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wolfiemcwolferson · 2 years ago

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begin again

2.4k of a Piarles spiral that I might revisit in the future under the read more

Charles moves home after the divorce.

It’s George that suggests it. Well, he insists that he didn’t suggest it at all. He suggested that Charles do something for himself that he had always wanted to do but didn’t because of Peter and the…well, the crappy marriage thing.

“I meant for you to…go to Argentina to see that big waterfall or drive Route 66 or eat your way through Atlanta. I did not mean for you to sell this big house that you got in your divorce settlement and buy a house that is falling down in the middle of nowhere Alabama.”

But, that was what Charles wanted to do. After 10 years of playing the perfect spouse, he wanted to live in a little house and have a garden and be on his own.

And that’s what he intends on doing.

He buys a two bedroom house that looks like it’s in danger of blowing away, but it sits on five acres of land and the realtor tells him it’s got good soil for tomatoes.

Charles has too much money from his prenup and a college degree that he’s never used and so he decides to use both - slowly making this little house livable and presentable and also sitting for the teacher’s exam.

George and Alex come to visit over Thanksgiving, the only two who are still speaking to him from their life in Connecticut. The only two people Charles really cares about, and it’s good to see them. He shows them around the little town square and they have breakfast in the diner and Charles laughs himself silly when he gives George a big pour of the blackberry wine that Mrs. Fitzgerald - the biology teacher - makes and George sputters it all over his white shirt.

It’s good to see them and it’s good to see them go because Charles doesn’t feel sad about them leaving at all. He doesn’t miss a single second of that life and it’s like…the first time in the seven months since he moved here that he knows he did the right thing by selling that too big house with no happy memories.

Charles considers taking a trip over Christmas break. For the first Christmas in his adult life, he doesn’t have any place to be - both of his parents gone, Lorenzo is somewhere in the middle of the pacific ocean and Arthur is filming some new documentary in Colorado - but then he drives into Birmingham and spends 400 dollars on books and he spends the entire break eating cheese and cranberry sauce out of a can (a delight) and reading.

He has to YouTube how to start a fire in the fireplace because he’s never used it and then he has to pay triple to have an actual chimney sweep come and clean it out so he can use it.

Because sure, he had called Alabama home for the first 20 years of his life, but he had grown up in a house in Huntsville with a swimming pool and a gas fireplace.

And then when a year of life in Alabama rolls around, Charles looks in the mirror and smooths the wrinkles beside his eyes away with his fingertips and laughs because two years ago, he would have been obsessively checking them or Pieter would have pointed them out and the only reason he’s noticed them now is because he had dirt on his cheek.

It’s different than anything he ever imagined for his life, but it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced and it was absolutely the right choice. To move here. To begin again.

There are fifteen houses on the county road that Charles lives on. He knows them all by name and he knows their kids by name. He was a bit concerned when he moved that the gay divorcee would be a bit too much for them all to stomach, but they had embraced him with love and acceptance and help when he killed his tomato plants on accident last summer and when it froze and he wasn’t prepared for the whole county to shut down and when he realized he was going to have to buy some kind of lawn mower.

The point is that when the Harrison’s come by on a Tuesday night and tell him that they’re going to retire and move to Arizona where their oldest daughter lives, Charles is pretty upset about it - sad that they’re leaving, but also a bit worried about the new family that will move in. Until they tell him their nephew is going to be taking over the family place.

“Good boy,” Mrs. Harrison assures him, patting his cheek. “Handsome and single.”

Many things slide into place for Charles all at once and he laughs, brushing it off and telling them he’ll miss them and that he’ll stay in touch, and then he puts it out of his mind.

Until it’s mid-August and he’s carrying a box of books out to his car that he’s collected over the summer for his classroom and he sees a shiny black pick-up truck pull into his driveway and Charles knows that this is the nephew.

“Pierre,” he introduces himself and then he’s got to bend down to catch the two small children around their middles as they come barreling up to Charles. “And these are my hellions.”

But he smiles when he says it and Charles shakes both of their hands making them laugh and giggle, waiting on them to introduce themselves.

“Arabella, but Daddy calls me Ari.” who is six.

And then, “Jessop, but you can call me Jessie because I hate Jessop,” who is five.

The exchange lasts ten minutes and it only happened because Pierre promised his aunt he would stop by and say hello and then he has to go because the kids need dinner and Charles tells him that he’ll have to invite them over for dinner some night, but it seems a bit like a nicety because they don’t exchange numbers or say anything else before Pierre is helping the kids up into the backseat and driving off with a wave and a megawatt smile.

Charles asks no questions, but he’s curious enough that when Abby starts talking about Pierre two weeks later during lunch period, he ignores the grades he’s supposed to be entering into his computer and he sits down at the table with the math teachers and listens to the story.

A messy divorce with his ex-husband who is still in Iowa and two kids who they had through surrogacy that the ex apparently didn’t want and Charles goes home that night and makes a pie - or an attempt at a pie so he hauls himself out of bed the next morning before the sun and he makes another one, which turns out better so he takes it to Pierre and his kids and he invites them over for dinner on Wednesday night.

It’s silly, but he has a kinship with Pierre that Pierre doesn’t know exists.

It’s extra silly because there’s no way for Charles to come out and say: I married an older man after I finished school because I was scared and I don’t think he really loved me. I never had children even though I desperately wanted them and I’m starting over and it sounds like you are too, so maybe we could be friends?

No, he just makes sure that he picks up his living room and he roasts a chicken and when the three of them show up on Charles doorstep at 6:30 sharp, he wonders if he miscalculated with Pierre.

By the end of the night, he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows he did.

Pierre listens to his children when they talk and he asks Charles questions about the school and he smiles with his nose scrunched up and when Jessie falls asleep on Charles’ couch while a movie plays, Pierre apologizes for having to get them back home and Charles’ apologizes for keeping them up so late on a school night and he leaves with a sleeping child on his shoulder and a promise to see Charles at the football game on Friday night.

Which turns out to be a joy. The two of them sit together and Charles buys the kids gigantic lollipops Ari tells him about how she’s going to play football when she grows up because girls can do anything and Charles' heart is stuck between breaking and falling.

“I don’t want to pry,” Pierre says a month later while the two of them are sitting on the bottom step of Charles' porch while Ari and Jessie run around in the yard and try and catch lightning bugs, “but sometimes you look at them like it pains you to do so.”

And that’s when the whole nasty business comes out about Charles’ finding his husband of ten years having an affair with his paralegal and how Charles feels like he just started living his life even if maybe he’s missed his chance at having a life with another person, Pierre takes his hand in his and kisses the back of it and asks him if he wants to go into town with him and the kids this weekend and see a movie.

“Don’t ask me on a date because you pity me,” Charles warns and Pierre kisses his knuckles again.

“I’ve been thinking about asking you out since you brought us that horrendous pie.”

And then…Charles spends six months waiting for the other shoe to drop - so to say.

Arthur comes in for Thanksgiving and he spend four days in the floor with the kids during the day and trying to get all the dirty details from Charles at night, but Pierre doesn’t get spooked by having a family Thanksgiving with Arthur - instead the two of them get a little too tipsy on Friday afternoon and Charles has to tuck them into the couch so they’ll take a nap, and Pierre kisses him about it when he wakes up two hours later.

Charles wakes up on Christmas morning and gets dressed before it’s even 5 AM so he can drive over to Pierre’s and spend the morning with them before they load up and go over to Pierre’s parents house two hours north.

Pierre kisses him on New Year’s Eve and then he fucks Charles slow and deep and asks him to stay over - let him wake up with him and the kids. Because they hadn’t done that yet - had been careful in front of the kids.

Pierre’s birthday is spent in Charles’ house where he makes another atrocious pie and Pierre takes his face in his hands and whispers what Charles has known for months now.

“I love you,” he whispers into Charles’ mouth and Charles puts his face in his hands and cries and cries until Pierre pries them away and kisses him again. “I love you,” he says, “I love you.”

It goes like that until the next fall - when Ari turns eight and says matter of factly while they’re sitting on the front porch and Charles cranks an old ice cream maker he found in town, “I think you should be our new dad.”

There isn’t enough oxygen on the planet for the next minute of Charles’ life, and the only reason he manages to keep it together is because Pierre is there squeezing his shoulder and it’s grounding him to earth.

It’s a month of frantic whispers between Charles and Pierre and tears on both ends and Ari and Jessie giving Charles a wide circle when he’s with them until Pierre sets a plate down on the counter with more force than necessary and hisses, “No one in this house is your ex and these kids deserve someone who loves them and wants them just as much as I do and you’re a fucking fool if you think there’s anyone else on this planet that I want to marry as much as I want to marry you because not only do I think you’re the other half of me, I think you were meant to be their dad all along.”

It shocks Charles enough that he stops crying silent, hot tears and then he says, “I want to take your last name.”

And Pierre knocks the plate off the counter in an effort to get Charles into his arms.

They get married in the courthouse and then they take the kids on vacation over winter break to Disneyworld and Jessie calls Charles Papa for the first time while they’re eating a breakfast of Mickey shaped waffles and later that night after Charles and Pierre have tucked them into their beds, they stand on the balcony of their overpriced family suite and Pierre soothes the hair away from Charles face over and over and says a hundred times i love you, Charles, I am so thankful to you.

Alex texts Charles on the five year anniversary of when the divorce became final and Charles laughs at the ridiculous picture George took of him holding up the divorce decree for the camera to see and Charles looks across the room to where Pierre is stitching Ari’s dance costume back together and he texts back, best thing that could have ever happened.

Charles and Pierre work out a system for dinner and activities and making sure everything is done and the kids are thriving and Charles has never wanted for anything else.

Pierre teaches him not to kill tomato plants and Ari teaches him the true meaning of forgiveness. Jessie makes him believe that he can do anything and so when Pierre looks at him while the two of them are driving home from another football game and says, “You ever thought about having a third?” Charles doesn’t hesitate to say yes.

“We’ll be ancient when they graduate.”

Pierre laughs and kisses the back of Charles hand like he always does and Charles could burst with love and affection and the feeling of it was all worth it.

So when they bring home their second daughter 14 months later, Charles sits on the couch with Jessie and Ari and Pierre and George stands across the room to take a series of pictures while tears stream down his face, Charles has to laugh when George says:

“This is definitely what I meant when I said you should do something for yourself.”

#piarles #maybe a future fic idk I just can't stop thinking about them #I love them #soulmates

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iknow-thisisallinmyhead · 11 months ago

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Ahhhhhh! It's heeeeerrrrreeeeeee!!

The Holiday Lie | December 19th

Agreeing to be a fake date for your best friend is all fun and games until you have to lie to his sister’s face. - 12k - read on ao3

After an hour-long drive out of Harrisburg, the rental pulls to a stop in front of a big, yellow Colonial house. Snow covers the roof, adding to the illusion that a reindeer drawn sleigh has landed there. Multicolored string lights wrap around the large picture windows, off for the day, and a herd of white light reindeer sprawl across the lawn, snouts tucked down in the snow or raised high to the sky.

The house sits in the middle of the block, looking festively picturesque among similarly decorated homes, with a warm and welcoming glow inviting us in. A dalmatian shaped mailbox denotes it to be 118 Crow’s Nest Point, a fact that always cracks me up. I’ve been friends with Buck long enough to have heard about the Crow Incident of 2016- the story changes almost every time it's told but one thing always remains the same: a never ending war between Chimney and all crows he comes across.

Buck clears his throat, bringing my attention back inside the car. He’s wearing a dopey grin while staring up at his sister’s house, soft and serene in the midmorning light. “Home, sweet home,” he murmurs happily.

Chris’s dry reply floats up from the back seat. “I thought you never lived here.”

“True, I have not! But it's always been more of a home than the house I actually grew up in.” With a shrug Buck opens his door, nearly falling out of the cab in his haste. A frigid gust of air blows in, sending a shiver down my collar. Before following my best friend into the icy Pennsylvania morning, I shore up my mental walls in an attempt to prepare for the coming week.

I think back to Thanksgiving night; the blond sitting dejectedly at my kitchen table, wringing his hands on the surface, an untouched slice of pie pushed off to the side. He looked so sad and frustrated; another failed relationship, another missed opportunity for happiness, another piece of evidence that he would be alone forever. He was a storm cloud, dark and gloomy and ready to crack open and unleash a hurricane of negative emotions aimed at himself. I couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let him turn inwards and close off to start the assault. And I couldn’t say no.

I never can when it comes to him.

Leaning back against the seat, I run a hand over my eyes. Seven days, I just have to get through the next seven days. Chris opens his door. I can hear the grin in his voice as he calls, “Coming, Dad?”

“Coming,” I mutter, unbuckling and getting out.

Buck’s already halfway up the walk, practically galloping with no regard to the ice and slush. His hand is raised, waving at the figures standing in front of a bright blue door. Jee-Yun leaps off of the porch, throwing herself into Uncle Buck’s arms. He catches her, scooping his niece up and twirling; little girl a blur of pink tulle and rainbow sparkles, candy cane striped tights and purple snow boots kicking out as Buck spins around and around.

Maddie pulls her eyes off of the excited and endearing reunion and smiles at me in greeting, reaching out to wrap me in a hug. It takes a beat too long for me to unstiffen and reciprocate the embrace but she holds me tight, rubbing a soothing hand up and down my back. “I’m so happy you and Chris made it this year!” she says pulling back. Her fingers slide to my shoulder where she squeezes once before letting me go. “I’ve been waiting for years for Buck to tell me you two finally got it together and got together! You’ve always made him so happy, Eddie, and I can never thank you enough for that.”

The words are a sharp lance of guilt to my gut. Her eyes are so sincere as she looks up that I can’t maintain eye contact, dropping my gaze to my boots and the slick step below me. Agreeing to be a fake date for your best friend is all fun and games until you have to lie to his sister’s face.

“Yeah.” I chuckle awkwardly and step out of her arms, looking over my shoulder at Buck. He’s flat on his back in the snow, lifting his niece up the while making engine noises. Jee’s cackling wildly, arms spread out like a plane. I can’t fight the smile that lifts my lips up at the sight. Turning back to Maddie, I shrug. “He makes me happy, too,” I admit, glad I don’t have to hide this stupid grin that only Buck can pull out of me. It’s all part of the lie I agreed to tell, right? Even if it's not a forced reaction.

Maybe this week won’t be so bad. For once, I won’t have to pretend that I’m not in love with my best friend. I just have to pretend that he loves me too. And I’ve thought about what it would be like enough, spent far too many hours daydreaming about, that I can probably do it. I think. Maybe. Can I do it without breaking my heart in the process? That’s the real question. Only time will tell.

“Christopher! Look at you!” Maddie squeals.

“Hi, Maddie,” Chris says with a grin. He’s on the step below me, lifting one poison green crutch up as he waves.

“Come here!” Chris happily wraps his arms around her. He’s always been a big hugger, just like his mom and has no problem eagerly reciprocating her embrace. “You’ve gotten so tall!”

The teen chuckles. “Are you sure you just aren’t getting shorter?”

Maddie reels back, mouth hanging open in feigned shock.

“Rude,” she says, wagging a finger at him.

A peal of laughter announces Jee-Yun’s presence as she runs up onto the porch. “Me too, me too!” she calls, skipping around. She’s holding two very wet Hello Kitty mittens in her very pink hands instead of wearing them. “I got tall too! I grew seven inches!” She jumps up, catching a few inches of air before landing back down with a wobble. “I grew seven inches!”

“Close, Sweet Little,” laughs Maddie. “You grew three inches since your last doctor’s visit.” She holds up three fingers, demonstrating how many inches the girl grew. “Now, let’s get you inside so we can warm those poor little hands up.” She reaches for her daughter, but the girl jerks back, stamping a tiny foot on the porch.

“No, Mama! I grew seven inches!”

Buck snorts, amused by the five year old’s antics. I’m caught off guard by how close he’s gotten without my notice and end up jump a little. He quickly reaches a hand out to steady me, fingers splaying across my lower back and sending a current of electricity up my spine. Even through the thick coat I’m wearing I swear I can feel how warm his hand is, swear I can feel that warmth as it bleeds into me. He turns up the wattage of his smile, a ray of light breaking the clouds on this overcast day. There’s a tight, warm feeling in my chest and I can’t help it. The stupid grin is back.

“Careful, it’s just me. I’d hate for you to fall and break your neck.”

“If I fell you’d save me.” I’m sure of it, Buck wouldn’t think twice. He’s built for saving people, he was just born that way. It’s what makes him such a good firefighter. Those bulky arms would be around me before either of us could process what’s happening, before I’d ever be in any danger. That's just who he is. I may or may not have entertained a daydream or two like it over the years since I’ve acknowledged my crush; Buck catching me in his arms, holding me close, eyes darting down to look at my lips…

He raises an eyebrow at the comment, self-doubt automatically scrolling across his face. The smile falls from his lips, hiding the sun back behind dark clouds. “You would! You’d never let me leave Christopher without a father.” I say dramatically, trying to bring it back, needing it back. But the words aren’t quite true. If I died Chris would still have a-

“You two lovebirds gonna come in or what? I’m not paying to heat the outside, you know?”

Startling, we rip our gazes away from each other. A blush burns across my face and I have to look away from Maddie too, away from the knowing, amused expression on her face. She’s standing on the threshold with her hands resting on the door jam, pointedly looking around the empty porch. When did Chris go inside? Surely Jee-Yun hadn’t gone quietly. I didn’t even notice as they left us alone. One smile from the taller man and I’m a goner, floating through space with a tether connecting me to Buck and Buck alone, like no one else exists. I sigh internally.

I’m getting too old for this kind of shit.

Grinning, Buck pushes past his sister, stepping over the threshold and into the house. So I do what I always do, what I’ve done since we first met; I follow. It’s warm inside, too warm, and I immediately pull off my coat. The Buckely siblings disappear down the hall, but Chimney pops up out of nowhere with a hand outstretched so I pass over the tan, weather proofed material. He pulls open a closet already over stuffed with colorful winter garb and shoves it in, glancing sheepishly back at me as the coat crumples into a black hole. Sardonically, I wonder if it'll ever be seen again. He slams the door shut, leaning against it like it'll bounce open again if left to its own devices.

“Eddie,” he says nonchalantly.

“Chimney.” I nod. Overhead, there’s a squeal of delight followed by pounding feet running down the hall. My guess is Jee-Yun has already dragged her uncle up to her room.

“So, how’d you manage to get roped into this?” The shorter man asks with a knowing look in his dark, beady eyes.

Wait, what? My stomach swoops like it does when you miss a step going downstairs. I didn't even know that could happen when you're standing still. Chimney crosses his arms, waiting for an answer but I’m stunned speechless. He can’t already have figured out that we’re lying, can he?

“You were better off keeping it a secret, you know.” Shaking his head, he clicks his tongue in disappointment and I can breathe again. “We’re not the kind of family that gives you privacy.” He steps closer. “There’s no privacy, Diaz, you will spill all of your secrets to us.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he adds. “All of them.”

Knowing it’s a lie, I say, “Oh, I don’t really have any secrets.” Buck’s smile flashes in the back of my mind, big, and full of teeth, and just for me but I wave it off.

Before I’m able to push him away, Chimney’s got a hand fisted in the collar of my flannel. He drags me closer, pushing up onto his toes to level the distance and stare unblinking into my eyes. I’m starting to think he’s drunk, but it’s not even noon yet. He certainly smells like beer.

“We all have secrets, Diaz.”

“Howie, get off of him. I cannot believe you’re tipsy at eleven o’clock on a Monday morning.” Maddie comes to my rescue, pulling her partner off of me with an exasperated sigh.

I adjust my blue and gray plaid shirt, smoothing out the collar. “Tipsy?”

“Mads, you know we have to pick the holiday special brew before we open today! I think I picked my favorite three: The Sam Adams one is okay but really I don’t think it’s what people want to buy for half off the week before Christmas. I really think we’re better off going with Highland Brewing or, oh, the Nutcracker Ale! That one was top notch!”

