fell from her fingers to dive into silver hair, eyes closing as her head fell back with a breathy sigh.

--

“Yes.”

The blood was rushing so loudly in his ears he barely heard her and the thundering of his heart against his chest was so forceful, it was a wonder it didn’t leap out into her waiting hands. 

“Y-yes?” he echoed, voice naught but a disbelieving rasp as he stared at her with wide, shocked - and cautiously hopeful - golden eyes.

A half-sob, half-laugh burst from her lips and her eyes were bright from more than just the unshed tears brimming the beautiful depths.  Lips trembled as she smiled, hand trembling even more as she held it out before her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Inuyasha, I’ll marry you. I—”

What she felt next wasn’t the cool metal of his grandmother’s ring as it found a new home on her finger, but instead the warmth of her beloved’s hand as it wrapped around hers and yanked her forward into his arms. They tumbled to the ground, laughing, crying, exchanging endless kisses and promises of forever as the ring, forgotten on the ground but still nestled within the velvet box, glittered merrily in the warm glow of the fire.

Yeah, I love you more than the feeling when the bass hits a hook When the guy gets the girl at the end of the book But, baby, this might be the last time I get to lay you down 'Cause I can't love you more than my hometown

“Come with me.”

Silence; thick, stony. Cold.

Desperation made her voice high, the words falling from her lips fast. “Inuyasha, please, come back with me—we’d have such an amazing time together, learning, living and—you can enroll in my school, Inuyasha! It’s not too late, there are so many programs to choose from, and I just think you can do so much more with your life than—”

“Than what, Kagome?” The words were snapped, harsh, biting as he whirled around to peg her with a hard stare. “Than taking on the valued responsibility of the ranch that’s been in my family for fucking generations? Than building our fucking house? You know, the one we'll live in after we’re married? I can’t do that, Kagome. I won’t.”

“But that’s just it, Inuyasha, you have no room to grow here! You’re stifled by the responsibility you feel to take over the ranch when leaving could relieve you of that burden! The world is so big, Yash, and there’s so much more beyond this little town, so if you would just trust me—”

“You’re asking me to drop and leave everything I know behind, Kagome!” His voice was loud, thunderous in his anger, his frustration, his pain. “This my home, our home, and you just want me to leave like it don’t even matter! Like the fucking life I’m trying to build for us don’t even matter!”

“That’s why I’m asking you to come with me!” Tears, hot, salty ran unchecked down her face, blue eyes big and pleading and flashing with undisguised panic. “I want to be with you, Inuyasha, I do, but I need you to understand—!”

“Then be with me here, dammit!” A note of desperation, amber eyes pleading, frantic, angry.

A choked sob, a muffled whimper. “I can’t…”

An anguished sound, a shattered cry, and then a door slamming shut, loud, devastating, final.

--

The words slammed into him harder than any blow he’d ever received, the shock greater than hitting the unforgiving ground after falling off a horse, and the pain far, far worse than he ever could have imagined.

Fuck, it would have hurt less if she’d just outright slapped him in the face.

She wouldn’t look at him, her gaze focused on the ground, dark hair hiding her expression. He swallowed once, twice; his mouth felt like a desert, his tongue heavy, thick, useless. His throat worked but no sound came out. Ice replaced the blood in his veins, freezing his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“Wh…what did you s…” He shook his head, swayed on his feet as he blinked hard. He couldn't have heard her right. She couldn't have just told him—

“…I cheated on you. Inuyasha, I—”

He didn’t hear the rest of what she said. His legs abruptly gave out and he stumbled back, sitting down hard onto the fallen log behind him. The log he’d proposed to her on. The log they’d kissed on—

He shook his head again, a frown pulling his brows down low over his eyes as he tried to register the words spilling from her mouth a mile a minute. Two days…two days ago. That—that didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t—he couldn’t smell anything, couldn’t detect any sort of incriminating evidence that suggested she’d been unfaithful. 

Amber eyes lifted, flashing with tentative hope. She’d been drunk—she didn’t remember, so maybe if he told her—

The sight of his grandmother’s ring, nestled in the middle of her palm, might as well have been his heart because it sure as sure shit felt like she’d just ripped it out of his chest. His stomach clenched, the breath seized in his lungs, and a curious numbness spread throughout his entire body. The realization hit him even harder than the pain had, and that in and of itself would have brought him to his knees had he not already been sitting. 

Honeyed eyes, agonized, pleading, lifted to her face. Again she would not meet his gaze, eyes closed against the tears that spilled down her cheeks. He suddenly tasted salt and with a start he realized he was crying too, the tears warm as they streaked down his pale face but he gave them no mind. 

“K…Kagome…” It was the only thing he could get through a throat tight from anguish. A plea, a prayer, a question all in one as he stared at her, heedless of the tears that continued to fall. 