“Howie, honey, whatever you want! Just don’t break my new brother-in-law!” The title burns my ears as another lance of guilt pierces my belly. She pinches his cheek before shoving him unceremoniously through the doorway to the dining room. There's a cackle as Chimney very loudly trips and falls, moaning and groaning the whole way down. Sighing, Maddie shakes her head fondly. “I don’t know why I ever think pairing Howie and Hen together is a good idea.” She smiles at me and I feel guilty again. I’m not even doing anything right now and I feel guilty. “Jee kidnapped Uncle Buck and brought him upstairs, and Christopher and Albert are putting on Home Alone in the living room. The Lees should be here within the hour and we're planning on having lunch at the pub. Do you know when you have to check in at the Snowflake?”

“Check in is at noon. Worst case scenario we can meet you at the pub after.”

“Okay, perfect, you can leave Chris here, if you want, and we’ll bring him over.” I nod at the suggestion. “Now, I’m going to tell you this because Howie is currently unreliable and Buck’s gonna be distracted for a while: I have to drop cupcakes off for the school’s Holiday Bake Sale. I will be gone for a half hour, forty-five minutes tops. And if you really want to prove that you deserve my brother you can get Howie to drink some coffee and sober up some before his parents get here.” She steps forward, coming up to press a kiss into my cheek. Before I can respond, she turns around and picks up a tupperware container filled with sparkly red and silver cupcakes, her keys, and a to-go tumbler of coffee. Then she’s gone; shouting a goodbye to her partner as the door swings shut behind her.

All alone, my fingers reach up to press against a tingling cheek. This lie is going to be the death of me.

With nothing better to do, I glance around the entryway. There's a mirror hanging across from me with festive silver tinsel wrapped around its edges. Surrounding the frame are dozens of snapshots taped to the wall: candid family photos, old pictures of Chimney and the Lees and of Maddie and Buck, and various group shots throughout the years. My heart beats uncomfortably when I find my own face staring back at me.

The first- and oldest- photo is from the first Christmas with Buck. Chris is holding his new game console, a huge grin plastered across his face, while Buck and I are positioned on the couch behind him. It's a familiar picture; one that Tia Peppa took, one that hangs on my fridge at home, one that I have spent far too long staring at since I connected the dots on all these inconvenient feelings- how it ended up on a wall in Pennsylvania I don't know.

Next is one from the grand opening of Kevin’s- the pub Maddie and Chimney launched a few years ago. I don't even remember the moment I'm looking at; Buck and I are sitting at the shiny new bartop, grinning at each other over the beer bottles that we’re toasting. Chimney's in the background, arm curled like he's about to whip his bar rag at us.

The last one is also from the pub opening, a group shot this time. Everyone important to the publicans are there: Hen and her wife, Karen, who own the nearest café, Bobby and Athena from the Christmas tree farm out on the edge of town, Anne and John Lee, the couple who raised Chimney to name a few I recognize. And then there's me and Buck. Taking in the way my face is forever immortalized on their wall, I can't help but sigh disparagingly.

We’re all grouped in front of the pub, a sash of cherry red satin taped across the doors. The owners are holding a pair of comically large scissors about to cut the ribbon and we’re all crowded around them to be in frame. Buck and I are standing at the back, mostly cut out of the shot given the size of the group. Everyone’s looking at the camera, or at the giant scissors- even Buck is, eyes trained up front towards his sister. But I'm staring right at him, seemingly unaware of anything going on around us.

I remember how anxious I had been that day, surprised Maddie and Chimney wanted me in the photos, but worried Buck would think it was too much, too clingy, too awkward. Who was I to infiltrate his family unit? Our friendship was only a couple years old at the time and my feelings were just reaching a boiling point I couldn’t keep ignoring. I can see them all plain as day, frozen in time in the way only photos can capture. It's there in the way my whole body seems to curve towards him, the way my head tilts back so I can see him, the way my eyes are shining like they're filled with stars.

It’s fucking embarrassing. I’m honestly amazed that no one’s ever picked up on it.

“Diaz!”

Jumping, I turn just as Hen steps out of the dining room, looking intimidating in a black tracksuit and her signature flashy glasses. She’s always seemed way too cool for a small town like Fire Station, but somehow manages to fit right in. Thankfully, she doesn’t try to hug me, just grins over the lip of a winter themed beer bottle. “Karen and I are so happy to hear you finally pulled your head out your ass and told Buckaroo how you feel! It was so obvious from the way you trailed after him like a lost puppy dog. Not that he was any better.” She pats my shoulder gently and then points up to the same photo I was just looking at. “So obvious.” Shaking her head she snorts, heading off down the hall and muttering about the bathroom. Listening to her walk away, I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror across from me. Crimson blooms across my cheeks, splotchy and bright.

I sigh. Once upon a time, I bottled my emotions so much that no one could get a read on them. I’m pretty sure the only reason that changed is over six feet tall with curly blond hair and a set of frosty cerulean eyes that make me weak in the knees.

“Edmuuuundoooo!”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The faint call echoes down through the ceiling followed by another loud thump. Sighing, I set off in search of my best friend and his nightmare of a niece. Not that I'd ever call her that within earshot of Buck. He'd never forgive me.

Heading into the living room, I find Albert and Chris set up on the sectional, a bowl of popcorn between them as Catherine O'Hara drags Macauley Caulkin past his siblings and cousins to deposit him on the third floor. Albert looks up, helpfully pointing over to the stairs where the sounds of giggling and thumping, louder than before, are emanating from.

True to Maddie’s nature, it looks like a holiday bomb exploded in the house, covering the room in festive shrapnel; ribbons and tinsel and tiny villagers galore. Garland and lights twirl through the hand railing and balusters leading to the second floor and wrap around the mantle. Red bows and embroidered stockings dangle above the fireplace, currently cold, and more than one Elf on the Shelf can be spotted perched throughout the room. There’s something off about it all but it doesn't come to me until I'm heading up the steps. There’s no Christmas tree. A week before the holiday and they’ve yet to put one up. Weird, considering the Yuletide vomit covering every surface.

On the landing, I come face to face with a large, framed photo of a much younger set of Buckley siblings. Buck's no more than sixteen, tall and skinny and gangly with an arm slung proudly around his sister. Maddie’s beaming in a horribly orange graduation gown, clutching a diploma in one hand and a massive bouquet in the other. He looks so young, so innocent and sweet. I wish I'd known him back then, wish I’d been there when all he had in the world was a sister. I wonder how many things would be different and how many things would still be the same. Wonder if more time together would make it easier to give in, to confess, to show him how much I-

“Edmundo saaaaave me!” Buck's call pulls me from my head. A delighted peal of laughter follows it a second later, full of joy and wonder. Trailing after the racket, I find more family photos and pots of poinsettia, fairy lights and holiday cards, and a small fake Christmas tree with a second, smaller village underneath it. Why would there be a tree up here but not one downstairs? They have a fireplace and a five year old, the tree should be by Santa’s preferred entrance, shouldn’t it?

There’s a door cracked open at the end of the hall, a riot of color within but still it's Buck's blond curls that catch my eye first. He’s face down on a cotton candy pink shag carpet while Jee-Yun balances on his back, pigtails bouncing. Her purple boots are long gone, ditched somewhere in the chaos and her red and white striped feet are walking up and down his spine. Toys are scattered all over the place; falling from the overflowing bins under the windows, spilling from underneath the bed, and dangling haphazardly from the net strung up in the corner of the ceiling. The closet doors are thrown wide and a rainbow is escaping in the form of dresses and tutus, tights and shoes, and even more toys.

It’s an absolute disaster and I hope it was like this before Buck came up. It’s been, like, five minutes, is it even possible to make this much mess in that short amount of time? Considering what I know of the little girl and her frenzied energy, yes, it is possible.

Jee-Yun loses her balance, tiny feet sliding off Buck’s back until she’s got them on the carpet on either side of his ribs, hands pinwheeling until she’s sure she’s not gonna fall any further. She straightens up and lets out a demonic giggle. “Again, again, again,” she squeals, jumping back onto her uncle. He lets out a groan and I can tell from the way his body jerks that it doesn’t feel good to have forty pounds come crashing down on your spine like that. Jee wiggles around, earning a loud crack from underneath her feet.

Buck finally sees me standing in the doorway. “Edmundo, save me!” He lets out a couple of fake coughs, reaching a hand towards me but pausing halfway through the gesture and letting it drop to the carpet. With a final cough, he goes boneless, melting into the carpet.

Jee-Yun’s own brown eyes light up as she clocks me. “Uncle Eddie!” She starts clapping, jumping up and down, up and down on Buck’s back. The blond grimaces, air rushing out of his mouth with every bounce.

“Okay, Jee-Yun.” I step forward, reaching out to pick her up and salvage my friend’s back. She must have other plans, though, as she bends her knees and catapults herself off Buck and into my arms. Giggling, she wraps her legs around my waist and rests her head on my shoulder, squeezing as tight as her five year old’s arms will allow.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Eddie.”

“Merry Christmas, Jee,” I murmur, squeezing back.

She gives me one minute of stillness, one minute as she hugs me and whispers she's happy I'm here, before wiggling her way to freedom. As always, my heart constricts at how easily she thinks of me as part of her family. From the moment she was born Maddie started calling me Uncle Eddie, despite my insistence it wasn't necessary. Any type of protest was met with a scoff or an eye roll until I gave in and accepted the title.

“You’re Buck’s best friend right? You’re not going anywhere. She’s gotta call you something so Uncle Eddie it is.” Her tone brokered no argument. To this day, I will deny that it made me choke up more than I ever did with my sisters' kids.

When Jee-Yun’s back on her feet she darts out of the room and disappears down the hall, leaving a trail of sparkles and laughter as she goes. Two minutes with her and I’m already exhausted. I look down at Buck, still lying on the plush carpet. He rolled over at some point and is propping his head up with a hand as he gazes up at me. He looks dumbstruck, all wide eyes and parted lips.

I arch an eyebrow. “What?”

Is it my imagination or does Buck blush at the question? There’s a few splotchy raspberry patches cropping up along the apples of his cheeks. He quickly looks away, though, clearing his throat and getting to his feet.

“Nothing, just uh-” he starts before clearing his throat again. “Just, uh, thanks for doing this, again. Getting teased every year about always being single is so depressing! I know this is awkward and I-I’m so sorry that I involved you in a lie like this, I just- I just-”

“Hey,” I interrupt, not wanting him to spiral already. We just got here. “I got your back, Buck. Always.” I clap a hand on his shoulder, heart somersaulting through something viscous as I gaze up into the expansive blue of his eyes. There’s only two inches difference, why does he always seem so much taller? “No matter how awkward and weird and inappropriate the request is, remember? We made a deal five years ago and I intend to keep it.”

Buck reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck and looking away again. Why does he always look away? I never can, not really. His face is slowly getting more and more color; a pretty pink that matches his birthmark. No doubt caused by the unbearably high thermostat setting.

“Five years ago fake dating was not on the table.”

“No, but honestly? Not the weirdest situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.” I grin, wishing he would meet my gaze. It feels like I spend half my life wishing Buck would look at me, this shouldn’t be any different. But there’s a sinking feeling in my gut that’s telling me this week is going to make everything about us, about our friendship, about Buck-and-Eddie different.

Just not in the way I’ve spent years hoping for.

There’s a thump in the hall, distracting me from the anxiety crawling along my spine. Someone much bigger than Jee-Yun is making their way down to us. Buck’s eyes are still looking everywhere but me, hand running up and down the back of his neck and head. He looks guilty and sad and it feels like my fault, why does it feel like my fault? I let my lips fall, erasing the smile and stepping back. “Come on,” I say, holding out my hand. “Maybe we can snag some of Chimney’s winter ales before we go check in?”

Finally, he looks back at me with a smile lifting up the corners of his mouth; small enough that I’m still worried but big enough that I can feel my heart do another somersault. He reaches out to grab my hand and I know it’s just for show, I know it’s just to keep up the ruse, I know that it means nothing, not to him, but it still sends a sharp electrical current up my arm.

One of these days, Evan Buckley will be the death of me.

We bump into Albert in the hall, wearing what looks like a full cup of coffee down his front. “She’s absolutely insane,” he tells us, shaking his head as he steps into his room.

There is a crash and a squeal from the floor below and Buck and I turn to each other, eyes wide. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to wrangle a kindergartener,” I whisper.

He jostles our hands between us. “We got this.”

#buddie #holiday au #fake dating #eddie 'pining after his bestie' diaz #oblivious buck #holiday romcom #holiday fic #writing #buck/eddie #fanfiction #eddie diaz #the holiday lie #buddie 911 #buddie fic #911 abc #evan buck buckely #buddie abc #911 fic #911 on abc

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readingforsanity · 5 months ago

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Elevation | Stephen King | Published 2018 | *SPOILERS*

Castle Rock is a small town, where word gets around quickly. That's why Scott Carey wants to confide only in his friend Dr. Bob Ellis about his strange condition he's losing weight without getting thinner, and the scales register the same whether he is in his clothes or out of them, no matter how heavy they are.

Scott also has new neighbors who have opened a "fine dining experience" in town, although it's an experience being shunned by the locals: Dierdre McComb and her wife Missy Donaldson don't exactly conform to a lifestyle the community approves of. And now Scott seems trapped in a feud with the couple over their dogs dropping their business on his lawn. Missy may be warm and friendly, but Dierdre is as cold as ice.

As the town prepares for its annual Thanksgiving 12K run, Scott begins to understand the prejudices the women face, and tries to help. Unlikely alliances form, and the mystery of Scott's affliction brings out the best in people who have indulged the worst in themselves and others.

From the master storyteller Stephen King comes this compelling tale about finding common ground despite differences, a magical story with deep resonance for our time.

Scott Carey appears to be your average 42-year-old man. He works in web design, and spends his days either working or playing tennis with his good friend, retired doctor Bob Ellis. For the most part, Scott leads a relatively normal life, despite being "middle-aged" and being a fair amount overweight for his age and height, reaching 6 foot four inches.

On a whim, Scott steps onto a scale and realizes that he has begun losing weight without losing the appearance of his oversized belly. Initially, this begins to concern him though by the time he brings this up with his friend, Bob, known as Doctor Bob to his friends and patients, he has suddenly come to peace with it. In order to prove that he is telling the truth, Scott has placed several pounds of quarters into the pocket of his coat, and each time he is weighed, the scale does not change from 212.

Bob and Scott are both clueless on what could be going on with him, and despite urging him to visit professionals who may be able to help or reverse the effects of the rapid weight loss, Scott decides to live out the rest of his days doing what he loves best. So, Scott continues to work, spend time with his cat, Bill D. Cat, and stuffing his face to the point of eruption with no repurcussions to show for it, on the scale or otherwise.

Scott also has some sort of feud with his new neighbors, Missy and Deidre. The two women, who are married, moved in to the neighboring house around 8 months ago, and opened a vegetarian Tex-Mex restaurant on the main street. When it first opened, business was great but word got around that two lesbians, two married lesbians, were running it and the town seemingly disappeared.

Their two dogs often pooped in his lawn, much to Scott's chagrin when they wouldn't clean up after themselves. Diedre denies that it is their dogs, but after showing proof to her, it only fuels their feud more. Missy is easy going and is friendly with Scott, but DeeDee is less so, and makes it known that she wants nothing to do with him. Her attitude is partially due to what she experiences from the other town folk of Castle Rock, in addition to them potentially losing the restaurant after its slow decline.

When Scott realizes that he has the ability to run in the town's annual turkey trot, a 12K race, he decides to sign up. He makes a wager with DeeDee, saying that if he wins the race, she and Missy will have to mend their relationship as neighbors by having dinner at his house. If she wins, her dogs can have free reign of his yard and he won't complain about it for one second.

DeeDee, a former Olympic-bound runner, knows that she is going to win. But Scott gives her a run for her money when he is able to come in second to her first place. Technically, Scott should have won after DeeDee lost her footing after a storm blew through the race, but instead of running past her, he helps her up and she is able to win. This effectively helps reopen the towns opinion of them, and their restaurant goes from struggling to being completely booked for the days and weeks to come.

Despite having won the bet, DeeDee decides that she could be a bit friendlier with Scott, and she and Missy, along with Doctor Bob and his closed-minded wife Myra join him for dinner. By the end of the night, the five of them become great friends. Scott also includes Myra, along with Missy and DeeDee into his secret, and wishes that they would continue to keep it. By his estimation, his weight will continue to plummet and the end would come around mid-March. But by January, he knows that it is coming much faster. He is no longer losing between 1 and 2 pounds a day, but instead is losing 3.

He confesses as such during what would become their final dinner together. His friends are distraught, but DeeDee agrees to help him at the end when the time comes. Toward the end of the month, he weighs himself and finds that he has hit the 2 pound mark, and the time has come.

Strapping himself into a wheelchair, DeeDee takes him outside, where she then unstraps him and he begins to float in the air. Scott is calm, though his friends are devastated by the sudden loss of their dear friend.

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mscarterrealtor · 1 year ago

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Give Your Landscape Some end of Summer Love

Outdoors & Gardening by Andre Rios

With autumn on the horizon, you may be looking forward to the cool, breezy days ahead, and you’re not alone.

In fact, your landscaping probably can’t wait to say good riddance to these hot summer days full of overactive pests and dry, thirsty soil. However, fall is not without its unique challenges. As the sun sets on summer, take some time to conduct a little end-of-season maintenance and prepare for the fall climate conditions that are just around the corner.

Go through your garden

Start with damage control. Assess the summer casualties in your garden, such as high-moisture or sun-averse plants that just couldn’t take the heat. Uproot any dead matter, and clean the soil out of freshly emptied garden pots, as dead roots may attract fungi.

Check your remaining plants for dry, dead growths, pruning them as needed. Use garden shears for this task, not your hands, to avoid damaging healthy growths in the process. Then pick and preserve any ripe fruits, vegetables, or herbs in your edible garden. You worked hard on this produce all summer, so ensure that it doesn’t go to waste. (Besides, if you don’t eat it, some ants gladly will.)

If you plan on filling any gaps in your garden with fall foliage, such as pansies and goldenrod, plant young growths—seeds likely won’t bloom in time for Thanksgiving. This is also the ideal time to plant new trees and shrubs as their roots will have ample time to mature in the soil before the winter frost arrives. Once you’re satisfied, surround any new additions to your yard and garden with a layer of mulch to help insulate fresh roots.

Optimize your outdoor spaces

Take care of any outdoor repairs while the weather is still comfortable. Once harsher autumn conditions roll around, existing damage like cracked surfaces may only worsen—and you may be less willing to head outside to make these necessary fixes.

Start by caulking surface cracks in brick, concrete, and stone, then paint over them to disguise your repairs. You should make touch-ups to paint on walls and railings during this drier end-of-summer weather. (Cool, wet fall air may prevent paint from drying properly.) If you have extensive damage like dislodged concrete or broken pavers, hire a specialist to make these improvements as soon as you can.

It’s especially important to address any wooden deck damage before fall is in full swing. These wetter, milder, and shorter days create the perfect conditions for fungi with a particular taste for wood. Because deck construction is so intricate, you should probably restrict DIY efforts to simple tasks like cleaning, rinsing, and touching up the sealant. Leave sensitive jobs like replacing rotten planks or securing loose joints to a professional repair service.

Finally, take care of your outdoor decor. Invest in furniture covers that can withstand rain and weathering, and move any delicate items like pillows into storage when not in use.

Sift through your shed

Take some time to organize your shed. Put away summer decorations, then store any unneeded tools. For more efficient storage, install racks, wall mounts, and shelves. (You’ll thank yourself later.) Rotate rakes and wheelbarrows to the front so that when the leaves start to drop, you’ll be ready to clean them up. In anticipation of colder weather, you should also stock up on winterizing supplies like plant insulating wrap.

Give your lawn some love

Summer may be peak weed season, but this problem won’t necessarily disappear with the approach of the fall equinox. Pick all weeds out of your lawn, ensuring that you fully uproot them; resilient weeds can rebound surprisingly fast if you don’t remove all of their roots.

The first frost can occur anywhere between September and December, depending on your region of the country. (The Farmer’s Almanac has a handy guide to probable frost dates for your area.) In anticipation of this climate turning point, aerate your lawn to loosen up compacted soil, and apply a thin layer of fertilizer. You can also plant grass seeds for a denser, healthier lawn, but it may be best to consult with a horticulturist first, as this can be a delicate job with specific regional challenges.

Keep your mower handy too. Grass will continue growing up until the first frost occurs, so mow your lawn regularly before then. Set the blades to 4 inches to help keep your grass healthy and neat looking throughout August and September. If leaves start collecting on your lawn prematurely, feel free to mow right over them for now. Once dense layers of leaves collect later in fall, you’ll need to rake them before you mow.

Additionally, stay on top of your watering schedule. Stick to the low-light hours of dawn and dusk, even as cooler weather trickles in. Direct sun can evaporate moisture surprisingly fast, which wastes both water and money.

Tackle these tasks now, and you can enjoy a cozier autumn with minimal effort, less stress, and delightful views of the changing season outside your window.

Need home with even a small, manageable yard for a small, manageable garden?

Contact:

Marquita S. Carter Real Estate [email protected] call/text 601.658.0678(live agent)

#garden #gardenscape #homeowner #homeownership #lawn #first time home buyer #land #acre #biloxi #mississippi #realtor #real estate agent #top realtor #realtor queen #gulf coast #manager #property manager

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carmellawncare36025 · 3 years ago

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How To Match The Style Of Your Property Along With Your Garden Design

Does your garden evoke sympathy? Is that description a gigantic understatement? Do neighbors decline to come when you ask to come to your garden party? You can easily stop being the laughing stock of the community. As an alternative, maintain reading this post and you will learn just how to make your property much more fascinating and lovely.

Trim your bushes and hedges to prepare your lawn for thanksgiving. If you trim a hedge, or even a bush when it is simply starting to become over grown, it will be a quick and simple procedure. If you wait up until the bush is entirely over grown, you may count on the project to take all day. Regular maintenance is actually the easiest technique to maintain your landscaping appearing fantastic.

Just before you purchase just about anything, make the effort to draw a detailed sketch of your garden. You must recognize exactly where things go in addition to which order you will definitely proceed to develop your yard. Provide yourself a few weeks to examine your sketches and make a couple of changes, if you need to.

Always look at the climate in your place when establishing what form of plant life you are going to make use of. Your garden will certainly not look excellent if you select plants, that are not suited for the climate of your home. Make sure that any kind of plants you select will certainly be able to prosper in your weather.

If you are making an effort to receive a ton of colour in your yard or garden location, however do not have a huge spending plan, look at wildflowers. Wildflower seeds may be purchased in any home improvement shop, and spread over large places, or even where planting is actually tough. Because of this, you'll have a myriad of gorgeous flowers of a variety of types. They will definitely be actually terrific for bouquets!

The very best technique to screw up a landscaping venture is to not possess a plan. Without a plan before hand, your landscaping venture will certainly appear like a hodgepodge of mismatched plants and things. Make use of a basic part of chart paper as well as extract your brand-new planning just before buying just about anything for the yard.

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Location is really vital when making your landscaping task. Plants needs to be placed in particular areas of your backyard to grow and mature. Factors you need to think about are the supply of light and water, along with exposure to shade, weather condition and wind.

Before you start any kind of landscaping task, it is vital to look for any county codes or even rules you might require to observe. For example, there are certain plants and heavy objects that will certainly not be allowed on top of a septic drain field. An easy talk to the county can find the drain field and help you avoid disaster!

Make certain that the lawnmower you select is just one of a high quality. Sometimes, folks merely get whichever lawnmower is actually cheapest or even on sale. Typically, these lawnmowers do not cut through grass properly, and they may break simpler. Despite the fact that it might be more expensive, a high quality mower will generally do the job.

Now that you understand how to transform your lawn, when it's done your neighbors will adore it and be begging you for assist with their yards. Your neighbors will certainly be impressed not only with your beautiful lawn but likewise along with your own landscaping skills. Have fun with it! For those who wish to read this information to understand about this article, visit this site.

#prepare your lawn for thanksgiving

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lawncarecincinnatioh4058 · 4 years ago

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Excellent Advice On Landscape Projects For Your House

Landscaping could be a pleasurable hobby, and even a profitable business, however without the ideal skill-sets, it may be tough to prosper. To be successful at landscaping, you should make use of the best landscaping techniques. With a little bit of training, you may produce lovely landscapes and also perhaps produce income doing it.

With only a few weeks left remaining of fall and thanksgiving right around the corner, have you prepared your lawn for cold temperatures, ice, and snow? Prepare your lawn for Thanksgiving now will provide you less work to do in the spring as well as help your lawn recuperate from its wintertime nap. Here are a few means you can ensure your lawn is ready for winter months such as winterizer, soil amendment, fall aeration, landscape, raking and fall planting.

Think of water requirements. If you stay in a location that does not acquire a great deal of rain, try to use plants that don't need a ton of water. Grass needs more water than any other sort of plant, therefore replace your lawn with wood chips, gravel, or a form of ground cover that is suitable for high drought locations.

To save cash, you can easily get items such as mulch or even containers coming from a home-improvement warehouse. The quality of these things will definitely not make much of a difference. Nevertheless, you ought to head to a nursery to purchase your plants and your other products like pesticides rather than settling for low-grade items.

Time your purchases to conserve money. Purchase lumber in the winter months, and also purchase greenery later in the season. When newer plants show up on market, wait a few years up until prices lessen.

Some of one of the most important factors you may do to lower your landscaping costs, is to formulate a planning just before you begin acquiring plants, and building materials. Recognizing what you require, as well as where it goes will certainly avoid you from wasting money on unneeded items. You'll spare your time at the same time.

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Begin buying your materials in phases. Few folks may afford to buy every thing for their projects at one time. By splitting projects right into a number of stages, you can pay for what you require as you go. This may save you money, assist you keep track of your progress, as well as permit you adjust strategies before your next phase.

When preparing your home landscape projects, consider that substantial savings could be located by purchasing outside peak seasonal periods. Purchase your trees, plants as well as mulch late in the planting period for the very best sales. Wood, trim as well as building supplies for outdoor decks as well as improvements are usually least expensive in the winter season considering that the demand is lower. If you have the ability to keep supplies for a short while, you can easily conserve a package getting in the off-season.

If you're running short on cash when landscaping, you do not have to maintain complete the entire task. There is completely nothing harmful concerning dividing your task in different stages. This also helps with your budget. Generate the steps you wish to take as well as prioritize all of them according to your desires.

Anyone wishing to generate a yard design with true visual impact, should consider including elements other than plants to improve the general appeal of the space. Furniture, lighting elements, statuary, as well as stonework are all instances of items that can be layered throughout the outdoor space to make an appeal that shows up to have actually progressed in time.

Once you have actually learned more regarding home landscaping, hopefully, it does not seem so complex. You may do this and all you need to accomplish is to only begin with creating the backyard of your dreams. When your neighbors inquire who did your landscaping, you'll have the ability to proudly tell them that you did yourself and they might also desire to choose you. Make sure to click this website if this is something that interests you.

#Prepare your lawn for Thanksgiving

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years ago

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Anyone and everyone will talk shit about the humble turkey, but it’s that very bird which poses the greatest threat to humans in your neighbourhood. Letter carriers, package delivery folks, law enforcement, and newscasters alike are all subservient to the whims of an ornery tom. If I had a penny for every time I’ve had to face down some vicious poultry in my own front yard (they think the loose wiring harnesses lying in my lawn are tasty worms) then I’d have almost enough money to get my water switched back on.

One year, things were a little different. It was after Thanksgiving, almost time for Halloween. The air was cold and crisp, and you could see your breath in it. Every burst of profanity would condense onto the metalwork of the car you were swearing at, beautiful little bubbles of rage. That kind of night, you don’t want to stop turning a wrench, or your shitbox won’t be ready for the snowfall in a week or two. That’s when I heard it.

A turkey had wandered away from the nature preserve down the street. I say “nature preserve,” but both you and I fully understand that I actually mean “abandoned lot.” This was something I was prepared for, as it happened every year. As the baby turkeys mature, they want to wander away from mom and dad in search of new things to have sex with and/or eat. Unfortunately, one of the places that this turkey decided to wander was into my garage, where I was currently trapped beneath a decaying ‘83 Imperial, fighting a corroded brake-line junction.

I would be lying to you if I told you that the situation was resolved without violence. Of course, that violence was unidirectional. If you asked a physicist to draw the force diagram, they would sketch a lot of arrows pointed directly towards Yours Truly’s feet, legs, and genitals. The fates intervened in my favour, though, and the beast slipped on a pool of spilled ATF and slid to the other side of the garage, where it was knocked unconscious by a pile of precariously-stacked broken parts falling on it.

I’ll never forget that turkey. Now, when I work on cars, I first close the garage door, or use the buddy system. The big benefit of the latter option is that I can grab a YouTube video of my friend being attacked by an angry bird instead. That’s the kind of footage that might be able to get me a hot shower again, on some glorious future day.

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years ago

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The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

This is for the lovely @sequinsmile-x on her birthday. I started reading her stories back in December and was a huge fan from the beginning. Fast forward a few months, and I am somehow lucky enough to call you my friend. For all the pep talks, the inspiration, and the laughs- you have been a bright spot of 2021. But I stand true to my word if harm ever comes to Theo Hotchner, you know what’s coming your way ; ) Happiest of birthdays, my friend! Enjoy every moment and all the cocktails.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

The Day After Thanksgiving

The fragrant aromas of hazelnut and vanilla waft through the air as Aaron precariously grips two full mugs of coffee in his hands. He sidesteps a few toys and a pair of shoes that were somehow missed in last night’s cleanup as he carefully ascends the stairs. The coffee threatens to slosh over the edge of the mugs and stain the hardwood floors; he slows his steps and tiptoes past closed bedroom doors. He avoids the squeaky floorboards - he knows exactly where they are by now - and kicks another stray toy against the wall in his haste to get to Emily before she wakes up.

Coffee in bed is a sacred routine for them, one they haven’t abandoned even balancing the demands of three children and two grueling careers. It’s one of Emily’s little pleasures, an act so simple Aaron can’t deny her whenever he gets the chance. That alone is how he found himself awake before the sun rises, rearranging the various pyrex containers of Thanksgiving leftovers to locate the coveted bottle of Emily’s favorite creamer in the fridge. It was wedged behind the cranberry sauce and macaroni and cheese they made for Nora, who vehemently refused to eat turkey. Of course, she’d eaten maybe five bites of her specially prepared dinner before she’d crawled into Emily’s lap in the middle of dinner. Yet it still brings a smile to his face; it’s their first holiday season as a family of five - something they never expected, something they’ll never take for granted.

Read the rest here or on ao3

When he shoulders the door open, Aaron finds her awake, feeding Leo. She holds him at her breast, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She senses his presence innately, attuned to the softness of his steps as he steps over the threshold of the sanctuary of their bedroom. Emily’s face stretches into a brilliant smile when she sees him, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion that paints her features.

“He’s awake again?” Aaron sets the mug on the nightstand and kisses her cheek then the top of Leo’s head. “I thought you’d at least get another hour of sleep.”

“He had other plans,” Emily murmurs, lovingly shifting their son in her arms. “He’s almost done.” She reaches for the coffee with her free hand, lifts the mug to her lips. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Aaron watches her finish Leo’s feed with unabashed awe. There’s nothing but adoration in his eyes, amazement at how she handles motherhood with an abundance of patience and grace. There have been ups and downs, tears. arguments and fights, her nerves stretched thin and his worn down. But these moments make it worth it, ones he wouldn’t trade. He leans down to take Leo to give her a break. The little boy’s eyes are already closed, contentedly asleep once again.

“You’re spoiling me.” Emily says with a grateful smile. She rests back against the pillows, eyes closing again. “What was I thinking when I agreed to go Black Friday shopping with JJ and Garcia?”

“Might be good to get out of the house. Away from the chaos.”

“Into a whole new kind of chaos. Garcia means business. I’m afraid of her ambition.” Emily rolls her eyes at the thought of the shared document Garcia had sent to her and JJ - essentially a shopping itinerary, with all the best deals and discounts clearly marked.

“You say it like you’re surprised.” Aaron gently places Leo into the bassinet before crawling back into bed with his wife. “It is Garcia we’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’ll learn my lesson next year.” She snuggles against him, seeking a few extra moments of peace.

Christmas Tree Shopping

It’s scarcely a week after Thanksgiving when Aaron caves to the persistent demands from Nora and Jack, unable to hold them off any longer. Less than an hour later, as the sun starts to go down in the early December sky, the Hotchners find themselves at an idyllic Christmas tree farm in Loudoun County. They’re not the only ones, as families make their way through the maize of evergreen, the air thick with the cloying, yet not unpleasant, scent of pine needles.

“We’re becoming those people,” Aaron grumbles good naturedly, Leo strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. “Jack, please watch your sister!” A few feet ahead, Nora runs excitedly through the trees, clapping her tiny mitten covered hands with joy. But Jack looks just as excited and takes off behind her as they search for the perfect one. It’s a tradition he never had growing up; one he’d only ever heard stories about from his classmates as he swallowed an emotion he only identified many years later as jealousy.

“What kind of people?” Emily carefully picks her way through the grass, her hand enclosed in his. Her head falls onto his shoulder every few feet; they quietly murmur to each other in broken sentences, interrupted every few seconds by one of the kids, yet it’s a language they’ve mastered over the last few years. Glances and smiles, words that speak volumes, little touches here and there.

“Those Christmas crazed people. Pretty soon we’re going to have an inflatable Santa on the lawn or something.”

“Don’t say that too loudly.” Emily gives him a quick kiss, stopping for a moment to adjust Leo’s hat to cover his tiny head. “Nora said one of her classmates has one. She’s already talking about it.”

“Great.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “I bet Garcia has one we could borrow. Probably more than one.”

Emily laughs, lightly smacking him on the shoulder as Nora grabs her hand. “Mommy, Jack and I like this one!” They all stop in front of a tree on a corner. It’s bigger than Aaron anticipated - he has visions of vacuuming pine needles for the next four weeks - and slightly lopsided, with uneven branches and a few gaps in between. Certainly not what you might see in a magazine, and in no way picture perfect, but Nora and Jack are beaming, their cheeks flushed pink in the chilly early evening air.

“Oh, you mean you two finally agree on something?” Emily quips, letting Nora drag her around the base of the tree, listening as their daughter explains where she wants to put her collection of superhero ornaments. “Who would have ever thought?” But when her eyes meet Aaron’s, it’s clear they’re thinking the same thing too.

It’s perfect.

A Lesson In Gift Wrapping

“Damnit,” Emily swears under her breath as the wrapping paper seemingly shreds in her hands. How does Aaron make this look so easy? With her bottom lip between her teeth, she folds another piece of paper around the box, trying to mimic the process she’s seen him do so effortlessly time and time again. It’s not quite enough paper to wrap around the box, and she shakes her head in defeat.

“Of all the places I looked, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Aaron’s baritone voice shakes her from her trance. He’s leaning in the doorway of the guest room, an amused but loving smirk on his face. The remnants of the day are there - a hint of shadow on his chin, tie loosened and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Thought I might get some of this done.” She looks up at him briefly before her attention goes back to the mess of wrapping paper, twisted balls of tape, and gift bows. “There’s a lot still left to do.”

“Did the North Pole finally accept your elf application?” Aaron teases lovingly, pushing the door open and side-stepping a large pile of gifts that still have yet to be wrapped. “Looks like we’re a little behind schedule this year.”

With a roll of her eyes, Emily pushes a piece of hair out of her face. “You’re home earlier than I expected.” She glances at the mess around her with a sigh, and her voice softens. “Leo needs to be fed when he gets up. I need to pick up Nora from school and Jack will be home in an hour.”

He immediately catches the tension in her voice. As the early days of December melted into weeks, the never ending hustle was clearly starting to get to her, especially since cases took Aaron out of town most of the workweek. Evenings were full of obligations - practices and errands, weekends packed with as much family time as they could manage. All the rest was pushed to the side, a never ending list of chores that was only added to, never subtracted from.

The team had spent almost a week in Bethlehem Pennsylvania, ironically called the Christmas City, searching for an arsonist that had the entire city on edge. Perhaps the nickname was an eerie coincidence yet nonetheless it was a grueling case. Since he’d gotten home he could sense the stress emanating from her, curling like fog around her. She couldn’t hide it from him; she couldn’t hide anything from him. And while he didn’t ask, he somehow already knew. “I asked Garcia to pick Nora up to give you a break.”

“What about dinner?”

“It’s already been ordered.” Aaron says easily, settling beside her on the floor. “Pizza sounded good.”

Relief floods her face. “Pizza always sounds good.” She kicks the abandoned box out of the way to wedge herself against him, lacing her fingers through his. “We’ve missed you around here.” It’s honest, an understated relief that only years of intimacy can bring. Her head finds its way to his shoulder; she leans against him.

“We’re finished until after New Years.” Aaron holds their hands up to the light, staring at the bouncing reflection of their wedding rings. “You have me here until January.”

“Lucky me,” Emily says dryly.

Aaron picks up a stray ball of abandoned wrapping paper and chucks it at her. “What do you say we finish wrapping these together?”

“I say,” she begins slowly, eyes darting between the neatly made bed and his own. “We take advantage of having the house to ourselves.”

He makes her come three times before they hear Garcia’s car in the driveway, and twice more after the kids are in bed, for good measure.

A Deal With The Devil

The name that appears on the screen of his ringing phone is one Aaron can’t ignore. It’s terrible timing, but he’s not at all surprised. His mother in law had an uncanny knack for calling at the most inopportune moments.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” Aaron says hastily, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wedges the final plate into the dishwasher. He barely got to the phone in time before it went to voicemail, and something tells him she’s only a little miffed about that fact. Elizabeth Prentiss has an abundance of patience for her grandchildren, but not much for anyone else, he’s come to learn.

“Good evening, Aaron,” she says crisply yet not unkindly. In the background he can hear the mellow crooning of Bing Crosby. He imagines Elizabeth with a glass of wine in one hand, a thick book in her lap. “Is Emily around? I tried to reach her earlier. She didn’t answer my call.”

“She’s giving Nora a bath.” He glances upward, the muffled squeals and giggles coming from the bathroom just loud enough to hear from downstairs. At least things have calmed down since dinner . He decides not to mention it’s already been quite an evening around their house, thanks to unfamiliar vegetables and a long day in preschool. “Is there something you’d like me to pass along?” Of course Elizabeth would call on the one night this week he isn’t away on a case.

“Actually, Aaron, maybe you can help me,” Elizabeth presses, and he knows whatever she’s about to say is something that’s already caused a disagreement between her and Emily.

“I can try,” he offers tentatively, choosing words carefully. The very last thing he wants to do is get caught between their fires. It’s never ended well for him.

“You sound tired, Aaron. Are you not sleeping well?”

“We have three kids, Elizabeth,” he counters back. “I haven’t slept well in years.”

He hears a soft laugh on the other line; for a moment he has to remind himself he’s not talking to his wife. Sometimes the similarities between them are uncanny, much to Emily’s chagrin.

He’s wrapping up the call, assuring Elizabeth they’ll figure out a plan that works for everyone yet doesn’t add any additional stress, while simultaneously cleaning the rest of the kitchen when he hears soft footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re on bedtime duty.” Emily appears behind him, leaning against the counter with an exasperated huff. “She’s in a mood tonight.”

Aaron comes to stand behind her, circling both arms around her waist. Her hips fit snugly against the cradle of his own; he rests his chin over her shoulder to nip at her ear. “I just made a deal with your mother.” He doesn’t miss how she tenses against him, a combination of frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion seeping through her body. It’s the first time they’ve been alone all day. He presses a palm against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart under the warmth of his hand.

“She called again? I let it go to voicemail earlier.”