Her eyes squeezed shut and she shook her head; a clenched sob broke from her lips as she reached forward, grabbed his hand, closed his fingers around the ring, giving it back, giving back his heart that she no longer wanted. Pain, sharp and intense, pierced through him and he gasped, unable to do a damned thing as she backed away from him, arms folded around herself.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, shaking her head, over and over, backing away. “I just…I can’t…”

A sob, borne of a sorrow so deep, of regret and fear and pain so sharp it felt it in the very marrow of his bones, broke free of her lips right before she whirled around and dashed away, through the night, through the trees, away from the fire, away from him.

Inuyasha could do nothing but sit there, his rejected grandmother’s ring clutched in his fist and his vision blurry from hot tears as he watched her run. Curious, that instead of the crushing pain he expected to feel in his chest, there was a hollow ache that resonated, like an echo of a mournful howl for the one who had just run away with his heart.

What hurt more than the pain of watching her go, however, and more than the diamond cutting into his palm, was the jarring realization that the woman he loved more than his own life would rather fabricate a lie of infidelity than be with him. 

And because he loved her more than his own happiness…he’d let her. 

I ain't the runaway kind, I can't change that My heart's stuck in these streets like the train tracks City sky ain't the same black Ain't that a map dot shame, man, to think that

Sitting on his bed, freshly showered and donned in simple jeans and a t-shirt, Inuyasha’s head was bowed between his shoulders and his arms were propped on his knees. His hands, clenched into tight fists, gradually relaxed and a breath he hadn’t’ even realized he’d been holding rushed from his lungs, escaping his mouth in a harsh exhale that did absolutely nothing to absolve the torment wreaking his mind.

As the last vestiges of the memory faded away, far more painful than all the ones before, he opened his eyes and stared down at the hardwood floor, scuffed and scratched and worn. He frowned, his chest feeling tight, his stomach in knots, his muscles tensing and relaxing with a restless energy that was hard to ignore. He wanted to punch something, to run, to fight, fight for her to stay, fight for them.

But he remained where he was, hands flexing, jaw clenched, eyes shut tight against the pain that was determined to bring him to his knees. God, why, why did she have to—

Gentle rapping on the door before it was cracked open. He didn’t look up but he didn’t need to; he knew why she was here. The ache in his chest intensified, sharped, traveled up to knot in his throat and make it harder to breathe.

She didn’t say anything at first, simply stared. Then, “…She wants to see you.”

Inuyasha turned his head, looked out the window.

A pause. Then a sigh, resigned, sad. “Asako called. Before she showed up at the door, I mean. Asked me to talk to you. Said I would, but didn’t make any promises.” Pause. “You already know how I feel about her doing this, but…you should at least say goodbye. You’ll regret it if you don’t. You know you will.”

A tightening of his jaw and a deep furrowing of his brow was her response.

“…I’m sorry, my love.”

The door closed with a soft click.

A minute passed. Two. Three.

Inuyasha exploded to his feet, grabbed the lamp on the nightstand, and hurled it against the wall with a roar that was equal parts rage, frustration, and deep, intense anguish that reverberated throughout the entire house; echoing, thunderous, shattering.

Deafening silence followed his outburst; he sank to his knees and wept.

I love you more than a California sunset More than a beer when you ain't twenty-one yet More than a Sunday morning Lord Turnin' some poor lost souls around, Hallelujah bound Yeah, I love you more than the feeling when the bass hits a hook When the guy gets the girl at the end of the book But, baby, this might be the last time I get to lay you down Cause I can't love you more than my hometown

It was impossible not to hear it. As the color drained from Kagome’s face and her heart clenched in her chest, Izayoi stared at her with eyes hardened from the ache she was feeling for her son, the sorrow she felt at his heartbreak twisted into bitter, resentful anger at the woman standing before her.

Kagome closed her eyes, bit her lip to stifle the sob that welled in her throat, sucked in a shaky breath meant to harden her resolve. It didn’t and she fought not to fall apart on the front porch, locking knees that threatened to give out on her.

“Go,” Izayoi muttered in a voice like flint and ignored the younger woman’s flinch. “You’ve done enough damage here. And I’m not talking about whatever he just destroyed.”

Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. Her throat tightened, preventing any words, protests, to spill from her mouth. She stared at the older woman with wide eyes, someone who she, for the longest time, had looked upon as a second mother, someone to confide in, to trust.

She found none of the warmth that she was used to seeing. No fondness, no compassion, no understanding. Coldness spread through Kagome’s veins, turning her blood to ice, knotting in her stomach, heavy, uncomfortable.

Izayoi stared back, cold, unforgiving, unregretful.

“I’m sorry,” Kagome whispered.

The older woman pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away, arms tight across her chest.

Rejected, heartbroken, Kagome turned, her feet feeling heavy as they carried her back to her car. The tears ran unchecked down her face now, streaming down pale cheeks. She tasted salt and she got in the vehicle, closed the door. Her body felt like it was on autopilot as she revved the engine and started down the long dirt driveway.

It wasn’t until she had gone halfway that she broke down, great, gasping sobs erupting from her throat. Her vision was blurry from the unending tears and her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Without even realizing it her foot had slipped from the accelerator and she was merely coasting now, too distraught, too tormented to think about anything else but the pain ravaging her heart. Unbidden one last memory, the most recent, flashed before her mind’s eye, twisting the knife keeper, crushing her, killing her…

“Don’t do this.”