“Just now. She wanted to talk to you. Luckily, you’re off the hook, because I talked to her.” He kisses her neck. He swipes at a few stray bath bubbles that have somehow found their way into her hair. Of all the versions of Emily he’s loved over the years, this Emily might just be his favorite.

“Let me guess. She wants us to come to her for Christmas Eve dinner instead of her coming here.”

“Something like that.”

“Does she not understand we have three children?” Emily grumbles. “I’ve been over this with her. She’s not the one who has to put them to bed on Christmas Eve, you know. It’s a whole different kind of chaos.”

“I think we can figure it out, Em.” Aaron chuckles. He holds her a little closer, voice reassuring and calm. “I made her a deal.” She noticeably relaxes, her body melding against his. Proximity is one of their love languages, the subtle touches an endless source of comfort for them both.

“ Mommy!” Nora’s voice is an insistent, urgent interruption, one they can’t ignore. “Mommy!”

Emily sighs in defeat, the moment of peaceful bliss abruptly over.

“I’ll go,” Aaron says immediately, leaving a trail of kisses down Emily’s neck. “I haven’t seen you sit down all day.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” She presses her hips into his teasingly and turns her head to kiss him. It’s a promise of later, another little luxury they still manage to make time for.

“No, but you can show me once the kids are asleep.” He reluctantly lets her go as he heads in the direction of the upstairs.

“Only if I don’t fall asleep first.”

Visiting Santa

“This is not the smartest idea we’ve ever had, clearly,” Emily mutters under her breath as the crowd around them seems to thicken before their eyes. The mall is packed, full of shoppers and families lined elbow to elbow around a colorful, elaborate display to meet Santa. There’s fake snow everywhere, teenagers dressed up as elves supervising the line and a kids’ rendition of a Christmas song blasting from speakers. “What were we thinking?”

“The same as everyone else in Northern Virginia, apparently.” Aaron finds the small of her back through her coat, rests his hand there gently as Emily pushes the stroller a little to soothe Leo. “Not like we had much of a choice, sweetheart. I’ve been gone all week. When else were we supposed to do this?”

“I could have taken them myself one night.” She looks annoyed and rightfully so, as one of the elves announces it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break.

“And miss all this fun?” Aaron jokes. He’s doing his best to hide his own annoyance, yet the flex of his jaw is a tell-tale sign that Emily spots immediately. “Not a chance.”

They’ve been in line for over a half an hour, and will be for at least another half hour. Beside Aaron, Jack grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes without even looking up from his Nintendo Switch. He’d obliged reluctantly, partly because Aaron had promised him a new video game if he didn't complain. And from where Nora is nestled in the safety of her mother’s arms, she presses her cheek against Emily’s shoulder. “What if we miss Santa, Mommy?”

“We won’t, honey,” Emily soothes, catching Aaron’s eyes over their daughter’s head of dark hair. It’s the third time she’s asked the question, her dark eyes widening as Santa waves to the crowd before disappearing. “He’s just taking a break.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aaron mutters under his breath. “Even Santa is over it.”

When they finally emerge from the mall almost an hour later, with three cranky children in tow, Emily passes over the photograph to Aaron. “This is an awful picture,” she snickers behind her gloved fist. It’s true. It was taken at the worst possible moment - seconds after Leo started screaming, Nora’s attention anywhere but the camera, and Jack’s eyes closed. “This is even worse than last year’s picture. We can’t actually display this anywhere, you know.”

“We can give it to Dave. He’ll love it,” Aaron jokes as he tucks the envelope under his arm. “Trust me.”

Twas the Night before Christmas

“Move over, Nora!” Jack elbows his sister squarely in the stomach in an attempt to crawl over his sister to get closer to Aaron. “You’re taking up too much space.”

“Ouch, Jack! Daddy, Jack is being mean!”

“There’s more than enough room for everyone,” Aaron says neutrally and cheerfully. It’s clear he won’t pick a side. “Santa doesn’t want to hear the two of you fighting on Christmas Eve. Last time we checked the radar, he was headed to the United States, wasn’t he?”

From where she cradles a milk-drunk Leo in her arms, Emily stifles a laugh in her fist. She makes a mental note to thank Garcia for showing it to the kids earlier that evening. It’s been the only thing to keep them from completely losing their minds with excitement ever since.

“Nora, why don’t you come sit over here next to Mommy and Leo?” He pats the sliver of space between his thigh and Emily’s, covered in matching flannel pajamas as Emily shifts over.

“Okay, Daddy,” she beams, scrambling off the couch and making a point to stick her tongue out at Jack along the way.

“Nora, apologize to Jack,” Emily cuts in smoothly with a sharp look at her daughter.

The little girl pouts even as guilt spreads across her face. “Sorry, Jack.” She breaks off a piece of the frosted cookie in her hand - the one she isn’t supposed to have on the new couch - and hands it to Jack. “Here.”

“Is everyone ready?” Aaron asks once Nora is settled and Jack has stopped kicking his feet underneath one of the many blankets flung around the couch. “No one needs anything?” He grins at the insistent pleas of both kids, hushes them quietly to avoid waking the sleeping baby on Emily’s chest. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…” He begins, as a silence falls over them all.

Emily watches him read, transfixed by the sight of Jack and Nora completely engrossed in the story they’ve heard dozens of times, as if they never have before. Sometimes it still doesn’t seem real that this is their life now. She would have laughed ten years ago if someone predicted her future.

“A happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.” Aaron closes the book in his hands, looking between Nora and Jack. “I think it’s bedtime, what do you think?”

There are grumbles from them both as they trip over each other on their way towards the stairs, not without frequent peeks over the shoulder to see if in fact Santa somehow materialized behind them.

“Maybe Santa will bring us a puppy, Jack!"

Christmas Eve

“You think they’ll be disappointed when none of these presents bark?” Emily jokes once they’ve finished setting up the pile of gifts. There’s a bottle of wine between them, and It’s A Wonderful Life plays in the background on low.

“I told them Santa doesn’t carry pets on the sleigh.” Aaron tucks his arm around her and brings her into his chest, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “Said it was too dangerous.”

“Did they buy that?”

“Seemed to.” He shrugs. “We might have some explaining to do if Allison and Shane end up getting Jude a puppy, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” In the easy silence the movie stretches on; they share sips of wine and leftover cookies and murmur soft whispers over the final few minutes.

“I love this part,” Emily murmurs as George Bailey reunites with his family in a joyous, tearful reunion and the opening measures of Auld Lang Syne begin to play. She doesn't look away from the screen.

“You love this whole movie,” he teases gently. “You always have.”

“You don’t?”

“I have other favorites. But I’ll always watch it with you.”Outside, the snow has started to accumulate; it’s already formed a blanket of white across the grass, and is covering the trees. It doesn’t look like it’ll be stopping anytime soon.

“This never gets old,” Emily says from where they’re snuggled together on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree and the falling snow out the window. It’s been their tradition to do this since having Nora - set up presents and watch the movie.

They watch the falling snow in silence once again, their fingers linked, heads bent together, enjoying the few extra moments of peace. It’s only when Emily’s eyes drift shut does she realize just how exhausted she really is.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Aaron murmurs as she opens them. “There’s one thing left to do.”

“We did everything. We even answered the note they wrote for Santa. We forgot that last year.” Emily stretches as she stands, her limbs aching. “It’s time for bed, Aaron. I’m so tired.”

“Not quite yet, sweetheart.” Aaron is reaching behind the decorations on the mantle for the small hidden speakers, flicking a button. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?” She yawns, not even bothering to hide it. “It’s so late.”

“You remember,” he says, holding out his hand as the music starts.

Emily rolls her eyes good naturedly, remembering just what he means. “Really, Aaron?”

“One dance, sweetheart. Please?”

“I'm tired.”

He rolls his eyes. It’s a line she’s used many times, yet for some reason, she always gives in. In fact, she’s stepping into his arms before she even stops talking.

“That’s what you always say.” He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her back, drawing her in close. “Yet you always end up right here.”

“Because I love you,” she whispers, following his steps as he takes the lead.

Some soft Christmas jazz starts to play, a sultry sounding medley that might just lull her to sleep. “This is the song you picked?” Emily rests her head on his shoulder as he sways them in time to the music. “You couldn’t have picked anything more lively?”

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, his hand bracing against the small of her back as he dips her down and brings her back up. “Just go with it.”

So she does, letting him move them both around the living room in a series of smooth, even steps. When the music stops, they still for a few blissful, silent moments. Still wrapped in each other’s arms, they’re close enough together to feel the other’s heart beating in sync. “Merry Christmas, Emily. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aaron. Merry Christmas.”

#hotchniss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #wsne universe #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #birthday fics and Christmas fluff #Christmas in July #for you my dear friend sequinsmile_x #I hope you enjoy

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starrysebastians · 4 years ago

Text

Tis the damn season

Summary : On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other. I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count : 11k

Warnings : general sadness, mentions of death and strained family relationships, but holiday fluff to make up for it.

A/n : this was written for @wonderlandmind4's fall winter challenge, thank you for hosting this! (Got carried away with the word count while simultaneously having no inspiration and writing utter shit I'm genuinely sorry about this?????)

"God I hate this damn season and everything about it."

The sound of pebbles aggressively kicked by your foot is drowned out by the driver's door being slammed shut. It echoes around the empty street, morning fog still lingering in the air even in the early afternoon. A white cloud escapes your lips as you sigh, emptying all of your lungs' air before breathing in once again, and your eyes follow the shape — up, up, until it vanishes into the air and you are left staring at a familiar bay window. The curtain moves before you can even begin to turn your gaze away and a curse escapes your lips.

"Think they saw us?" His tone is dripping with irony.

Bucky is leaning against the car, arms crossed against his broad chest and his face as blank as your mind when you try to think about why you chose to do this. In the small moment of contemplation you were having, you didn't even notice him walk around the car and stand next to you.

"Nah, impossible," you say deadpan as a hand waves behind the glass. You stare at it silently before you talk again."We can still make a run for it."

You don't move as Bucky pushes himself off the car and opens the trunk, bags all held in his metal hand. The trunk slams shut and he is already crossing the road leading to the front lawn.

"I was being serious!" You call out, huffing when he turns around and glares at you.

Throwing up your arms and letting them fall back at your sides with a heavy sigh, you begrudgingly lock the car and walk towards the house — it seems so much smaller to you now.

"Of course they put Christmas decorations literally everywhere," you mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling a wave of holiday hatred hitting you at full speed.

Bucky eyes you for a second before knocking on the door, a horrified expression distorting your features when the word wait doesn't get to be voiced out loud. His eyes are more grey than usual, matching the sky, and they hold a twinkle of amusement at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes looking up at the sky as if some sort of alien could possibly appear and whisk you far away from here.

It's intriguing, seeing you this way — in your hometown, nervous about spending Thanksgiving with your parents. Nervous isn't the right word though, because he thinks he has never seen you nervous before ; there are actually a lot of emotions he hasn't seen you display yet. Not that he has a reason to, actually, because he only sees you when you are visiting Sam at their new headquarters, or when you are helping out on a mission. So really, he has only seen you laughing at Sam's jokes, or being angry at armed criminals. And what is left between those two extreme moods are mostly you being silent or passive-agressive — although the passive-aggressiveness is reserved for him, he has noticed.

"Y/N!" Your mother's voice makes you want to wince and you purse your lips, a poor attempt at smiling. Bucky had stepped behind you after having knocked on the door and you are at the forefront of every attack.

Arms feel strange and foreign around you, a warmth you are not used to anymore. You can't really feel your hands as you awkwardly reciprocate the gesture, patting your parents' back as your gaze rests upon the staircase, so many memories rushing to your mind at once.

"Hi," you say simply, taking a step back and crossing your arms. You clear your throat, leaning closer to Bucky, your arm brushing his. This is what a regular person would do, right? "This is James."

You don't really pay attention to the way your mother's arms engulf Bucky — poor guy. Their voices are just noise to you as you step around them and walk to the living room. We have been dying to meet you. Y/N has been keeping you hidden from us for so long. We are so glad to have you here, James. Slow and careful steps, eyes taking it all in — the green walls, the fireplace, the old rug and the stains you've made, the painting you've always found disturbing. It smells just the same. You run your hands across every surface, fingers lingering on cold wood.

"It's a good thing that you're here early. I'll show you to your room and you can settle in, rest a little." You turn around lazily, lids heavy with the weight of nostalgia and old visions. Your mother's hand is resting on Bucky's forearm, probably because his shoulder was out of reach, and he looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wonder if he is uncomfortable being touched like this by your parents or if it is something else. "You must have had a long ride."

Bucky opens his mouth and you cut him off before he can even begin to utter a single word, eyes boring into his with a warning.

"We did. Exhausting. Lots of traffic." You have faked enough yawns in your life to fool even your own parents — then again, how long has it been since they last saw you? And it takes little effort to conclude that you and Bucky will rest in your room for a while before coming down and helping with dinner preparations.

The stairs creak under your feet and you smile a little at the sound. Your room smells like old wood, rays of light playing with dust particles around you. An old fluffy carpet, pastel tones and white walls, very few decoration. Some pictures — pictures of artists you used to like, empty postcards, not personal ones. These ones have been taken off the wall years and years ago.

The mattress dips under your weight as you slump down on your bed, fingers moving on their own to stroke a soft blanket. Bucky closes the door behind him, eyes lingering on the almost empty walls. The thought of you and him in your old room and sharing your bed finally crosses your mind.

"M’gonna go for a walk," you suddenly say, getting up from the bed in a swift movement. You don’t walk towards the door, but towards the window instead.

"O...kay," Bucky drawls out. He watches as you open the window, grunting as it requires some forceful pulling. "Is this a secret code for...I’m gonna jump out the window and die so I can avoid my parents?"

You snicker, closing your eyes and breathing in as the icy air finally hits your face. Tendrils of hair fly around your features and tickle your skin. You turn around, fingers putting your hair back into place, strands tucked behind your ears.

"I wish," you almost don’t add anything, but Bucky looks so utterly lost and confused as you throw a leg outside that you have to. "I used to sneak out of here all the time. It’s safe, there’s a big ledge and then I land on the guest room's balcony."

"When are you getting back?" He only asks, pushing his body off the wall and going to sit down on the spot you were occupying just a minute before.

"In time. Don’t worry," this time you’re fully out of the room, feet expertly walking on the ledge. "If they knock just say I’m asleep." You stop in your tracks, voice louder. "And don’t go through my stuff. I’ll know and I’ll kill you."

Bucky’s still sitting on the bed when you get back, your hair slightly damp and frizzy from the humidity and the small drizzle outside. Cheeks and nose reddened by the cold and eyes brighter now that you have breathed in some fresh air, that isn't the air from New-York, something purer with a familiar smell.

"I’ve been gone two hours. Please tell me you’ve got up at least once," you mock, bending down to untie your shoelaces and avoid making mud stains all over the carpet. This floor has suffered enough over the years.

"No. I’ve been sitting there waiting for you like the good dog that I am." His voice dripping with sarcasm, you roll your eyes. "Told them you were asleep and blocked the door in case they wanted to check on you."

You raise your head slowly, squinting at him.

"So...you talked to them?"

He stares back with a bored expression.

"Yes. I’ve talked to them. I'm spending Thanksgiving with them and sleeping in their house, so I figured maybe I could behave like a civilized person and say hi, you know." You blink. "Plus, I'm your boyfriend." You blink again.

"You didn't have to talk to them so soon. We've got all night," you mumble, now going for your socks.

"I've endured far worse than having a full conversation with someone's parents, Y/N," he chuckles and your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

"Right."

Bucky looks at you, really looks at you. Hands going through your hair and gripping it a little too tight as you try to weave your fingers through knots and tangled strands — wind still raging outside. Dark shadows under your lashes from having rubbed your eyes in exhaustion and forgetting you had mascara on. Jaw ticking every now and then as your eyes bore into an empty spot, and he doesn't know if you are staring at an actual object or at something that only exists in your mind.

"Have they asked anything about us?" You say, sitting down on the floor and next to your travel bag.

"The usual. How we met, how long we’ve been together…that sort of thing."

Your stomach twists and you look up, alarmed.

"Oh god. What did you tell them? I forgot to make something up. We should have discussed this in the car, I just forgot." You run your hands through your tangled hair, again. "Fuck."

"It’s okay," Bucky’s eyes follow your every move as you rummage through your bag to find another top, fingers pulling on a soft black fabric. "I told them we met through Sam. And obviously they knew who he was — who I was, so I assumed they knew about you too." There’s an interrogation in his voice and you simply nod in confirmation. "So we talked about our jobs, mostly."

"Exciting," you comment sardonically. "And how long have we been dating?"

"Told them we started dating before the snap."

You freeze, hands still resting on your black top, a slightly sheer and shiny material you thought would be more festive.

"So…definitely more than five years," you start, and he nods in response. "And...that means I visited Wakanda, right?"

He thinks for a second.

"Right. Yeah."

You hum again.

"Not very practical. I’ve never been to Wakanda."

"Now you have a problem with accuracy?"

You glare at him.

"No. Just saying. We could have met in New-York. Would have been simpler. That's all."

"Right. Two months ago and it was love at first sight so you’re already bringing me home to your parents — whom you haven’t seen in years. Makes sense." You clench your jaw and he raises a brow, sparkling blue eyes taunting you.

Glaring at him one last time, you turn around and face the wall.

"First of all, we didn’t meet two months ago," you start undoing the buttons of the cardigan you are wearing. "I'd definitely remember if I had only been enduring your presence for two months." He scoffs behind you.

You pull your cardigan over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. Some deodorant and you grab the festive top. Bucky stares at your back for a second, soft skin covered in small beauty spots and old scars, defined muscles in action grabbing his full attention. Your neck, the way your hair brushes up your shoulders, the glimpse at your breasts and the curve of your waist — he focuses his gaze on the window instead. An afternoon sky blanketed by dark grey clouds, a promise of rain and a mirror of what he guesses is an internal turmoil.

"And?"

"And what?" You face him again, fitted dark fabric clinging to your body.

"You said first of all. I’m assuming there’s a second part." Brow quirked and smirk slowly lifting the left corner of his mouth, he watches your face fall.

"There isn’t," he nods, full mocking smile on his lips now. "I actually like using first of all knowing there’s nothing else I have to add. It’s a figure of speech."

He scoffs, shaking his head.

"It’s not."

"It is now," you stand up, brushing your hands against your thighs. You are now dressed in all black and it looks like you are going on a mission. You are, somehow. "Are you gonna change for tonight?"

"What, is it that ugly?" Bucky looks down at his outfit.

Fitted blue sweater and black jeans with dark combat boots. You know he had cut his hair right after...everything, but it has grown out again and you’re surprised to find curls. You don’t notice him looking up, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon the blue of his sweater and the way it hugs his chest. He clears his throat and you meet his gaze — curious.

"No, it’s not," you force a smile. "It’s very nice, actually. Brings out your eyes." You sigh, turning around and grabbing your toilet bag and makeup.

"I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not right now," Bucky frowns. Isn’t it part of the job description to know whether people are being genuine or not? Aren’t spies supposed to know that kind of thing? He never can tell with you. Everything you say has that kind of monotonous tone and it's either ironic or deadly serious.

You let out a light chuckle as you enter the bathroom. "I’m not making fun of you, Barnes. Blue looks good on you."

You stare at your reflection for a second. Pale skin and dark circles, the remnants of a fight barely visible because your hair is hiding the last remaining scar. The door to the bathroom was left open and you catch Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

He busies himself with his bag, going through his stuff and deeming perfume to be the only necessary adjustment to his current state. Fingers scratching an unshaven throat, he calls out your name, meeting your eyes again in the mirror. You only hum.

"Should I call you babe for the weekend?"

Your hand halts mid-air, makeup brush just a few centimeters away from your skin.

"What?"

"Well. We’re selling this thing. What about PDA, that sort of thing?"

You laugh again, and this time it sounds really genuine to him. High and full of disbelief.