He froze at the softly uttered words, spoken in a tone so raw with pain that it trembled. He swallowed hard and turned his head just the slightest bit, but said nothing.

Silence. Thick, tense, deafening.

Then he tightened his jaw, hardened his eyes, and continued putting his boots on.

A choked sob, the rustle of cloth. “Inuyasha, please—”

“I’m sorry.”

He stood up from the side of the bed and refused to look at her as he collected his jacket, still sitting in a heap on the floor from where it was hastily thrown the night before.

A stuttered breath, followed by the salty scent of tears. His lips drew into a tight line and his hands fisted tightly at his sides as he forced himself to head toward the door. But, goddamn him, he paused right in front of it, hand on the knob, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Please,” she begged and the word was a raspy plea, vision blurry from tears. “If you would just—we can talk about this—”

“I love you, Kagome,” Inuyasha said and he heard her sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t turn around. He swallowed once, twice, and closed his eyes as he opened his mouth and forced the words past a throat tight with emotion.

“Inu—”

“But I can’t…love you more than this. I just…I can’t.”

Another sob, a hitched breath, and his chest ached. He bowed his head.

“See you around, Kagome,” he whispered and left, his footsteps fading down the hallway and down the stairs until the slam of the front door echoed in the dark house.

Kagome dropped her face into her hands and wept.

The front door burst open and Inuyasha was desperation personified as he rushed past his alarmed mother, sprinting as fast as he could toward the barn that held the horses. Not even a full minute later a white blur sped from the barn and bolted through the open gate of the pasture, following the car that was leaving with his love, his soul, his very heart.

Standing on the porch, Izayoi pressed a hand to her heart while the other covered her mouth, muffling the sob that burst from her lips as teary eyes watched her son chase after the woman who broke his heart.

'Cause I love you more than a California sunset I love you more in a twenty-dollar sundress Hate that loaded down car you got your keys in Girl, but I hate even more that you're leavin'

Urging his mount to go faster, harder, the thundering of her hooves against the ground rivaled that of the thundering of his heart in his chest. Hands gripping the coarse hair of her mane, Inuyasha grit his teeth against the harsh wind, his eyes wild, desperate and bright with unshed tears as he kicked the mare’s flanks to go faster, dammit, faster!

The distance between them was closing, the rumble of the engine, of gravel crunching beneath tires becoming louder until he was riding alongside her, along the fence that enclosed the front pasture. His hands fisted his mount’s mane in a while-knuckled grip as he leaned over her neck, legs tight to her sides.

He turned his head and wild, despairing golden eyes collided with wide, tear-filled blue.

Kagome’s heart lurched in her chest, making her gasp as goosebumps erupted on her skin. She sobbed, shaking her head, mouthing his name and forcing her eyes to look straight ahead. What—what was he doing?! Why?! God, he was making this even harder than it already was, taking her heart and stomping on it, cruel, cold, conniving.

But it made sense, didn’t it.

She had broken his heart, and now he was doing the same to her.

'Cause I love you more than the feeling when the bass hits a hook When the guy gets the girl at the end of the book But that ain't you and me so I guess I'll see you around 'Cause I can't love you more than my hometown

Inuyasha didn’t let up, not even when she looked away, gritting his teeth, kicking his mount to keep up when she accelerated. She was crying, and although he couldn’t hear her, he could see the way she shook, shoulders jerking, chest heaving, face wet from her tears and fuck she was wearing the sundress—

The end of the drive was in sight. Kagome slowed down, so did he, but she didn’t stop as she once again turned her head and caught his gaze. Inuyasha was already staring at her, heart in his eyes, a silent plea falling from his lips, willing her to hear….

“Don’t go.”

A sob, raw, choked, anguished.

“I’m sorry.”

Without even realizing, he let up on his mount, the mare slowing to a trot, a walk, and then stood still, recovering from the hard gallop. Golden eyes, awash with ears, watched the car reach the end of the drive and turn, driving away, going, going, getting smaller, fading.

Gone.

Something inside Inuyasha shattered and he didn’t think it could ever, ever be repaired.

Love you more than my hometown Love you more than my hometown Love you more, baby, love you more

[rhysismydaddy]

Dirty Daydreams (Nessian Fluff)

Cassian groaned against her neck, the sound snapping something deep inside of her. She reached up to pull his head up, needing to see him. Golden eyes, the eyes she loved so much, met hers and she smiled up at him. 

Calloused hands gripped her hips, pushing into her and making her back arch-

Nesta’s eyes shot open, gulping down air and almost falling out of the bed as she violently tore herself from the dream. She threw a pillow at the wall in frustration, barely resisting the urge to scream her head off. 

That damn bastard was really trying to get himself killed. 

She shut her eyes, but images of his tan skin, wide smile, and sinful lips kept badgering her, so she threw the covers back and stormed across the room to lock her door. 

Then she glanced at the open window. 