"Didn’t think you were familiar with the term PDA," you shake your head to yourself while he rolls his eyes. "But to answer your question — " you turn to look directly at him, complexion brighter and cheeks rosier. "— call me babe and you won't live to see another day. "

"Why have someone pretend to be your boyfriend if you're just gonna act like he's your friend?"

"Barnes. You think you have to exchange saliva with me in front of my parents for them to believe we’re together? Me bringing you here is already huge, trust me."

He stares at your back. Dropping the subject.

"Should I shave?" You don't need to look at him to answer confidently.

"No. I love a man with a stubble."

You finish your makeup in silence as he lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the dinner that awaits him. He is curious about you and your family. Not a lot of people in this field still have their parents, or at least are being honest about what they do for a living. But mostly he is curious about you, someone he has been getting used to working or training with, but not holding casual conversations or doing simple things.

A week earlier

Bucky raises a brow as Sam answers his phone. It’s eight in the morning and they just returned from their morning job, among fog and drizzle, the sun slowly rising over New York City and filtering through Central Park's trees and half-empty branches. It is not as cold as it should be for this time of the year, but he can still feel the early morning air biting at his face, even inside the apartment. Sometimes after a run he has breakfast with Sam, when they haven’t bickered so much on the way over that Bucky decided to run home instead.

"I cannot deal with this amount of bad energy in the morning. Come over," Sam laughs and Bucky stares at his mug of coffee while his mind goes though every possibility.

And when Sam opens the door and you step in, he goes back to staring at his mug, only watching your every move from the corner of his eye. You do look agitated for someone who probably woke up less than an hour ago.

"I can’t." The new Captain America shakes his head and you grab him by the shoulders, hands looking so small.

"Sam. I wasn’t asking. This is not an option."

"We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner at the VA, I can’t ditch the guys," he says and you groan, head thrown back.

You plop down on a bar stool, the one across Bucky, and you only nod at him as a hello. He rolls his eyes — typical. He is hunched over the kitchen counter, plate of pancakes drowned in maple syrup placed in front of him. You stare as he picks up his fork and knife and starts eating, following every mouthful with empty eyes.

He almost opens his mouth to snap at you before you slightly shake your head and turn to the window to your left. The beginning of fall doesn't feel like it is supposed to — yellows and oranges and reds could be a palette of grey and you wouldn't even notice the difference. It's not the same anymore.

"Why do you absolutely have to bring someone anyway?" You sigh as Sam asks.

"They think I have a long-time partner."

"Why would they think you have a long-time partner when I've never even seen you hold a conversation with a guy?" Bucky comments.

"First of all, you've been gone five years. I'd shut up if I were you." You scowl, lips almost curling up in anger when you whirl around to glare at him. "Second of all, you're not exactly a god in that area either."

"Well I have been gone for five years, I've got an excuse," he shrugs with a smirk and you eye the table where they are sitting at, pastries and pancakes, fruits and hot beverages, full glasses. "Throw that glass of water at my face and I'll kill you."

You hold his gaze for a second and purse your lips, eyes turning away as you sit down and rest your elbows on the wooden surface, permanent frown etched on your face.

"They think they've missed five years of my life, I had a moment of…weakness. Didn't have the heart to tell them I was still single." You look out the window again. The wind howls loudly and a chill runs across your spine even though you're perfectly warm inside. "I think I'm gonna say he died."

You don't pay attention to the small beat of silence that follows your sentence — a silence that is interrupted by Bucky's fork scratching against his plate. You scowl at him.

"You're gonna say what now?"

You shrug at Sam.

"Then I don't have to explain why we broke up. And since I will spend years recovering my mom won't think of bothering me with boyfriend talk for a while." Which seems like a rather logical and practical plan to you, underserving of such funny looks.

"You can't just make up someone and then say they died, Y/N."

"I don't see why not. A lot of people have died recently, I can easily get away with it." The way you speak and shrug, it's all innocent and casual, but your words leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sam and Bucky exchange a look and stare at each other for a second as if a simple blink was enough for them to communicate their exact thoughts. You almost feel jealous.

"Just take someone else. I’m sure some of your friends have nothing to do on Thanksgiving."

Something heavy settles on your chest as you think of the people you would have loved to take home to your parents. Tony would have been impressive — albeit older and, well, married with a child. But your parents would have been starstruck. And Natasha would have seduced them right away. One foot into the threshold and they would have swooned at her feet, hanging onto her every word. Steve would have made the perfect boyfriend — the ideal american sweetheart, thoughtful and selfless, not the kind of person who would let you down. Not the kind of person who would leave everything behind.

When your silence has stretched for a little too long, you clear your throat, tightening your hold around a steaming cup of tea that you assumed was meant for you. Sam is now sitting next to you and you hadn't even realized he had moved while contemplating how lonely your life was. Bucky is staring at you with an unreadable expression and you shrug, again.

"I don't really have anyone else to bring. But that's okay. I'll stick to my story," you give Sam a woeful smile. "They'll think I'm sad and avoid annoying me for the whole evening so really I couldn't ask for a better story."

You stretch your arm in order to reach the plate of pancakes, but your fingers barely graze it. Bucky silently pushes it towards you and you simply purse your lips. It looks like a smile, right? Drowning your pancakes in syrup just like he did five minutes ago, you sit up straighter and exhale. Then your tone changes. "Anyway."

Sam crosses his arms and nods at Bucky. Blue eyes fixed upon the dark-skinned man’s face, he already knows.

"Bucky doesn’t have anything planned for Thanksgiving," he starts and you keep chewing. "You should take him. I’m told he’s great boyfriend material."

You slowly look up, skeptic look on your face.

"I feel like you could sabotage me at dinner and I do not want that. The whole thing’s annoying enough as it is."

He shrugs. Too bad. Sam’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger and Bucky sighs, setting his fork on the counter and leaning back. The leather squeaks under his weight and he clears his throat. The noise makes you raise your head and you look at him curiously.

"I’ll behave."

You stay silent for a little while as Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly. Is he better than making up someone and then saying they died? You think about it, and the chance of your mother not leaving you alone and looking at you with pity instead suddenly crosses your mind. Not good. Not your plan.

"Okay," you resign. Your pancakes don’t taste as good as they did before you said yes. Bucky and you have probably exchanged ten full sentences ever since you met, and they weren’t necessarily sweet. It is not that you don’t get along or fight — you work well together, actually. But he’s not your friend either. And sometimes, most of the time, you can’t help but feel something akin to anger build up in your chest when you look at him and see Steve instead.

The table is pretty. Red and green, matching the decorations hung upon the fireplace and all over the house. Candles and elegant wine glasses. Christmas tree already up in the back of the living room, which you can still see from your spot at the table. The flickering lights and glittering garlands are a welcomed distraction to the people actually sitting in front of you, and you can't even remember the last time you had dinner with your parents. So formal.

You notice your mother stealing a glance at you before she fully turns her body towards Bucky. Fuck. You try to shoot her a warning glance but her sweet smile is already into place and there is nothing you can do except watch. You knew appetizers and amuse-bouches and your comments about their incredible taste would not be enough to keep the conversation from turning more personal, but you didn't think it would be so soon.

"You know, this is the first Thanksgiving Y/N is spending with us." Bucky quirks a brow and you scoff in disbelief.

"This isn't true. I have distinct memories of yelling and burnt turkey. Where else would that be?" You deadpan, hand moving towards your glass before stopping mid-air, a single drop of red wine left starring back at you.

You hold back a groan, eyes flickering between the glass and the bottle. Should you maybe wait before getting a refill and not get any comments from your parents?

"I meant, this is the first Thanksgiving you're willingly spending with us. You were sixteen last time," your mother's voice holds the same irony, but hers is sad while yours sounds angry. Bucky steals a quick glance at you without ever moving his head, and smiles sweetly at your mother, as if trying to make up for your attitude. "Are you still in touch with your parents, James?"

"Oh god," you groan, hand on your forehead. "Mother."

You decide that possibly getting a comment about your drinking habits is worth it if drinking means not feeling this crushing weight of shame, embarrassment, and everything else. Bucky looks down at your arm as it emerges right in front of him — you don't spare him a glance, fingers curling up around the bottle and the sound of wine filling up your glass grows higher and higher until you stop. Even this can't drown out the conversation. Your dad's voice echoes from the other room, footsteps drawing closer.

"Sweetie, I think you're forgetting how old James is."

You don't watch as Bucky probably smiles softly at your dad, then at your mom, and says it's fine. Red wine is pretty when it is swirling in a moving glass — it reminds you of fall, leaves twirling in the wind, the red lipstick you're wearing, but mostly blood.

Your mother is babbling out apologies and reaching out for Bucky's hand across the table and he is being so gentle and patient it makes you want to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him for being so good to them.

"We only heard from Y/N six months ago, actually."

"Well, you were gone before, so," you mutter, regretting every single choice that has lead you to this moment. Bucky perks up, eyes going quickly between your closed face and your parents, eyebrows drawing in a compassionate frown. Man, is he good at this.

"Were you both…taken by the snap?"

You sigh, turning your head to look out the window while Bucky and your parents talk about their shared experience, finger tracing the rim of your glass over and over again. For some the light around them and their alternate universe was all blue, others say it was a sort of ethereal shade of green. Some have non memory whatsoever of the whole experience and you wonder what it would have been like for you. You think that a minute in a world on literal fire would have been better than five years in the real one.

Natasha's world is probably made out of purple and red — you hear this is how Vormir looked. Pretty.

The rain suddenly hitting the bay window snaps you out of your quiet moment of contemplation. It was left slightly open and the sound of the wind blowing through swaying trees lulls your for a second, eyes unfocused.

Your name echoes around the dining room again and your gaze snaps to that of your mother.

"What?" You say in a sigh.

"Nothing!" Her tone is unusually high. "I was just explaining to your boyfriend how we reunited. You visiting us when everyone came back." She looks at Bucky again. "It was a big surprise."

You don’t meet his gaze, instead resting your elbows on the table and nuzzling your face in the palms of your hands. You probably should have kept being a ghost.

"A good one, I bet?" He keeps his tone light.

Your mom goes on about how they have missed you all this time and you resume playing with your glass. And maybe refill it a few times.

"Oh. We saw the ceremony you had for Steve Rogers with Captain...Captain America. It was very moving." Your dad tells Bucky with a compassionate frown and you purse your lips. You almost want to put your hand on Bucky’s shoulder — his hand, his thigh, anything to give him some sort of comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to move your own hand. Everything feels really heavy.

In your opinion, it’s actually a good thing that Steve died so soon. He had first been a man out of time when he woke up in 2011, and managed to adapt. Even said he wouldn’t go back because the past was the past. Right. But coming back an old man, having lived another full life while your friends remain the same? This wasn’t right, for anyone. With Tony and Natasha gone, you would rather have Steve be gone as well. Can’t really move on if something is still holding you back — now they’re all definitely gone.

Your chair scratches the wooden floor as you stand up on almost-wobbly legs.

"M’gonna check on the turkey." Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own and your throat hurts.

Voices are drown out as you close the kitchen door, back resting against it for a moment. The room is hot even though the window has been left open. You breathe in and out slowly, taking in the smell of pies and spices. You walk towards the window, slowly, taking it all in as you calm down. Nothing is in its usual place. Scattered utensils over every surface, traces of flour and sugar on the table and bottles which haven't been closed. Something makes you jump and it's a pan is overflowing.

There are only a few seconds left on the oven's timer. Pan situation under control, oven gloves on both hands, you think maybe cooking more for yourself would take your mind off things. You almost sigh in contentment as the warmth from the plate spreads through your hands, arms and even radiates through your chest.

All sorts of pies litter the kitchen table, cinnamon, clove and ginger invading your senses. All of you is consumed by spices and sounds of domestic life and it looks so homey but you can't bring yourself to feel at home. This whole day has been like being in a dream, floating through life, childhood and Thanksgiving memories like an intruder. Seeing yourself move around but not being able to control or truly touch anything.

You see yourself with the turkey between your gloved-hand, red lipstick and pretty outfit hugging your body. You see yourself ten years ago, dressed in a red dress and hair cascading down your back, laughing hysterically as you set a turkey down on a large wooden table, candles lighting up your friends' eyes. Seven years ago, in that deep green jumpsuit — the color of Natasha's eyes, Tony had said all night. Six years ago, in that matching Christmas jumper and soft socks in which you kept slipping on the cabin's floor. Five years ago and the years following the snap when everything was dark and hopeless and you had lost so much but you still had Natasha and Tony and Steve.

Every single bittersweet Thanksgiving memory plays out right before your blurry eyes, like a film. A compilation of every celebration shared between loved ones, your chosen family. And it feels so lonely without your best friends and half of the team you used to be.

Your hands shake as you go to set the plate down on the kitchen table — it's greasy and slippery and your hands are starting to burn so you don't even feel the glove slowly slipping.

Fuck.

It takes a moment to be fully registered.

"Fuck!"

On the other side of the door, Bucky’s cough is enough to cover a string of colorful curses and the cracks and tears in your voice. Your hands are as wet as your cheeks and you drop to your knees, muttering shit shit and shit all over again under your breath.

The plate clatters against the floor as you set it beside the turkey. Too loud. The minute your mother enters this kitchen you are a dead woman. "Shit."

Footsteps draw closer and heavier and you curse again, hands greasy and knees hurting from hitting the tiles. Somehow your fingers won’t grasp the turkey’s correctly and it keeps slipping back to the floor.

The door creaks open and you whirl around, eyes wide open and a strings of excuses ready. But Bucky stands here, hands in his back closing the door behind him and keeping anyone from seeing what is happening inside the kitchen. Mouth agape and tear tracks probably visible on your face, you finally close your mouth to gulp, turning your back to him and breathing in and out as quietly as possible.

Which is probably not quiet enough for someone whose ears are more than human.

You sniffle. Bucky stares at your back, hand still securing the doorknob. He doesn’t really know how to proceed with you, so he takes a few quiet steps forward. He clears his throat.

"I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?"

This is so stupid.

"Bucky. The turkey’s on the floor. Literally."

"Yeah. I can see that," he eyes you, gauging your expression. Your eyes are dead set on the animal and hands still hovering over it, not quite stable. "It’s okay. They won’t know. I made noise when you dropped it."

"You did?" Your voice is smaller than usual and he bats your hands away from the turkey, grabbing it with his metal hand.

"Yeah. Coughed so hard your mom almost stood up to keep me from choking." You gape at him. He smiles at your stunned expression and the turkey is back in its plate, looking perfectly normal. Your hands are still greasy and you don't know what to do with them.

"Hey," Bucky's voice is softer than it usually is. Or maybe you never really noticed it was soft in the first place. "Look at me."

You change positions and rest your back against a cupboard, closing your eyes for a second before re-opening them. Crouching down to your level, he studies your face as you wipe off remaining tears with your sleeve. Flushed cheeks and quivering lips, wet lashes and a crease between your eyebrows. You hold his gaze for what seems like an eternity. There is a kind of intensity, determination in his eyes as he searches into yours. You aren't sure what he is looking for — maybe he is trying to find the right words, but eventually he just sighs and fully sits down in front of you. He is probably annoyed.

You bite down on your lip as your throat swells again, sudden shame washing over you. Having a meltdown is not something you do. Not when you are on your own, not in front of your friends and certainly not in front of a friend of a friend, even when his presence has become something usual and almost comforting to you as you hide it between rolled eyes and silence. Sometimes it's nice to visit Sam and have a trio again, even if it is not the trio you are used to. When you close your eyes and listen to the voices around you or when your vision is hazy, the mere idea of feeling surrounded is already comforting.

"M'sorry, this is stupid," you mutter, throwing your head back to have it rest against the cupboard. The bang echoes in your ears and Bucky slides a bit closer.

"It's okay," he shrugs. "Take your time."

He is so gentle in everything that he does. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes searching into yours but never once displaying pity, as if everything was perfectly normal. It isn't to you, but he seems so relaxed and unbothered. The way he speaks softly and expresses nothing but patience and serenity, the way his flesh hand slowly moves closer to your leg and almost hovers above your skin.

You sigh, head banging against the cupboard again, and spread your legs a little bit further. The right one brushes against his limb and he hesitates for a moment. Another look at you and his hand is resting on your calf. The warmth seeps through your black jeans and at this particular moment it comes back to you that you used to love being touched.

"I can't believe I dropped the fucking turkey," you say flatly. Bucky blinks slowly at you, the only proof that he heard you. He doesn't think he should talk and break your train of thoughts right now. "This isn't…what I normally do. On Thanksgiving. I've never spent Thanksgiving here. I mean, after I moved out."

Bucky's fingers move slowly against your leg, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as you start talking. You purse your lips, somehow wanting to keep your mouth shut but feeling oddly relaxed to be sitting on the floor with his thumb brushing over your jeans-clad skin. You look down, eyes following his fingers before focusing on your own, still numbly resting at your side.

"Yeah, that's what your mom was saying earlier," Bucky nods, eying your hands as well.

On your left, there is this hook with towels hanging from it. His arm is long enough for him to grab one without having to get up. You don't respond, instead staring at the tiles and the space between your legs. You don't seem to notice when he hands you the towel, so he slowly moves his flesh hand towards yours. The loss of warmth makes you look down to your calf, stomach dropping a little when his fingers aren't dancing on your skin anymore.

"What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?"

You blink. He grabs your arms, hands sliding from your forearm to your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse point longer than he should. Then his hands are cupping yours, gently turning your palms upwards. There is this small beat of silence and tension where both of you are looking at your almost intertwined hands as if you were not their owners, as if they were moving on their own and you could only watch as this unfolded before your eyes.

Should he let go?

"I always spend it with Natasha." Your voice breaks the moment. His gaze snaps up but you're staring into the void again. "We have this tradition." You blink. Once, twice. Slowly, kind of like a cat. "Had. We used to rent a cabin, somewhere remote and snowy, and Tony used to come as well. Well, before he had Morgan. Then we used to come to his house and have this big dinner with him and Pepper, sometimes Clint and his family."

Your gaze drops to your hand in his, one holding it up and the other wiping the oily substance away. Every movement seems so soft and gentle it makes your brain go fuzzy for a second.

"That sounds really nice." Bucky comments softly, going for the other hand.

"Steve came sometimes," you add, and he quirks a brow in surprise. "When everyone was taken away. Sometimes he held a little something at the VA, but we had him over once or twice." You nod. "It was nice."

Bucky simply nods. Your hands don't shine with turkey grease anymore, and it physically pains him to let go of your hands. For a second he thinks you are about to hold his tighter and keep him from prying off his fingers, but his ears suddenly pick up movement, and the way his posture visibly changes makes you snap out of it. Back straighter, eyes wider, shoulders squared.

"Shit."

He is quicker than you and stands near the door to tell your mom that the turkey’s ready — you’re on your feet again even if you have to grip the counter’s edge for a second so your legs don't give out under your weight. His body is blocking your mother's view of the kitchen and you can only hear her voice.

"Look at her, making us Thanksgiving dinner with her boyfriend," she tells your dad and you snicker.

"Look at her making us eat a turkey she dropped on the floor!" You singsong, pressing the heel of your hands to your cheeks as you try to make the red disappear.

"Now this is girlfriend material," Bucky mocks. The door is closed again and he takes a few steps towards you, the turkey being right next to where your hand is set.

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation and he smiles. He is only a foot away from you and you wonder if the warmth you are feeling is real or if it is your imagination, your mind and chest aching for comfort again. Touch is a vicious and dangerous thing when you can still feel it linger on your skin well after it is gone.

Metal hand reaching for the plate and body almost trapping you against the counter while you fix your gaze on anything but him, Bucky freezes for a moment — he meant to grab the plate and turn around, but this does feel intimate.

"Hey," he breaks the silence and you have to look up. In this instant, you want to take a mental picture and remember exactly how he looks. Light shining into his eyes, illuminated the tip of his perfectly carved nose and cheekbones. Pink lips parted and tongue swiping over them. Could this be nervousness?

You raise your chin, biting the inside of your cheek and fighting to maintain eye-contact. He is so close that you cannot help but being distracted by his smell, the way your chests would touch if you just pushed yourself off the counter, the way you want to feel cornered and caged if it means resting your cheek against his chest and having his arms around you.

Fuck.

"You gonna be okay?"

You wonder if his senses can pick up your internal turmoil. If he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage, the quickened and shaky breaths. You fold your arms and hug yourself, a poor attempt at gaining back some control over yourself.

"M'fine," you mutter. He doesn't look convinced and still hasn't moved. You lower your head, the remnants of previous haircut mistakes and bangs falling over your eyes. "Really."

"Yeah?"

You look up again, mustering up a smile.

"Yeah. A little meltdown can work wonders for a girl."

He chuckles and you have never wanted to kiss anyone this badly in your entire life, but you blame it on the emotional rollercoaster this day has been. You almost flinch as Bucky raises his hand but exhale as his fingers graze your cheeks, moving your hair out of your eyes.

Your mother calls your name and you sigh. Bucky brings out the turkey and you set the side dishes on the table, carefully avoiding the candles and almost squishing a green garland. It's a perfect picture, you and him stepping out of the kitchen in tandem and smiling down at your parents as they congratulate you on the turkey — this is probably a picture you had in mind as a child. Something out of a romantic comedy.

You sit down and Bucky's hands linger on your shoulders, thumbs stroking exposed skin and your neck. You raise your head, leaning back in your chair to meet his gaze. Should you put your hand on his? Should you smile and gaze lovingly at him — isn't that what you are already doing? He bents down, softly kissing your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear.

"Let's sell this thing, shall we?"

You step out of the bathroom, silky pajamas hugging your figure and wet hair sending shivers down your back. You sigh heavily, feeling the need to seek warmth but not having enough energy. Your arms are at your sides and your bare feet have a hard time moving.

Bucky stares at the carpet as drops of water trickle down your hair and slowly form a dark spot at your feet. His gaze travels back to your face, eyebrow quirked. You look absolutely drained, with your lips slightly parted and the way you blink slowly, as if your eyelids weighted tons.

"If they ask us to stay for lunch tomorrow," you begin, slowly approaching the bed. "Please say we have a mission."

Bucky gives you a small nod. You sit down on the bed or rather let your body drop unceremoniously and lay down, hands on your stomach and eyes glued to the white ceiling. The mattress moves with Bucky and you hear him rest his back on the bed's head. Creaky wood that won't stop making noise.

"Well," Bucky starts, looking down at your form. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You slowly peel your gaze off the ceiling, body and face still as your gaze moves to his face, his eyes already on yours.

"I don't have the strength to answer you right now."

His shoulder shake and so does the bed. You groan.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"No."

"Why did you decide to contact your parents after all this time?"

"Did you hear me say no?"

He gives you a half shrug and you sigh, rolling so you are lying on your stomach, elbows propped up on the mattress. Bucky knows this means you are going to talk, and he sits up straighter, intrigued.

"Everyone was gone," you say simply, fingers drumming mindlessly on your cheek. "It was…utter and complete chaos everywhere. You're lucky you didn't get to see it. Just to go out in the streets, enter a coffee shop and see the look on people's faces…" You don't finish your sentence, eyes fixed upon Bucky's torso but mind miles away from your room. His shoulders sag as he takes in your expression. "And I felt lucky I still had Natasha, and Steve. And Tony. I was so lucky compared to others — sometimes I helped Steve out with his therapy meetings and I just…hearing about other people's loss…I wondered about my parents, somehow. I drove all the way up here and the house was so silent and empty, I just knew." You shrug, lowering your gaze to numbly observe the patterns on your sheets. "We've never been close, and I thought I didn't care about them the way I've always felt like they didn't care about me, but when I realized they weren't here anymore…they're still my parents, you know?" Not expecting you to look up at him, Bucky is at a loss for words when you bite your lip and go silent as if you were waiting for an answer.

You swallow thickly.

"So when everyone came back, I had this urge to make sure they did too. And now we're here," you purse your lips. "Not sure this was a good idea."

Sometimes you think contacting them was a mistake. Yes, you felt an incommensurable sense of loss, standing in this empty house with the wooden floor creaking underneath your feet, dust flying and twirling around you, your reflection staring mockingly at you whenever you passed a mirror. Too late. Visiting your childhood home was the moment it all came rushing back to you ; the moment your mind finally caught up with reality and you simply crumbled. Orphan, half of your friends turned into dust, a whole world of shades of grey and not an ounce of hope. But spending Thanksgiving here doesn't give you the comfort or closure you thought it would. Being here and feeling like a stranger in your own home, bringing a fake boyfriend, having to sit through celebrations when there is nothing left to celebrate on this earth for you.

"They looked happy to see you."

Your chest tightens for a moment. It's somewhere between guilt and longing.

"Yeah, I guess," you give him a half shrug. Your face is resting right next to his thighs and you stare for a moment. Another barely perceptible movement and the headboard squeaks again. You almost let your face fall on his thighs when heavily groaning. He laughs and it gets worse.

"Well at least it's gonna be easy to convince them we really are a couple, right babe?" He says, deadpan. You look up at him through your lashes, sly smile on your face, a force of habit. Striking blue eyes staring back at you, perfectly sculpted face and a smirk on his plump lips. It would be so easy to pretend this is a normal scene from a domestic life. The creases around your mouth disappears as you blink a sort of haze away.

The moment passes and you busy yourself with the laptop you brought, while Bucky stalks to the bathroom. The sound of water running manages to soothe you, weight on your chest slowly dwindling and breaths coming in lighter. It's a white noise lulling you to sleep. You lazily brush your hair and slide into bed, covers pulled to your chin and body stiff as the cold from the sheets seep into your bones for a long moment.

The shower curtain rattles, bottles clink against the sink and water runs again with the sound of a toothbrush. You turn on your side, chin tucked to your chest and arms under your pillows, scared to stretch out your legs and meet a biting cold again. The bathroom door opens and you relish the very small amount of warm steam reaching you.

The bed dips and you keep your eyes closed.

"You sure you don't want me out of your bed?" You don't know how many times he has asked this question. You only hum, too tired to voice your thoughts out loud. You feel the covers being lifted and shiver — could it be his thigh brushing against yours?

His mere nearness already warms the bed up and you silently thank a higher presence for the super soldier serum.

"God you're like a personal heater," you mutter, faced squished against your pillow, body moving closer to his on its own until warmth has engulfed you and you can finally extend your legs, feet reaching the end of the bed.

"Mh, I get that a lot," you feel his chest rumble next to you and you hum in response, something between contentment and an attempt to hide a blooming sensation in your chest.

You get closer again, face now pressed against his arm, cheek to warm and toned flesh. It doesn't take long for his arm to move, a frown etched on your features before they ease up again as he guides your face to his chest. An arm snaking around your shoulders and holding you closer, a chest rising and falling with deep and even breaths, a back and forth that rocks you.

You can't even remember the last time you felt this at peace. This warm and safe, arms secured around you like a cocoon, the smell of your childhood and his cologne mixing together. And it hits your half-asleep brain that you had craved this all along, all those years of darkness and loss.

"M'sorry," you murmur, your lips moving against his chests and your words barely discernible. "Just really need this right now."

His fingers linger on your back, hand sliding down to rest on your waist. Squeezing, thumb stroking your skin, fingers tracing random shapes. You shift, your own arm laying on his stomach, almost hugging him like a pillow or a big stuffed animal. Fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like a reflex, legs tangling with his.

"It's okay." His voice is smooth, quiet. "Me too."

Eyes bleary and squinting to adjust to the light, you hold on to the banister as you wobble down the stairs. Voices echo around the living room and you frown. It's only eight.

You still as Bucky's laugh reaches your ears and hurry down the remaining steps. The morning light shines through the windows, surprisingly blue and clear skies facing you. Red and green lights dance around the living room's walls, reflections from the Christmas Tree's decoration. Lips parted in awe, you linger for a moment. The atmosphere is different from last night, it feels lighter. It's not just that the downpour has been replaced by a blue sky and what seems to be a perfect fall day — ice cold but the sun still shining. You feel lighter.

"Hey." You whirl around. You didn't notice Bucky approaching you. Coking his head to the side, he looks at you with an unreadable expression. "You planning on spending the day standing here?"

"Tempting," you give him a half shrug, and he extends his flesh hand towards you, palm up and inviting.

"We made breakfast," he says as you rest you put your hand in his warily.

"We?"

The smell of bacon hits you when you enter the dining room, a table full of pancakes and pies greeting you. Steaming cups of coffee, a teapot — Bucky discreetly tugs you closer to him, hot breath on your cheek.

"You prefer tea in the morning, right?" It is whispered as not to draw suspicions towards the fact that he knows nothing about you, but it takes you a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the gesture. You nod numbly, eyes fixed upon your intertwined fingers. When did you say it was okay for PDA?

The conversation flows more easily in the morning, the sight of a table this impressive and Bucky's touch lifting your spirits. You think life could be this easy all the time. This tranquil and domestic, a good night's sleep with someone and pancakes waiting for you in the morning. You smile as you talk about some of your most confusing missions, as you and Bucky tell stories about Sam. Albeit a bit pained, but it's something.

Leaving your parents after breakfast isn't as satisfying as you thought it would be, and you give warmer hugs than what you gave last night.

You sigh when the driver's door closes, sinking into your seat and resting your forehead against the cool window. The landscape is an orange blur, the sound of the wind blowing around the car loud enough for the radio to be useless. When you are in the city again, the car slows down and you are stuck in traffic. Bucky's hand reaches out to switch the radio on and you turn slightly in your seat, body leaning towards his.

"I was a bitch to you," you state without any warning and he snorts, looking at you with a confused expression. "When we first met."

"Oh," his raises his brows high, as if in absolute agreement.

"You just reminded me of Steve," you say softly. "And I hated him for leaving. Still do, sometimes." you think, frown etched on your features. "Most of the time. But it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry."

He turns his head towards you, a simple nod to you. You fold your hands on your lap, chest lighter now that you have said it out loud. He clears his throat and you look at him again. Sun reflecting on his sparkling eyes, a smile pushing its way onto his lips. Genuine, soft. You find yourself returning the gesture naturally — no pursed or tight lips, no physical pain in your cheeks.

"And this was nice," you add quietly.

"It's not that we haven't talked," you roll your eyes, nursing a drink of champagne and crossing the bal room with Sam at your side. Voice louder than usual, eyelids and lips glittering, your heels click against the floor and you side step dancing couples.

It's quieter near the Christmas Tree. Well, near the bar.

"So you have talked?" Sam sets his empty glass on the bar counter and asks for a refill with a simple tilt of the head. Perks of being Captain America, surely. You lean against the cold marble, in-between the stools, huffing.

"No, we didn't," you repeat for what is probably the third time.

"Man, this isn't going anywhere," Sam shakes his head, eyes skimming over the crowd. You do the same.

"That's what I told when you insisted on starting this conversation, Wilson."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he grumbles before taking another sip of his drink. You give in with a half shrug and a sigh.

"We just haven't had a reason to, Sam, don't read too much into it," you say casually. "No missions, no meeting…"

"Right. And the fact that you haven't been to our headquarters in a month."

"Well, as I said. No mission, no meeting," you raise your eyebrows. "You think I'm gonna drive all the way up there to say hi and prove you that everything is fine?"

"I was expecting this kind of commitment to the team, yes," Sam sighs dramatically and you return to your bubbly drink.

The song switches to Mariah Carey and a chorus of cheers erupts from the room, almost making you physically wince. Hands in the air, feet jumping up and down and literally making the room shake, every vibration felt deep in your chest.

"Now this is a song I haven't heard today."

Sam snickers.

"Here we go. Was wondering when you were gonna ruin the mood."

"Hey!" You head whirls around, mouth open. Brown eyes twinkling with amusement, eyebrows barely raised, the kind of satisfaction you get when you want to say I told you so. "You have to admit that this is getting redundant." You are definitely not to blame here — surely more there are more than three Christmas songs in the world?

"It's Christmas."

"Yes, I'm painfully of aware." Someone falls on the dance floor and you judge them silently. You and Sam probably look intimidating as both of you are leaning against the bar, glass in hand and chins raised. "Plus it took me more than an hour to…" You trail off, a sudden glint drawing your attention to the entrance of the room, right across from the bar. "…get here."

Sam follows your line of sight. Through a flurry of red figures, glittery and twinkling dresses twirling around with every move and laughter mixed with animated chatter and pop songs, a dark figure parts the crowd and makes its way towards the bar. Something akin to slow-motion happens in your brain. Completely unprepared for something you had been thinking about for days. Not days. Weeks.

Your chest rumbles with the rhythm of the song, matching each beat of the drums. It helps you cover up the fact that your heart is violently pounding against your ribcage and that he can probably hear it. Hell, Steve could probably hear it from his grave — this thought makes you blink, a semblance of composure coming back to your face.

"Hey man!" Sam happily greets his friend, patting him on the back. "Happy Christmas Eve." His hand lingers, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. His gaze is warm and the silent eye-contact you two share when your eyes travel above Bucky's shoulder is a way of wishing you the same. Playful face merging into something sincere. Jolly songs contrasting with the sad look in your eyes and the woeful smiles you three have plastered on your face. Civilians like to call this night the first Christmas into a normal life again. Their old life.

"Hi," Bucky greets you, a little breathless, and you wonder if he took the stairs to get here.

Sam is whisked away by a politician and you remember that he is here as Captain America and therefore is on duty. Champagne has never looked prettier, swirling in your glass as you try to focus on anything else but the man ordering a drink beside you.

"How have you been?" He asks, mimicking your exact posture and taking a first sip of a scotch. You cast him a side glance. There's a scratch above his left eyebrow and you wonder why no one told you about this mission or called for backup.

"You mean, have I lost my goddamn mind in the kitchen again and thrown a poor animal on the floor?" He chuckles. Your eyes travel down his face and his midnight blue suit for a moment. Too long, and he notices. "Nope. I'm good."

He nods, then tilts his head to the side. His once-over is even less subtle than yours and you bury your face into your glass, not knowing where to look anymore. Shit. This was easier when you just bumped into him on your way to see Sam or simply shared missions with him — no small talk, no information on each other, nothing.

Thanksgiving was supposed to be unpleasant. And it was — bleak, gloomy, melancholic. But he wasn't.

"Care to dance?"

Your head snaps up towards him. You laugh, the rest of your drink downed in a second. Bucky stands up straighter — finishing a drink means being freeing oneself from having to hold a glass, right?

"I don't dance, Barnes."

"You don't?" You shake your head, already lifting a hand to motion for another drink. He steps around the bar stool that was previously keeping you apart, the smell of cologne and aftershave hitting your senses.

"I don't. Certainly not on Christmas songs."

He turns his head towards the crowd, chest rising as he breathes in deeply. The room does look pretty. Golden, red and green. Trees and fake wrapped gifts on the floor, fairy lights cascading down the windows and giving a kind of ethereal glow to everything and everyone standing here. It makes looks softer, eyes lighter. A couple captures everyone's attention ; skillfully dancing on every single song and adapting to every tempo. Their smiles are so bright that your lips quirk up a little without you even noticing it. It is radiant and contagious and for a moment they are all you can see.

A small gasp gets stuck in your throat when Bucky steps in front of you, breaking your focus on the dance floor. How did he get so close?

He offers you his hand, palms up and inviting. You remember how they felt on Thanksgiving.

"Bucky, I…really can't dance," you shake your head, lips parted.

"C'mon. No one cares."

He doesn't wait for you to place your hand in his, but simply grabs it, fingers naturally intertwining as if they had been designed to fit together. You open your mouth to argue, but all that escapes your mouth is a chuckle. An incredulous and surprised chuckle — almost a giggle but it hurts to admit it, eyes flitting over the crowd and the people surrounding you. Are they looking? Are they seeing what you are seeing?

He tugs on your hand and it is a slow song that echoes around the room, two bodies felling in step and gliding across the glittering floor. You hide your surprise at the way he leads you effortlessly — you had heard stories about his days in the forties and you suppose this is what he mastered to woo the dames. A warm hand in yours and the other firmly placed around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingernails tingling his skin.

"Is this Bing Crosby?" You ask lazily, body swaying slowly.

He hums.

"Uh. Better than Mariah Carey," you state quietly, almost in his ear. Hot breath on his skin. He huffs, quiet laughter and crinkles by his eyes. Out of all the things you could say to him right now, this is what you do.

"I'm glad you came," he says softly and you look at him curiously. He gives you a half shrug as you slowly twirl in his arms. "We haven't seen you in a while. Didn't want you to be alone today."

Your stomach twists when you are pulled into his arms again, your hand hesitantly cupping the back of his neck. You had indeed considered staying in bed and possibly crying in front of a romantic comedy, as cliché as it sounds. Completely immerse yourself in a universe that isn't yours and whose characters you do not have to grieve for. Vicariously feeling the Christmas Spirit of others.

But you wanted to be with your friends, as painful as it is to be reminded that your circle is half empty. Sam has poured his heart into this party — a tribute to Tony, a bit of giving after having taken so much, money raised for people in need and an opportunity to reunite and share something as a group again. You admire his strength and will and it is no surprise to you that he gets to carry the Captain America mantle. Someone whose heart knows no limit and who would do anything for his friends.

You smile wistfully.

"It's a nice party," is the only thing you say, small shrug accompanying a casual tone.

"It is," Bucky nods. Eyes going over every decoration again. It is a nice feeling — swaying in his arms, warmth and cologne engulfing you whole and caging you from the outside world. His skin is so soft against your fingers and you want to nuzzle your face into his neck, completely hide away and feel nothing but him.

You shouldn’t let yourself feel this way for someone you might lose, but you can��t help but relish the feeling of being held again. His hands cannot mend the pieces of your broken heart but they can contain them and keep you from crumbling down.

Disappointment probably shows on your face and your tired smile when the song ends and he steps away from you — hand still lingering on yours. As if reading your thoughts, Bucky casts a glance behind him and motions towards the exit with his chin. You follow his line of sight, then eye the crowd around you. He is right, no one cares.

Trailing behind him with flitting glances around you, hand grabbing a hold of his suit as if you could squeeze fabric tighter than flesh, you don’t notice when he stops and you bump into his back. The idea of leaving this party with him is taking up all your thoughts — no clear ideas but a definite feeling, an urge to find the comfort of his arms again.You almost don't look up as a string of cheers and laughter erupts around you. Way too close to you to be a simple coincidence. Bucky's hand tightens around yours. Green stares back at you.

Oh.

No.

Mistletoe.

Should you shake it off with a good laughter that makes it look like this is extremely funny but he is just a friend? Should you pretend not to see it even though your eyes are boring holes into it?

Bucky has already made up his mind.

Warm flesh squeezes your hand while cool metal rests on the small of your back, encircling your waist and pulling you close so unexpectedly that you almost stumble into his arms. The warmth emitted from his body is already melting away any smart quips or observations you had ready to get out of this. Completely shattering your resolve not to melt into his arms. You can only feel him. His arms around you, flesh hand moving up your arm, caressing and squeezing your shoulder until it is resting on your neck, fingers delicately holding your chin. You don't resist when he lifts it, eyes meeting his through your thick lashes.

This is the opposite of the quiet and intimate moment you were thinking about when leaving the room. Far from discreet touches but right among flashing lights, booming music and expectant stares. You’ve never had a kiss under the mistletoe and this is way too cheesy and holidays-like.

But he leans forward and his lips are on yours. Softly. Delicately. It lasts a split second. It satisfies the crowd and it seems like a peck that could happen to both lovers and friends but it leaves you aching for more.

You look up in a daze when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes wide. You blink it all away and plaster a tight-lipped smile on your face when you fake-bow to clapping strangers, and it takes all the willpower in the world to hold yourself upright.

The corridor is almost empty, save late-comers jogging towards where you are coming from or drunken people escaping the warm and almost suffocating air of the party. You have absolutely no idea where you are going, numb legs carrying you all the way to a remote corner. Your back hits the wall — his arm around you softens the impact.