After locking it--and giving the night sky a foul gesture for good measure--she crawled back into bed and sighed, begging the gods for just one good night sleep.

Just one.

Ever since he’d arrived in the House of Wind four days ago, Cassian had been plaguing her dreams. And daydreams. 

She knew what he was doing.

Rhysand had told her certain people could get into your mind, and apparently Cassian was one of those people. The prick thought it was funny to use whatever demonic skills he possessed to send dirty images to her brain at all points during the day and night. 

Seriously. 

Yesterday they’d been ignoring each other in the library when she’d imagined throwing her book down, going to where he’d sat at the desk, and kissing him senseless. 

The day before that, she’d been absolutely convinced she was in bed with him, watching the morning sunlight dance across his chest. Not listening to him talk about the army’s preparations for winter. 

It was driving her absolutely insane, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking him to stop. She would never let him know he’d gotten under her skin.

So far, she thought she’d remained perfectly unbothered, even though she had homicidal thoughts every time he asked if she was okay, voice teasing and knowing. 

Just one night, she pleaded. 

Nesta closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to imagine steel gates around her mind. Steel strong enough to keep even the most resilient winged beasts out. 

The next morning, Nesta cursed those damn gates. 

Apparently, there was a hole in them or something because Cassian had wormed his way into her mind enough to torment her all night long. 

She’d awoken at dawn, body aching with lust, ready to light him on fire. 

Nesta threw on a dressing gown and stomped down to breakfast, trying to school her face into neutrality despite the violence coursing through her blood. 

It didn’t matter, because as soon as she walked into the dining room, Cassian’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent. 

Damn. 

She’d forgotten about that.

“Sexy dreams, Nesta?”

I’m going to stab him with a knife. 

She sat across from him at the table and grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. “Nope.”

His curly hair fell in his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Interesting. You smell nice.” 

Make that a rusty knife. 

“Well, as usual, you smell like a rotten fish. I don’t know how I ever put up with it.” 

Cassian smiled like he always did when she insulted him, as if he knew it was all a lie. “You’re in a wonderful mood today.”

Nesta just rolled her eyes and scooped some fruit onto her plate. 

She was stabbing a piece of melon, watching him somehow shove more food in his fat mouth than anyone she’d ever seen, when she thought about how easy it would be to crawl across the table into his lap.

She’d press her mouth to his, pull his hair, drive him crazy like he did her. Cassian would give her that bright smile she loved, happy he’d finally won their little game, and wrap his arms around her, mouth finding its way to her neck-

A thud sounded through the room as Nesta’s head fell back against her chair. 

Cassian laughed. “What in the world were you thinking about over there?”

“That’s it!” she yelled, not able to keep her cool any longer. “You are so fucking annoying! Get out of my head!”

She slammed her fist down into the table, making all the plates shake. 

His dark eyebrows pinched together in fake confusion. “What?”

“Get out of my head! Stop sending me these delusional, disgusting thoughts, or I’m going to gut you, I swear-”

“Wait, wait, wait. What? You think I’m...” Realization spread over his face, and his eyes lit up as he smiled happily. “Nesta, baby, I’m not a Daemati. Rhys and Feyre are the only ones I know.”

Everything inside her came crashing to a halt. Her rage turned towards confusion, mind and body not wanting to accept what she’d just heard. 

What?

He wasn’t... he couldn’t... what? 

Her face caught fire as a blush worked its way over her entire body, and Nesta dug her fingers into her thighs as a horrible, repugnant understanding formed. No one had been messing with her. 

Except herself. 

Every single dream and thought she’d had... they’d been hers. 

“So what, exactly, were you daydreaming about?” Cassian asked, smile so bright, so satisfied it almost blinded her. 

Nesta finally gave in to her impulses and shot out of her chair so fast it flipped over. She didn’t care, though; she was already half-way out of the room. 

She had to get away from him. She was many things, but she’d never allow herself to break down in front of him. 

She sprinted down the hallway to her room, humiliation pushing at her to go faster, faster, faster. 

A dark shape over her head caught her attention, then Cassian was slamming to a landing in front of her, wings spread wide to block the entire hallway. “Stop running from me.” 

Sliding to a halt in her silk slippers, she realized she’d never be able to outrun him. 

Stupid, stupid wings.

Nesta looked for any other way out of this conversation, attention snagging on the open window. 

If she could just-

“You try to jump out of that window, Nesta, and I swear I’ll wring your pretty little neck.”

She rolled her eyes, trying not to look like that’s exactly what she’d been planning. 

“Now. Tell me what you’ve been dreaming about.”

Nope. Never. “Window it is, then.”

He growled at her, and she had to repress a laugh. 

The smile fell off her face as he just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Waiting. 

“Why does it matter, Cassian?”

He looked at her incredulously, beautiful eyes holding a mixture of anger, happiness, frustration, and an emotion she didn’t want to consider. 

“Why does it matter?” he shouted at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I swear, Nesta, you’re so dense sometimes. It matters because I’ve been trying to get you to fall in love with me for almost a year, and you’re finally letting it happen. Now what the hell were the dreams like?”

She should respond, should do something besides gape at him, jaw swinging in the breeze. 

He’d been trying to... he... “You love me?” 

Her voice was so small and quiet, but he heard her perfectly. 

Hands on his hips, he rolled his eyes and said, “I tell you I love you at least once a day, dumbass.” 

True, but- “That’s different. You’re always teasing me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I never tease you about that. But stop trying to change the subject, Nesta. Tell me about the dreams.”

A dog with a bone. 

“Um.” Her face was a thousand degrees of embarrassment as she gave in and said, “They aren’t all sex dreams, so don’t even start. Sometimes we just dance, or go on dates, or wake up together, or kiss- stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” he asked, biting a lip to keep the smile at bay. 

“Like a kid of Yuelemas.” She pushed against his shoulder and stomped by him. “This doesn’t change anything. Just because my brain’s demented doesn’t mean things are different between us. I still hate you.”

They both knew it was a lie. 

Cassian, prick he was, called her on it. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

She was almost to her room, the blessed solitary confinement mere feet away.

“I can prove that you don’t.”

Nesta snorted, unable to help it. “Cassian, you’re so full of shit. You cannot possibly-”

He grabbed her wrist and turned her back around, and before she could so much as blink, he was kissing her. 

Nesta stood, unmoving, as her brain tried desperately to catch up.

All her dreams, all her fantasies, couldn’t compare to this. Nothing could. 

Cassian’s lips were soft and persistent against hers, hands rough as they grabbed her waist and pulled her against him. 

He whispered her name, and she finally snapped back into her body and realized what was happening. 

She pushed out the thoughts of doubt and embarrassment and nervousness and just did what she wanted for once. 

Her arms wound around his neck, and she pulled herself up closer to him, kissing him deeper. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she lost her mind at how he tasted.

Caramel, salt, wind, Cassian. 

He tugged on her lip with his teeth, smiled, and pulled back. 

“See? You don’t hate me, baby,” he laughed, pressing kisses to her forehead, temple, cheek, chin, everywhere. 

She’d never seen him this happy. Never felt this amount of joy in herself, either. 

Laughter bubbled out of her. “Okay. Fine. I don’t hate you.”

“You love me.”

He was a cocky bastard, wasn’t he? But... she thought back on all the times he’d been there for her, putting up with her when no one else wanted to. 

All the dreams she’d had of them just being together came crashing together, and she realized she wanted that. Wanted that life with him. 

Nesta pulled on his hair to stop the assault of kisses, looking into his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

Cassian picked her up and spun her around, both of them laughing like maniacs. “And it only took a year of flying all the way up here to bug you.”

Once she was set back on her feet, she leaned into him, trying to memorize the feel of his body against hers. “Take me on a date tonight.”

“It’ll be just like your dream,” he smirked, kissing the tip of her nose. “Dancing and drinking and good food.”

She knew where he was going, but she didn’t even care as he teased, “Then whatever you dreamed about that had you smelling like that this morning.”

“You’re a presumptuous little asshole. I don’t think I’ll sleep with you. Ever.” 

A finger on her chin brought her face up to his. “Liar,” he whispered, their lips not an inch apart. 

“Maybe.”

“Say it again,” he murmured onto her jaw, fingers moving to play in her hair.

Nesta rolled her eyes, cupped his face with her hands, and finally told him the words she’d repressed since she first saw him. “I love you, Cassian.”

______________________________________________________________

Ending’s cheesy as shit, sorry. Not really. 

@musicmaam @b00kworm @bamchickawowow @aesthetics-11 @a-bit-of-a-cactus 

[justahopelessssromantic]

Perfect

Part 8

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 9 // Part 10

A/N: Hey guys thank you so much for all the love and support you’ve given me and this story ❤️ We wouldn’t be where we are without all your love and kind words it truly means the world to me 💕 so thank you so much, I love you all. Now grab your tissues cause this could get rough.

*gif not mine*

Warnings: Spoilers for Season 2! A little steamy, very emotional second half. Angst

Parking behind EZ’s bike you noticed no other vehicles or bikes, specifically Angel’s around and let out a sigh of relief. He would be here eventually but for now you were thankful that you would have some time with just EZ to help calm your nerves before facing Angel. Felipe’s truck was also missing and you figured he must have gone out for something.

You were early.

Shutting your door and clicking the key fob until your car honked signaling it was locked you walked up the walkway, climbing the steps and then entering the home as you had so many times in the past.

“Hello,” You called out as you hung your purse on the hook by the door. You didn’t get a response so you assumed EZ must be out back. Making your way through the house and into the kitchen you opened the fridge setting the tray of blueberry bars you had made for desert on the lowest shelf.

Turning back around you looked over at the urn for Marisol, so beautiful. There was a pang in your chest every time you saw it but you knew having her close was good for Felipe. It was sweet how he still talked to her everyday. They had the kind of love that was everlasting, the kind of love you were so sure you and Angel had possessed as well.