Who instigated the second kiss? You feel like he met you halfway, or maybe you stayed rooted to your spot like a deer caught in headlights, pulse probably heard from a miles away. You can only focus on the softness of his lips on your skin, tender kisses on your neck and on the corner of your mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, fingers making their way through his hair and tugging, cheek to cheek and chest to chest — time has stopped.

You only open your eyes halfway when he pulls away for air, blurred vision and pounding heart. You feel his hot breath on your face when he chuckles breathlessly.

"Still hate this damn season?"

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #christmas one shot #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

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dharc16 · 4 years ago

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10 WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE AUTUMN EQUINOX

The Autumnal Equinox is the time of year when daylight and nighttime are equal. After the Autumnal Equinox, the darkness will begin to win the battle, gaining an extra minute or so every day as we progress towards winter. Now is the time when nature begins to slow and the harvests become less plentiful. Though the autumn equinox can arrive as early as September 20th or 21st depending on solar patterns, this year it falls on September 22nd. So get ready to celebrate!

Like most Sabbats that are celebrated later in the year, the autumn equinox is about reflection and letting go of that which does not serve us any longer. It's a chance to slough off the old and prepare for rest. We clean out that which piled up during the business of summer and store up that which we will need for our winter rest. The colors of the Autumn Equinox are just as rich and warming as the colors of autumn—deep crimson, vibrant orange, lustrous gold, and earthy brown. If you're planning a feast, make sure to include all the fall bounties as well as late summer fruits and vegetables. Pumpkin, squash, berries, nuts, and corn are all fantastic inclusions. Looking for specific ideas on how to celebrate the Autumn Equinox without costing a mint? You've come to the right place! Here are 10 wonderful ways to celebrate for free or for little cost!

MAKE POPCORN

What's more cozy than snuggling under a blanket with a big bowl of buttered popcorn? Of course, you could always watch a movie, but why not take your treat outside to watch nature instead? Inhale that fragrant autumn air. Really take a few moments to appreciate the breathtaking hues of the trees. Watch the birds and squirrels as they prepare for winter. Simply take in the magnificence of the season. And if you're in a generous mood, leave a few un-buttered pieces of popcorn for the critters.

BALANCE YOUR CHAKRAS

The Autumn Equinox is a time to find balance in your life. But while we tend to immediately think of time constraints as a place to find balance (work versus family time, family time versus self-care), when was the last time you balanced your spiritual centers?If you're not familiar, chakras are points of energy on the body that have spiritual as well as physical impact. When they are balanced, life is good. When they are imbalanced, we have unwanted manifestations, such as illness and financial troubles. The good news is balancing them is as simple as taking a few minutes for visualization! Like any visualization, chakra balancing gets easier with practice, so don't feel discouraged if you have trouble focusing during your first go around or two. A nice, simple chakra meditation can be found on YouTube. Get a blanket, find a quiet spot under a tree, and take some time to balance your chakras this Mabon! You'll be glad you did. Bonus points if you plant your feet in the soil and get your earthing on!

HAVE A PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE

Admittedly, this suggestion is a little self-benefiting. But what's autumn without a warm drink laced with cinnamon and nutmeg? You can certainly buy one at your favorite coffee shop, but why not make one? I'm betting you already have the ingredients on hand. Take the time to really savor the process. Inhale the nutty aroma of the coffee before you brew it. Watch as the creamer turns your drink into a rich caramel color. Savor the first sip without scarfing down the entire drink. Life is a lot more pleasurable when we take time to relish the things we enjoy. Sit outside with your homemade brew, breathe deep inhalations of that luscious autumn air, and simply BE.

FOCUS ON GRATITUDE AND THANKSGIVING

With Autumn Equinox being a time of reflection and balance, what better way to celebrate than to make a list for all that you are thankful for? Take a notebook to the park and make a list of everything you appreciate—from big things, like your family or health, to small things, like hot cocoa and fuzzy slipper socks. Feeling crafty? Make a gratitude tree! Simply find a funky fallen twig that has lots of little branchy offshoots to hold your leaves. Place the twig (or twigs) in a pot of stones so it's standing upright, like a miniature dead tree. Collect fallen leaves or cut your own from construction paper. Write something you're grateful for on each leaf. Tape on a loop of string or thread, and hang the leaves from your twig! Beauty and function— my favorite!And remember, crafts don't need to be limited to children. Our children are grown and gone, yet we make a gratitude tree every year for Thanksgiving by adding one leaf a day for each day in November leading up to the big feast! Festiveness isn't just reserved for those too young to drive. Embrace life! Live it with all you've got! And don't forget to be grateful!

BRING IN SOME NATURE

If you're anything like me, you're just itching to get something decorative in your home this fall. We don't really get in to decorating for Halloween with ghosts and goblins because we don't celebrate the way that most people in America do. We celebrate it the Christian way, not the pagan way. Why not take a nature walk and collect whatever beautiful, natural treasures you stumble upon? Colored leaves. Acorns. Gnarled twigs. Pine cones. Cool rocks. Bring a bag and collect whatever catches your eye. Arrange it on a table or counter top when you get home, throw in a candle or two (maybe gold and red) and you've got yourself an instant natural Mabon altar! You can even leave your natural masterpiece up for a few weeks as a spectacular (and FREE!) fall decoration!

WELCOME IN THE DARKNESS

As the sun sets on the Autumn Equinox, we welcome in the darkness of the coming season. Grab a blanket, some lawn chairs, and allow yourself to be fully in the moment as the sun sets this equinox. Once the orange globe has dipped below the horizon, breathe in the darkness of fall and honor the tranquil introspection this season inspires. With tea, of course!

BRING ON THE COZY

Having spent most of my life in Texas, what I miss most about autumn is the coziness. Soft sweaters. Knitted throws. Hot drinks. Crisp morning air. Chilly noses on rainy days. Envelop yourself in the coziness of autumn, even if, like here in Texas, you are still running the air conditioner and suffering in 90 degree weather. Whether that means decorating your home in autumnal flare, lighting a pumpkin-spice candle, or baking a cinnamon-scented apple pie, do something special that puts you in that autumn state of mind.

TAKE IT IN

The best part of autumn is undoubtedly the simplicity. Life seems to slow down just a little, following the graceful dance of nature herself. Take the time to slowdown alongside her. Treat yourself to a pumpkin latte, head over to your favorite park or even your own backyard, and just exist. Watch the passersby as you sip your drink. Observe the colors of autumn, the slight crisp that's beginning to blossom in the air, the chatter of birds as they prepare for winter. Breathe deep. Slow your mind. Just exist. It's something we don't do often enough, but fall is most definitely the time for it!

FIND BALANCE

Whether autumnal or vernal, equinoxes are the perfect opportunity to find balance, just like nature! If you've been doing a little too much of anything—eating, working, worrying, whatever!—now is the time to take a step back and evaluate how to change your behavior in favor of a more healthy approach. Remember, anything in excess is damaging. Even drinking too much water will kill you.I know! Crazy, right?!If you find it difficult to disconnect from work. If your vice is copious amounts of sugar. If exercise has become obsessive. If spending has exceeded income, take the time to make positive changes. NOT to belittle and berate yourself. NOT to feel guilty and swim among the self-loathing waters. Objectively look at the situation, find a reasonable solution, and make changes. Shame doesn't fix the problem. It's a warning bell that alerts us to the need for change. Nothing more. Take a deep breath of that fresh autumn air and start again. You've got this!

CINNAMON FLAMES

Autumn seems to bring out the craving for bonfires and campfires. If you're lighting one up this Autumn Equinox, toss in a couple of cinnamon sticks for good luck in the coming season. Plus your backyard will smell heavenly!

Whether you use this time to reflect or to indulge, I hope you have a spectacular Autumn Equinox celebration filled with love, coziness, and an extra dash of magic! BLESSED BE!

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firetrucks-fastcars · 4 years ago

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Evan Week Day Four: “Can I try?” + love

Cross posted on ao3 here

“Go long, Denny!” Buck shouted motioning with his hand for the boy to back up.

Denny ran backward and Buck hurled the football, watching it arc into the air before falling right into Denny’s waiting hands.

“Good job Buddy,” Buck high fived him as he ran back passing the football off to Harry.

Thanksgiving at Bobby’s was always like this. All of the men, except Bobby, were banished to the backyard while Athena cooked.

Maddie, who was almost worse than Eddie in the kitchen, was in charge of keeping little hands out of the food until it was time to eat.

Hen and Karen were over deserts and Buck and Eddie were running some energy out of the boys while May and Chimney supervised.

Denny, who had picked up a recent interest in football, had brought his ball over and they’d been throwing it back and forth for close to an hour. The boys loved for Buck to long pass it to them and then to tackle each other, wrestling for the ball in the thick covering of leaves.

Buck noticed Christopher hanging back with May at one of the tables. They were drawing together, May listening intently to whatever Christopher was talking about, but every once in a while he’d glance in Buck’s direction like he wished he could play with them.

“Do you want to go play football, Chris?” May asked quietly. She didn’t want to call him out in front of everyone, but she wanted to make sure he wasn’t feeling left out.

“I don’t know,” he trailed off, picking at the paper on one of his crayons absentmindedly.

“I bet Buck would teach you how to throw the ball,” she encouraged. “Go ask him.”

Christopher glanced between her and Buck for a few seconds then nodded. He got his crutches under him and May pushed down the urge to help him. She knew he wanted to do it on his own.

Eddie watched from his lawn chair where he was sipping a beer with Chimney. He’d been playing football with Buck and the kids but he’d played his old man card a few rounds in and went to sit down. He’d noticed Christopher watching the other boys with a faint look of sadness on his face. It hurt him that his son was never going to be able to run and play football in the backyard like Denny and Harry, but it seemed that whatever May had said to him gave him enough courage to ask Buck to play anyway.

Buck was throwing the football into the air in spirals, trying to show Denny and Harry how to spin it when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

He lobbed the ball to Harry to give it a try and turned his attention to Christopher.

“What’s up superman?”

“Buck, can I try?”

He gave a pointed look to the football in Harry’s hands.

“Sure buddy. Harry, throw me the ball.”

Harry tossed it back in his direction and Buck fixed Christopher’s stance before helping him hold the ball correctly.

“Okay, line your fingers upon the laces. Good just like that. Now Harry is gonna run and you’re gonna throw it to him okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Harry go long.”

Harry ran out, though Buck noted not as far as he usually did. Christopher threw it toward him. It was a little wobbly and didn’t quite make it to his hands, but Harry dove for it and caught it anyway.

“Good job Chris,” Buck gave him a high five.

“Dad I did it,” Christopher cheered.

“I saw buddy.”

“Come play with us dad.”

“Yeah, Eddie come on.”

“Please,” Harry and Denny joined in on the begging.

“Alright alright,” Eddie pushed himself up from the chair and caught the ball Harry threw his way.

Harry ran across the yard to grab May, dragging her by the arm to play with them.

Soon they were absorbed in their game, mostly throwing the ball back and forth and running, making Eddie and Buck chase them. Buck strongly enforced the no tackling rule with the threat of no dessert. Eddie knew that usually, he would have let the boys tackle and wrestle but he didn’t want Christopher getting hurt.

He was thankful for his boyfriend’s protective streak over his son, making sure Christopher was still involved while being as safe as possible.

Eventually, they were called inside by Athena to wash up. She remarked how bad they smelled and Eddie laughed as Buck pulled her into a hug, smothering her against his chest.

She smacked the back of his head and threatened him as he ran into the kitchen, lifting Denny to use as a human shield.

Eddie helped Christopher wash up and seated him at the table between himself and Buck. The bowls and plates of food were passed around and it seemed like Athena was preparing to feed all of Los Angeles county.

When their bellies were full and the sky was dark and the kids were half asleep, they said their goodbyes.

Buck loaded a sleeping Christopher into the car then joined Eddie in the front seat. He looked like he was falling asleep himself, but reached out to hold Eddies’s hand over the center console.

“Thank you,” Eddie said softly.

“For what?”

“What you did for Chris today. Not many people would do that. You made him feel like a normal kid for a little while. I know he’ll never be able to run and play like Harry and Denny but seeing him throw a football and be happy playing with us, that’s all I want for him.”

“Eddie you know I love that kid,” suddenly he was wide awake and he shifted in his seat to look at Eddie seriously. “Yeah, he’s never gonna be a ‘normal’ kid. But you work hard to give him the best childhood possible and I want to be part of that. Even if it is just teaching him how to throw a football.”

If he weren’t driving Eddie would have kissed him.

“I love you Evan Buckley.”

“I love you too Eddie Diaz.”

#evanweek2020 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #christopher diaz #my works #fic #911 #911 on fox #911 fic #buddie fic

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coconutshvings · 5 years ago

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ATZ mafia scenario: Forcing them to go Christmas shopping/into the spirit {Hyung Line , headcanon}

Group || Ateez

Genre || Fluff[ish]

Warnings || None

- Gotta get the balls jingling you feel me? ~ WR:Le (I know this is gonna flop but)

Hongjoong:

You decided to get him out of his mountain of work and do something normal, festive, Christmas shopping for decor.

It wasn't that he didn't want to go shopping with you but you were threatening to ruin his chic decor with red, green, and Gold of your own for one day out of the year which to you was all the more reason to get the items you wanted because all year round he got to keep your home decorated the way you wanted, minus thanksgiving.

"I thought you liked the way we decorated the house." He sighed preparing himself as you both walked in the store

"You like it more than me, it's so dark sometimes we need to get in the Christmas Spirit." You cheerfully spoke "okay so we'll get some cocoa and santa hats then sit by the fire."

You pondered a bit "We can do that. After we find a tree, ornaments, tree lights, and candy canes." Hongjoong's eyes grew momentarily, he knew you guys weren't leaving without all that you came for.

Seonghwa:

He's proud to go with you to do this because it meant more to him than you knew.

It was something he'd seen many couples passing on comercials while watching television do he'd see this moments and almost immediately want them for himself and you

so as of now he was getting it which only made a bigger space for you in his heart which he didn't think was possible, no one did. He took the lead on all of it really and you studied puzzled by his enthusiasm,

what boyfriend enjoys this especially at risk like this I mean , who knows who could be watching but times like this made you wonder if danger was really lurking in every corner because Seonghwa was in every brightly lit one right now.

"A mechanical Santa or Blow up Snow Man?" He asked as he walked down the aisle for lawn Christmas decor with your hand in his. "Won't that be eye catching?" You asked "That's the point." He grinned towards you.

You had to ask "Y'know I didn't expect you to be completely against this but this level of excitement wasn't expected either. What's got you in the spirits?"

He shrugged before looking at you once more "I've always wanted this for us." He responded sending a wink your way.

Yunho:

"This is insane."

"Insanely needed."

"Is not."

"Yunho half the year you walk around in Whatever you feel won't draw attention to you or who you are, now it's time to pull out the Christmas sweaters." You argued back playfully as you linked your arm with your tall statured lover's.

"Can't we get a mistletoe and call it Christmas that's a present and a half for me." You looked to him seeing his eyebrows wiggling "Creep" you sighed looking back to the shelves for a gingerbread house making kit

"It must be a hassle putting all this stuff up." Yunho mumbled "It's the busiest time of year." He hummed in response "Trees hanging from the ceiling, interesting."

You gasped "Which should we get a white or regular green tree?" Yunho was looking at snow globes happy to see them for some reason

"Get whatever one your Christmas cheer filled heart desires, let's just get a Couple of these too." He turned to you shaking a snow globe happily.

Got him.

Yeosang:

He put down his contract that he was studying "Absolutely not." Was all he would say before resuming his task

"Expected from a Scrooge." You scoffed "I'm going by myself." You conculded as you were only trying to go Christmas shopping with your boyfriend

"Christmas decorations draws attention, You aren't going alone, you aren't going at all." He didn't spare you a glance

you gave him a bewildered look that he could feel without looking up, in the beginning of your relationship you took his bullcrap but he should know by now that it wouldn't go so well anymore he dared to look up at you who was surely ready to hit him with the solid statue object that sat on his desk.

He internally panicked "I'll go with you but we aren't getting anything for outside of the house." "We're getting whatever I have a hunch for at this point." You sassed

he quickly ran his hand through his hair hastily choosing his words carefully in his head before looking to you and responding, "I'm so sorry. I'm paranoid, it's a side affect of this job but I shouldn't steal your joy because of it."

Those words put you at ease "We'll only get decorations for inside the house, a tree will lighten the paranoia I'm telling you." You joked making him chuckle

"I get to pick the angel or star we put atop it then." He announced With you agreeing silently before speaking once more "Let's get our coats and head out then."

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 4 years ago

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Tonight We Celebrate

Dean x Reader, 1500 words

A/N: This was a request from @thecreatiivecorner A lot of us right now are dealing with dreams not working out the way we hoped: weddings, graduations and more. She asked for a perfect graduation, with Dean. I wrote an AU, one where Sam got to graduate from college and Dean found friends and family and a girl who loved him. Hope you like it!

Graduation day was everything you had imagined. As you heard the college president call your name, you walked across the stage with a confident step and your head high. You turned to see your parents in the audience, cheering you on, along with your boyfriend, Dean Winchester.

For just a moment everything faded away as his gaze locked on yours. There were no crowds, no noise, just his green eyes shining with love and pride.

***

Graduation, this moment, was the goal you had been working towards for what felt like your entire life. You had always been dedicated to your studies, a good student and hard worker, but you hadn’t always had a particular focus.

You were raised in a hunter’s family, a legacy. Your parents, however, were insistent that you could do whatever you wanted, follow whatever path for your life - after college. You knew they were not-so-secretly hoping that you would find another path, a safer one than the hunting life.

During your sophomore year, you met a classmate named Sam. The two of you became study partners, then friends. Eventually you made the connection that he was a legacy too, although he was desperate to escape the hunting life. You invited him home for Thanksgiving, and he brought his brother.

The moment Dean opened the door of his classic black car and strode towards you on bow legs, you were intrigued. When his bright green eyes met yours, you were hungry for more. And when his plush lips curled up in a warm smile, you were straight gone.

After Thanksgiving dinner, Dean invited you to go for a walk, and you shared your first kiss around the corner from where you lived. The next day, he took you to lunch, and afterward, the two of you enjoyed a steamy makeout session in the front seat of his car. Saturday night, he knocked on your door and you welcomed him into your bedroom.

It was obvious to both your parents and Sam that your romance was blooming right in front of their eyes. It didn’t hurt that your parents actually knew the Winchesters, Sam and Dean’s family. You hadn’t realized what gifted legacies they were.

When the boys left for the weekend, your father gave them both a manly hug with a thump on the back. Your mother insisted on hugs and they both bent down to her gently. Sam gave you the sort of brotherly squeeze you were used to. But Dean kissed you full on the mouth in front of everyone.

Dean left with your number in his phone and your heart in his hands.

From that weekend on, your life began to shift directions. Gradually at first, and then more as your vision began to take shape. You began to see a future where you were, not a hunter, but a hunter’s partner. You switched majors from English to History with a minor in Mythology, taking classes that would prepare you for a role on a team of hunters.

You and Dean dated all through your college years, albeit mostly long distance. He was on the road constantly and you were busy with classes. You texted him every day. stayed up late talking to him, and took advantage of every opportunity to see one another. More often than not, he and his brother spent school breaks with your family, and visited during the summer.

It helped that your parents were fully supportive. They had hoped you would get out of the hunter’s life, but couldn’t really blame you. After all, it ran in your blood. And Dean was a powerful motivation. The more they got to know Dean on his own, not just as a legacy but as a person, the more they trusted him. They had faith in him, his brother, and the other hunters they worked with.

As graduation approached, you were more nervous about the future. You and Dean had discussed plans, of course, plans for a hunting team with the Winchesters and you at the center. The two of you had plenty of romance, fun dates and hot nights together. But you dreamed of more, of a ring and a wedding and truly becoming a Winchester.

***

The graduation ceremony seemed to go by in a flash. You and Sam were both college graduates! Dean and your family could not have been more proud of you both. Finally, you all headed back to your house for your joint graduation reception. You ran upstairs to trade your dress and heels for jeans and boots.