Stepping over to her you kissed your fingers before placing them gently onto the cool surface, “Hey Marisol,” you murmured, “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

The sound of the back screen door sliding open caught your attention. You gingerly moved your hand and smiled. Stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room you turned the corner expecting to find EZ but ended up finding Angel instead, your smile faltering,“I thought you were EZ. Where’s your bike?”

He stepped into the room with you, hands in his pockets, “It’s getting some work done. Pops and EZ had to run to the shop and pick up some shit.”

Great, it was just the two of you. You gave him a nod in understanding, not sure what else to say or do.

“So are we gonna talk about it?” He asked breaking the silence, “Or are we just gonna act like whatever that was at the clubhouse didn’t happen?” He knew this may not be the best time but he wasn’t gonna just drop it like it never happened. And no one was here to stop him.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you replied bluntly.

“Really? Cause I got a whole lot I could say.” He said sauntering closer to you.

“It was a mistake.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t want it to happen again,” His cologne mixed with the scent of nicotine surrounded you making your knees weak, “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy every moment of it. The way my tongue ate you up, my fingers curling inside you. God you tasted so good,” he groaned, getting closer with each word, “You can’t tell me you don’t want me filling you up again, to feel my seed seeping out of you. I know your body aches for mine just as mine for yours, querida.”

“Come any closer Angel and I swear to god I will slap you again,” You warned. If he came any closer you were afraid your body would betray you and you couldn’t have that. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“Well considering what happened last time I wouldn’t be opposed,” he knew he was being cocky, he knew he was pushing it, but just earlier you were hanging around with another guy and it was driving him crazy ever since he saw you together. But you and him had history, he had the upper hand and he wasn’t gonna let that slip through his fingers.

And part of him was also pushing all the emotional baggage that was to be unleashed to the back of his mind the only way he knew how.

“It was a mistake,” you repeated, “It’s never happening again,”

“Really? You don’t even want to just fuckin’ use me again to get off?” He said, voice low and gruff, “You at least want these back, don’t you?” Pulling your panties out of the pocket of his cut he dangled the green lacy fabric in front of you, a smirk splayed across his face.

You snatched them out of his hand, glaring at him, “Yes, I do.”

“I washed them, in case you care.” He said nonchalantly. The sound of Felipe’s truck alerted the two of you to the rest of your party’s arrival. You were so relieved and quickly shoved the article of clothing into your purse before the men entered your home.

EZ stepped through the door first, greeting you with a grin, “You’re early.” He commented. He was hoping they’d be back before you so you wouldn’t be left alone with Angel but he should have known you’d be early. He could feel the tension in the room and hoped Angel hadn’t done too much damage.

Smiling at the two men you gave them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Here I’ll get those,” you told EZ taking the bag from his hands and following Felipe to the kitchen, “I made some blueberry bars for desert.” You said.

Felipe smiled, leading you out the back with him, “Sounds delicious, mija.”

EZ turned his attention to his brother who was leaning his shoulder against the wall, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Angel shrugged off his brother's accusation, heading in the direction you and his father disappeared off to.

EZ caught his shoulder before he could get far, keeping him back a minute, “Look I know you've been caught up on that Matt guy, but tonight is not the night Angel. You wanted me to help keep you from saying stupid shit? Well then you have to listen to me.”

He hated having to listen to his little brother, but he knew he was right. Tonight was not the night, “Alright, what do you got baby bro?”

“Well,” he started, “How about every time you feel like saying some asinine shit you take a bite of food. Keep that mouth of yours occupied.” EZ grinned at him.

“That sounds like a stupid fuckin’ idea.”

“Well please, by all means do it your way if you don’t like my idea. But if you want her back I’d listen to me.” EZ wanted to do whatever it took to keep the peace tonight, to have somewhat of an enjoyable meal before they shattered your world around you.

“Alright.” Angel gave in walking past his brother and grabbing some beers out of the fridge before joining you out back.

The four of you sat around the small table enjoying your steak dinner, Angel and Felipe on the ends with EZ next to Angel and you Felipe. The four of you chatted casually, you, Felipe, and EZ more than Angel about everyday things such as how the carniceria was doing, the new business opening down the street, and all the things the people you grew up with had been up to in your time away.

Angel listened as you talked animatedly, getting lost in your words and the sound of your voice. Still he couldn’t stop thinking about that damn man named Matt. You were with him this afternoon for god knows how long and the image of the two of you walking together wouldn’t leave his mind. It was driving him insane before he knew if he was blurting out, “So how was your date with Matt?”

EZ shot Angel a look, a silent exchange happening between the brothers.

‘What the fuck? I told you to keep your mouth shut.’

‘What, it’s an innocent question’

Everything was going so well.

“You’ve met him?” You asked, as far as you knew he only ever saw him when you were walking together, unless of course he asked Felipe about him.

“Nope.”

“Well first of all it wasn’t a date, I was just helping him out, he’s new to town. I was just doing the neighborly thing,” you explained taking a bite of your mashed potatoes.

Yeah sure, Angel thought. That’s a perfect excuse to get a girl to spend time with you and the perfect way to take advantage of a good person such as yourself.

“He’s actually very nice,” you went on talking about the man you had just met earlier in the day. You really liked Matt, he was kind and funny, easy to talk to. “He’s working mostly across the border, a former Marine.”

Of course he was. Angel was going to comment but EZ’s stare bored into him so instead he took a bite of his food, as suggested by his younger brother.

“Oh and he has this adorable pit bull he rescued from a dog fighting ring,” You commented. He had shown you a picture of the sweet girl, “Her name is Violet.”

Well isn’t he just a fucking hero, another bite was shoved into Angel’s mouth as he really started to regret bringing him up.

You continued to talk about your afternoon with Matt just getting lost in the excitement of a new face in town, a new friend. You weren’t trying to make Angel jealous or even rub it in his face, you were just genuinely happy and didn’t even think of Matt in any other capacity than as a friend.

Still Angel was jealous, more importantly he was threatened by this seemingly flawless man who was now in your life. He didn’t trust the guy and he was afraid he’d win you over, taking you away from him forever.

You finished your meals and had gathered up the dishes insisting you’d wash them, EZ being your dryer. EZ put away the last plate exchanging a look with his brother and Pops.

They knew they couldn’t put it off forever but still none of them wanted to re-live the pain and none of them wanted to put you through it again as well. All in all it was an awful situation.

“I had a really great time, missed this.” You said drying your hands off on a towel, back to the three men, a smile on your face. “Thank you.” Turning around you looked at the three Reyes’ men, your smile falling as the atmosphere around you had completely changed, “What is it? What’s going on?”

“We have something we need to tell you, mija.” Felipe said, taking charge of the situation. His family was in this mess because of him, he should be the one to lead, to start the difficult conversation.

“Okay,” you said. Your heart sped up as your anxiety increased, a million things running through your mind. Whatever it was you knew it was really bad.

“It’s about Mom,” Angel said, meeting your eyes.

Now you knew it was really, really bad.

“Why don’t we go to the living room,” Felipe suggested, “This will be best if you’re sitting.”

You followed Felipe and EZ into the living room, Angel bringing up the back. Sitting on the sofa Angel sat down next to you. You looked over at EZ leaning against the wall, hands folded in front of him and then to Angel, before looking back to Felipe.

The faces of the men around you were somber. You tried to mentally prepare you for what was to come, but nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to hear.

“Before we were Felipe and Marisol Reyes we were Ignacio and Isabela. I was working for the División Antidrogas Federales and on the Galindo Cartel’s payroll.” Felipe started, as he sat on the chair in front of you. “I had an affair with Dita Galindo, I feared for our safety so we changed our names and fled to Santo Padre, California.”

“That’s why Marisol was killed,” Felipe stated, trying to keep his composure, “Because of me.” His voice cracked.

It was as if the world stopped spinning as everything slowed down around you. The voices of the three men surrounded you, muffled as if you were trapped underwater, morphing together into one indistinguishable voice.

The ticking of the clock was deafening, the usually easily ignored sound now the soundtrack to such a horrible moment in time.

Tick

“Dita Galindo put out a hit on Mom and Pops.”

Tock

“We tracked down the man, Happy. EZ remembered him from that night, recognized him at one of the club’s parties.”

Tick

“He gave us what we needed which led us back to Galindo.”

Tock

“Emily filled in the rest, was able to get proof of the payments, all there and all signed by Dita Galindo.”

Tick

Your heart ached in your chest, heavy and desperate to claw its way out. The pain so intense you wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything.

But you didn’t, you couldn’t.

You just sat there in silence staring off, sitting with the unbearable agony that consumed you on the inside.

Tock

Their eyes were all on you, waiting for you to say something, to show them something, but you gave them nothing. Your gaze was fixed on the dent in the wall across from you, a remnant of the life lived here in this home, the love shared within the walls, the pain confined in the small space, forever.

The exact moment the blemish was created played vividly in your mind, as if it was playing out in front of you before your eyes.

The three of you, Angel, EZ, and yourself, were running around the living room playing tag. The California heat was a record high that day so you were forced to spend your time together inside, instead of outside like the three of you much preferred.

Marisol was in the kitchen baking cookies, the smell filling the home, the sweet scent clear as day in your mind.

Angel and EZ began fighting, arguing who was it, as they started shoving one another. You watched as younger you tried to get between the two, to break up the fight, but you just ended up in the shoving match.

Before you could stop it the three children tumbled down together crashing into the wall resulting in the dent that was never mended.

A hand landed on your thigh pulling your attention away from the scene. Looking down you examined the familiar hand, large and rough with rings adorning the long fingers, unfamiliar scaring across the knuckles. Your gaze wandered upwards tracing the Mayans ink across his skin and then all the way up to his face, meeting the familiar deep brown orbs.

“Mi dulce?” His voice finally sounded out to you. The Reyes’ men had been trying to get your attention for some time now, but it was Angel’s touch that had brought you back.

“Hmm?” You asked, not able to form words.