While you were still arranging your hair, there was a knock at your door. You would know that touch, that stride, anywhere. You opened the door to let Dean in.

“Baby,” was the only thing he said, before sweeping you up in a crushing embrace. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him deeply as he held you close. Finally he pulled away to murmur, “I’m so proud of you.”

You traced the familiar lines of his face with your thumb as your gaze locked on his. His eyes were shining with love and longing. He was pressing you back towards your bed when you heard someone call your name from downstairs. You pulled away reluctantly, but not before you whispered, “Later.”

“You promise?” He murmured, and you nodded.

You walked downstairs and outside to the backyard full of family and friends. Your dad was grilling, your mom and her friends bringing food and more food to tables already laden with goodies. The cake had your name and Sam’s, celebrating both your graduations. You were grateful that your parents had suggested sharing this party with the man you already considered a brother. All he had was Dean, and so you willingly included the brothers in the festivities.

More than once you caught Dean’s gaze across the lawn. Every time was like the first time all over: the world froze silent and still as your eyes locked on his.

By evening, the party had wound down to close family and friends, and of course, the Winchesters. Beer, wine, and bourbon flowed freely. Someone turned up the music playing from the speakers on the porch.

As the fireflies began to rise in the damp evening air, you settled down next to Dean on the edge of the porch, resting your head on his shoulder. It had been a long day. You let out a contented sigh and snuggled closer.

“I’m so proud of you.” Dean whispered, so only you could hear.

You lifted your lips to his, not caring that everyone could see you, ignoring the teasing catcalls from Sam.

During a break between songs, Dean drew in a deep breath and stood up. He held out one hand and you took it willingly.

“C’mere,” he said, and you stood up to face him. You would always take his hand, follow him anywhere, stand with him through anything. You knew it and so did he. Your fingers laced in with his like they were made to fit together.

Dean looked at you for a long moment before whispering your name.

“Baby, I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve been waiting for you to finish college. I know how important that has been for you, and for your parents. I also know that you plan to follow a hunter’s path, that you’ve studied the things that will help you with that choice.

Suddenly you understood. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the question you had hardly dared to dream. Hope filled your chest, bubbly and golden. You were so excited you could hardly breathe.

Dean’s face was nervous but his lips curled up in a hopeful smile as he asked,

“Marry me, please? I know we’re celebrating your graduation, but can we celebrate our engagement too?”

“Yes!” You didn’t even have to think before you answered. “Yes, Dean, yes!”

“I don’t want you to just be a hunter, I want you to be a Winchester, want you-” Whatever else Dean had planned was silenced by your lips on his. He pulled you into his arms and held you close.

Your family and friends cheered and clapped as Dean slipped a ring on your finger. Your parents and Sam came to hug and congratulate you. This celebration was the sweetest thing you could imagine, everything you had ever dreamed.

The party went on late into the night, all of you enjoying an evening of light and happiness. You and Dean sat on the steps together, sneaking kisses between the drinks and plates and songs. The two of you were lost in your own world of dreams and love.

“So when should we plan the wedding?” You whispered to Dean.

“Later." He answered softly.

"You promise?" You teased, repeating his earlier question back to him.

His lips curled up in a smile and his eyes crinkled. "I promise, baby. I promise you everything. But for tonight, we celebrate.”

***

Thanks @thecreatiivecorner for the request, @boondoctorwho for the beta, and @winchesterxfamilybusiness for help with the graphic

***

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn @the-chocolate-moose @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting

Dean Curious: @adoptdontshoppets @awesomesusiebstuff @deangirl7695 @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @stoneyggirl @supersassyprobablysad @wayward-gypsy @winchesterxfamilybusiness

Gay Screaming: @boondoctorwho, @cracksinthewalls, @fookinghelljensensthighs @itmighthavebeenintentional, @justcallmeasmodeus, @katehuntington, @maddiepants, @mskathywriteswords, @rockhoochie, @there-must-be-a-lock, @thoughtslikeaminefield

#comfort fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #tonight we celebrate

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jennygirl2014 · 5 years ago

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Being married to Steve Rogers...

- Every weekend there is a “Honey-Do” list that he jumps on. Even if he doesn’t always seem happy to jump on it, he does it. Whether it’s cleaning the gutters, patching a leak in the roof or fixing a leaky faucet. As long as it doesn’t involve a lot of technology….

- He is very serious about yard work and lawn care. It’s like after he settled down from all the fighting, he had to find new enemies: crabgrass and weeds. He enjoys the house and yard looking its best, and swears there’s no competition between your yard and the neighbor’s.

- You’d likely have two children, he always pictured two boys, but he wouldn’t mind a boy and a girl. He would enjoy playing catch with your son and teaching him how to be a gentleman. You’d get a kick out of watching him play tea party with your daughter.

- Every 4th of July he insists you two host the cookout. He plans it for weeks in advance and looks forward to manning the grill every year, because it’s tradition.

- He is ever helpful and polite to his in-laws, and your family loves him.

- He has an honest job that he has a lot of pride in. He doesn’t like to be late and he doesn’t miss days and his boss loves him for his hard work. And, of course, because he’s Captain America.

- He’s a pie man. It’s not that he doesn’t like cake, he just prefers pies, especially blueberry or apple.

- When you first tell him you’re pregnant, he just blanches. Then he swoops you up in a big hug and immediately starts planning everything. He gets the biggest grin when he talks about it. He starts painting the nursery a little too early.

-When your cravings kick in, he is there to retrieve what you want, no matter how silly. The biggest jar of pickles at the grocery store? Okay. That cheese that comes in a can? Sure. But when you start mixing the two, he leaves the room. You lovingly wake him early in the morning for a milkshake and fries. “A milkshake? At this hour? Where am I supposed to…*sigh*…okay.”

- You make him a pie to thank him but you couldn’t help but eat almost all of it yourself. “Thanks for pie…oh…no it’s okay, you left me some.”

- He’s read all the books and articles he could get his hands on and still doesn’t feel prepared. But he packs the bags, gets you to the hospital and is the best delivery partner you could ask for. And seeing him hold your child for the first time will forever be one of your favorite memories. He’s the proudest he has ever been.

- When your son gets in trouble at school for standing up to the class bully, he takes the time to go in and tell the principal how proud he is, and then takes the kid out for ice cream.

- He never forgets your anniversary, and if he doesn’t bring the flowers home himself, he has them delivered to you at work.

- Thanksgiving is another major holiday he looks forward to. He carves the turkey every single year, because it’s tradition.

- His face lights up when he comes home from work and sees you’ve made his favorite dinner, or pie.

- When your daughter comes home saying she has a crush, he tries to hide it but his face gets red and he calmly tells her she’s not allowed to date until she’s 30.

- Dinner is family time, no phones, no TV, just everyone sitting and eating dinner and talking about their day.

- Sundays mornings are about a nice, big mug of black coffee, a muffin or donut, and the Sunday paper.

- He kisses you every morning before he leaves for work and every night before bed.

- He doesn’t mean to act like he’s always right, and when it results in a fight, he may not always apologize right away, but he does eventually. Maybe he comes out and says it, maybe he just does a small favor instead. If he brings home your favorite take-out and puts it on the counter with a small smile, that’s his apology. And it’s enough. This time.

-Slow dancing in the kitchen to his old retro music is just as romantic as it was before you got married.

- Christmas is a family favorite when everyone comes together. Steve always puts the star on the top of the tree when decorating and passes out the gifts, because it’s tradition.

-When you rub him the wrong way, he tries to hide it. You might get a sigh, or a simple “yeah honey”, but you see him clench his jaw. It’s kind of hot.

- When he’s in the mood, he has a major tell. Aside from being more touchy feely, he plays with your hair and sighs happily. It’s like he’s running through what he wants to do in his head before he actually gets your clothes off. Either that or he just stares at you after you get out of the shower, you know, while you’re still in your towel. Not that subtle.

- He likes things neat and tidy, and you don’t really mind a little clutter. Every once in a while, there is a pile of your shoes that accumulate next to the door, and he tries to gently bring it to your attention without starting an argument. “Honey…you’re shoes….again….”

- He acts like his birthday is no big deal and you love to torture him with it. One time you had huge balloons delivered to his office, the big gold shiny number balloons that are really tacky. There is a picture of him in the breakroom at work standing next to his balloons for his 103rd birthday that you would love to get your hands on. You can only imagine his face.

- Embarrassing him on his birthday has become a tradition of yours. There are other traditions for his birthday that he enjoys much more, like unwrapping you like a present when he gets home.

#Steve Rogers #Captain America #fantasy #fanfiction

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years ago

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take your hands my dear, and place them both in mine

(ch 6 of we’re the fortunate ones), for the B99 2020 Vision Challenge 🚨

On the final afternoon of 2018, as the sky begins to turn soft with the muted pastels of fading sunlight, Amy Santiago watches from her position at the kitchen window while her husband plays with her nieces and nephews outside.

Their squeals of laughter are contagious; the joy obvious as the sound filters through the glass and settles warm against her heart, and Amy can’t help but join in on the mirth as Jake picks up Luisa, carrying her like a superhero as they chase Matthew and Mason around the backyard.

As the sunlight filters through the tall trees, a stray beam catches the stones in her engagement ring, setting off a sparkle that the line along her wedding band is only too happy to continue. Amy watches with a soft smile, moving her hand slowly to continue the show before returning to the task at hand.

Around an hour ago she and her brothers had been relegated to Kitchen Duty, all marching dutifully into place at their mother’s command. Each sibling had been clearly marked on a colour co-ordinated roster alongside a specific set of duties, all very necessary and time reliant, and Amy couldn’t help but notice that none of her tasks involved the actual cooking of the meal.

(Honestly. One time. You confuse salt for sugar one. time. and you get banished. For LIFE.)

After cutting up the beans and preparing the salad (from the ingredients that had been carefully and deliberately placed in front of her one item at a time by Tony, one of his jobs being of course to supervise his sister), Amy had sought out the solitude of peeling all of the potatoes by the kitchen sink. It’s a task that once may have seemed like the worst of all of them - the sniggers of her younger brothers had not fallen on deaf ears - but really Amy knew the joke was on them; because now, she had the best view of all.

Jake and Luisa had caught up to Mason by now and, after giving her the only type of landing appropriate for a superhero, they had immediately begun a tickle fight - Matthew jumping on top of the huddle quickly as Jake takes a step back to take a breath. With his hands on his hips he turns away from the children, looking back towards the house, and as he notices Amy watching from her window he raises his hand in a wave. His smile is wide and bright as he mimes exhaustion, wiping one hand across his brow while the other points at the tickle fight still in progress behind him. And although she knows he can’t hear her, Amy giggles at the sight, dropping the potato peeler into the sink so that she can wave right back.

It had been Jake’s suggestion for all of the family to join together for New Year’s Eve, and Amy knew that it was partially because he was doing his best to keep the peace amongst himself and Camila, after his ‘and another thing’ rant at dinner a few months ago.

Thanksgiving had been interesting, if not a little tense, as her mother continued to give Jake pointed looks from her position across the table. But Amy had stayed right by Jake’s side, resting one hand on top of his thigh whenever his leg started to jiggle with pent-up nervous energy, and by the end of the evening - after a lot of talking - all three were on (slightly) better terms. It may have been an awkward situation, but Amy didn’t regret Jake speaking up for her. Most - if not all - of the topics hadn’t been wrong; and in actuality, it had felt great to finally have somebody in her corner. He was trying, in so many ways, to get her parents to accept him as a part of their family (she had noticed the Duolingo app on his phone last week, and had already thought of some fun flash cards she could make), and it was about time that they met him half way.

She had reminded him late yesterday afternoon, after they’d finally made it to the Santiago home and found refuge in Amy’s childhood bedroom, that he needn’t try so hard to extend the olive branch. And while he had given her his best bashful look before changing the topic by pointing out her adorably hand-made scale of the periodic table, Amy knew that Jake was taking everything she said on board. Admittedly, it did feel kind of amazing to be together with all of her family for the celebrations - the first time in four years - but she wanted her husband to feel comfortable between these walls, for it was his home now as much as it was hers. And someday - perhaps even someday soon - they would be bringing their own children to family gatherings.

Jake blows her a kiss from his position on the lawn, and Amy smiles brightly, crinkling her nose slightly as the joy overtakes her. There was such a stark difference to tonight’s planned festivities, compared to all those years ago when Amy was still very deeply pining for the man she could only call her partner. It was hard to imagine now, standing in the kitchen a newlywed with the feeling of her husband’s kiss still lingering on one cheek, that there was ever a time when Jake didn’t know just how much she loved him. Marrying him had been Amy’s easiest and greatest decision so far, and it seems crazy to her that she once believed that what she felt for Jake was ‘just a little crush that she needed to get over’. Clearly she had been naïve. There was simply no getting over Jake Peralta - her heart knew that now.

With his body still turned towards the window, Jake is completely unaware of his impending attacker - aka a surprisingly quiet Mason sneaking up on him from behind - and Amy can’t react fast enough to warn him as her nephew takes a running leap and knocks an innocent Jake to his knees. With a light-hearted shout of terror Jake lands onto the soft grass, calling out in protest to the mutiny as Luis’s two kids run over to join in on the fun, and suddenly Amy has lost all interest in preparing for dinner. Haphazardly running the peeler over the last few potatoes, she dumps the results in a bowl next to all the other vegetables, begging leave and dashing from the kitchen before her brothers can figure out where she’s going. If she was being honest, it probably was for the best for her not be involved with food preparation - and besides, there was somewhere else she would much rather be right now.

It’s much later in the night before all of the family have come back together, adults and children alike converging on in the yard as Victor organises the fireworks he had pre-arranged (a Santiago is, of course, always prepared). Raising eight children had meant that he and Camila had needed to purchase a larger property than most, and it was times like these with the now extended brood stretched out across the lawn, that paying off their home for as many years as they did had turned out to be advantageous.

Amy shivers slightly as the cool breeze cuts through her sweater, tucking herself into Jake’s warmth as he wraps one arm around her shoulder, an instinctive response to her chill. Feeling herself relax as the scent of his aftershave begins to wash over her, Amy cranes her neck upwards, shifting up to the tip of her toes in order to leave a quick kiss along Jake’s jawline. His lips move to meet hers before she can pull away, and Amy can’t help but smile at the familiar but still wonderful feeling of Jake’s kiss.

She can still recall the moment that she knew that she wanted to marry Jake - and much like his moment with her crossword puzzle, it was as ordinary as any other moment in their day. They had been at Shaw’s, celebrating the closing of one case or another, and she had just set down her glass onto the table, a sudden tiredness washing over as the busier parts of her day finally caught up. She hadn’t said a word, had not even begun to lean her weight against her boyfriend’s steady presence from his position next to her, when Jake was sliding out of the booth, announcing that he and Amy were going to head home. He had stood up and turned towards her, holding out his hand with that beautiful smile of his, and in an instant Amy knew. One day, this man that knew how to read her better than she knew how to read herself, was going to be her husband - and it was as simple and as complicated as that.

Jake knew all of her - all of the tiny details that when pushed together, made her complete - and loved each part wholeheartedly. He laughed at her jokes (even when they were terrible), danced with her at the most dorkiest of moments, and listened to her rant on about molecular theory and Venn diagrams like they were genuinely interesting topics. He made her feel seen, more than Amy had ever felt growing up in a household of ten, and he was her best friend in every possible way.

She leaves a tiny kiss at the tip of his nose as they pull away and his skin turns an adorable shade of pink, just enough for her to notice underneath the garden lights, and she laughs as his arm moves down towards it’s favourite spot along her waist. Opening his mouth to start a retort, his eyebrows raise instead as he looks down to his right, noticing Amy’s youngest niece Nina tugging on his free hand.

“Tío Jake?” Nina asks, her voice sounding so delicate amongst all the adults, and Amy feels a surge of pride at hearing Jake being referred to as Tío. “Will you help me see the fireworks?”

Looking around, Jake notices that all the younger Santiago children have been hoisted onto the shoulders of their parents, sitting tall above the crowd with their heads already focused steadily on the night sky. Nina had the unusual position of being a twin, and with her mother currently in the final stages of growing her little brother or sister, had lucked out on the chance to be on her father’s shoulders. It touched Amy - and Jake, she could tell from his expression - that Nina had turned to him for help, and before another word can be spoken Jake is nodding, stooping slightly to grip the five year old around her ribcage before lifting her gently onto his shoulders.

The rainbow coloured studs that lined the edge of Nina’s impossibly tiny sneakers catch the light as they swing in front of Jake’s chest, and as Victor heads back to his family to begin the countdown, they all join in. “Cinco, cuatro, tres ..”

Amy loops an arm around Jake’s waist, smiling up at him as he counts down with the rest of the family. “Dos, uno!” With everyone cheering around them, Amy moves slightly to stand in front of Jake, pushing herself to meet him for a chaste happy new year kiss as Nina claps above them. And then suddenly, the sky is alight with colour, and the crowd turns silent in awe.

She knows that the first time she called a man beautiful that it was Holt, and it was her overactive brain blurting out words. But she’d owned that phrase since that day, only pulling it out when absolutely fitting, and tonight couldn’t be a better candidate. Her husband, standing tall with her (their) niece on his shoulders, looked beautiful tonight. The colours of the fireworks flash against his skin as they light up the sky, reminding Amy of all the colours he’s brought into her life - of all the ways he’s changed her outlook from rigidly black and white to all the shades in-between.

He was beautiful, for the way his eyes would light up with every whizz of another round hurtling towards the stars. For the smile that grew larger still whenever the tiniest of sparks released a myriad of glittering sparkles, following their trajectory until they’d succumbed to the pull of the night sky and faded away. For the way his hands never loosened their steady grip around Nina’s legs, so determined to make sure that she felt safe as she craned her body higher and higher towards the bright lights above, pointing out the shapes in the sky to any and all who would listen.

The familiar smell of gunpowder begins to fill the air, and briefly it reminds Amy that she needs to go for platinum certification this year, but for now she buries her head in Jake’s shoulder, finding comfort in his presence and hoping that they can stay in this moment forever.

There was so much potential for what this year could bring, and with seven months of marriage under their sleeve and her biological clock beginning to tick just that little bit louder, Amy can’t help but begin to imagine them doing this all again in a few years time - only then, it will be their child sitting on Jake’s shoulders.

Children was still a little bit of an untouched subject for them - and admittedly, this was a massive oversight on her end; but when your boyfriend is given death threats and yanked away from you to live somewhere unknown under witness protection, only to return and get framed for a series of bank jobs, the bigger things tend to fall away and you just want to go and get married before the world can try to split you up again. But watching Jake right now as he reaches gently for Nina’s waist, muscles flexing as he lifts her wriggling body away and down towards the grass again, it’s hard for Amy to see a world where Jake wouldn’t want to be a father.

Now that Jake’s hands are free, they wrap around Amy’s middle, pulling her closer as they stand and watch the last of the fireworks take flight. They breathe in the silence as the rest of the family begins to pull away - for bedtime was most definitely in order for a good percentage of tonight’s guests - taking advantage of the peace to pull each other in for a slightly longer celebratory kiss.

It’s only a week later that they receive a package from Amy’s brother David, the padded envelope holding a beautiful shot of Amy and Jake holding each other as the remaining fireworks burst in front of them (and it’s perfect, because of course David is a perfect photographer as well). And once upon a time, all that Amy would have seen in the shot was another example of how her brother was better than her in everything that he did. But now, as she searches through her storage cupboard to find the perfect frame for the photograph, all she can do is smile at the memory it held.

Perfection wasn’t real, and praise was fleeting. What she had with Jake was that all-consuming, forever type of love - and she wouldn’t change that for the world.

#mine #myfic #in a timeline where casecation hasn't occurred yet #which ... I think I got the timeline right #b99 fanfic #b99 fandom events #b99 2020 vision challenge #hope you all enjoy this #the deadline is really sneaking up on me hahahahah help me

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