“Why don’t you take her home, son.” Felipe suggested to his eldest, “It’s been a long night.”

Angel nodded standing up from the couch, extending his hand out and lifting you to your feet. You followed him as he grabbed your purse off the hook by the door and fished your keys out of the inside pocket you always kept them in. Your body followed Angel as if by its own volition, your mind feeling numb as the aching in your chest wouldn’t subside.

He opened the door for you, giving his Pops and brother a nod goodbye before heading out the door. Following behind you silently he unlocked the vehicle just as you got to the passenger side.

Slipping into the driver seat he turned the ignition on before stealing a glance at you. Your face was turned away staring out the window and his heart broke. He didn’t know how to help you, wasn’t sure what was running through your mind.

He hated this feeling of helplessness. Hated not knowing how to ease your pain, how to ease his own. Before he’d scoop you into his arms, holding you until it all faded away and only love remained, but now everything was different, you were different, and the silence was killing him.

You pulled up in front of your house and followed Angel up the steps waiting behind him as he flipped through your keys until finding the right one and unlocking the door. Holding it open for you he carefully watched as you made your way into the home, dropping your purse on the ground beside you.

The crushing weight was suffocating, you wanted to ask Angel to stay, to hold you and make it all go away but you couldn’t find the words so you just stood there as he stood in the doorway behind you watching.

He longed to hold you, was waiting for you to tell him what to do, but you wouldn’t. He decided to make the first move, not caring about all the shit between you two. All that mattered was here and now. And even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud you needed him and he needed you.

He closed the door behind him, the only light in the house illuminating through the curtains from the moon outside and onto your skin. Placing one hand on your shoulder he pulled you around to face him. His eyes welled with tears as he looked into yours, so lost and broken. He ran his hand instinctively down the side of your face, such a small intimate moment before pulling you tightly to his chest and holding you there in his strong arms.

That was all it took for the floodgates to finally open. Violent sobs wrecked your body as you clutched onto his back, holding him just as much as he held you, the built up anguish finally vacating your body.

Angel nuzzled his face into your neck, his own tears flowing now as the two of you stood in your embrace, clinging onto each other as a lifeline, like you had in the past.

“Tell me what you need,” his voice was hoarse as he mustered out the words.

“Don’t leave me.” You couldn’t bear the thought of being alone right now. You wanted the familiar comfort that only Angel could provide you with.

“Okay.”

Pulling away from the embrace you wiped at your face, “I’m gonna shower,” you said your throat and voice scratchy.

He nodded following behind you as you made your way to the bedroom, turning the hallway light on to illuminate the way. He stepped into the bedroom with you and sat at the foot of your bed, watching you disappear behind the bathroom door connected to the room and listening as the shower turned on from the other side.

He wanted to join you but he didn’t want to push it, so instead he leaned down untying his boots, kicking them off and placing them nicely by the bed. Slipping his cut off and unbuttoning his shirt he stripped the article of clothing off and set them atop the dresser before walking over to your nightstand where he noticed a gold picture frame. Picking it up he smiled as he looked at the photo of you, EZ, and him sitting around a campfire laughing.

“That was a good day,” your voice startled him. You had just walked out dressed in your pajamas as you padded over to him.

“One of the best.” He replied, turning to look at you. Your eyes were puffy and you looked so very tired. “Now what?” He asked. He just wanted to do whatever it was that you wanted, whatever was needed of him to help you through this.

“Hold me?”

Nodding he set the picture back down in its place and walked around the bed to the other side. Shedding his jeans before pulling back the covers he crawled into your bed, arms open for you to join him.

Slipping under the covers and into his arms you snuggled close to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you once more. You stayed there for a moment in silence, just being there for the other.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice was hushed, just barely above a whisper as you stared into the dark.

“What for?” His tone matched that of yours as he tilted his head to look at you. He couldn’t fathom what on earth you’d be apologizing for.

“For not being here for Felipe, EZ,” you tilted your head up to look back at him, “you.”

He shook his head, “That’s not on you, mi dulce.” He kissed your forehead rubbing his hand up and down your back.

That was on him.

Even so you couldn’t shake the guilt you felt. Leaving your family to uncover such horrible truths alone, leaving Angel alone.

“I heard about what happened to Dita Galindo,” you mentioned, remembering you had seen the news while you were away. You ran your thumb back and forth against his bare chest, the little movement of your skin on his bringing you some comfort, “That was you?”

Angel’s heart broke even more if that was possible. They had told you that but you must have still been processing everything, the shock hit you hard, “Mmhmm,” he replied, “That was us.”

You nodded your head gently against his chest, still trying to wrap your mind around the last few hours. The ache returned to your chest as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep the pain and tears at bay.

Angel felt your body begin to shake again. Holding you tighter he nuzzled his face closer to yours, shushing you, “It’s okay, it will all be okay.” His voice broke, betraying him. He was trying so hard to stay strong for you but that was proving impossible. “Try to get some rest, mi dulce. It will all be okay,” he said once more, desperately trying to convince himself just as much as you.

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