#and my brother text me out of the blue in december to say he remembered it happening

[mariemariemaria]

my father has apologised

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: post-holiday blues - "Thank God that's over"

John always gets post-holiday blues after Boxing Day, but an unexpected visit, brightens his mood. The jury’s still out regarding Sherlock’s reaction to said visit

December 27

He wakes up alone, and his stomach clenches. It’s the same every year. Once Boxing Day is over, John’s post-holiday blues arrive. He’d thought it would be different this year, when his dream had come true, having Sherlock’s love, sharing his bed every night, but apparently not. Perhaps it wouldn’t have felt this awful if Sherlock still was sleeping beside him, but he isn’t. John buries his face in his pillow and tries to take deep breaths to keep the tears at bay, but he doesn’t succeed. 

Last night had been the most passionate, tender and fucking amazing night of his life. A begging Sherlock on his knees while John was rimming him until he gave in and entered Sherlock’s body deliciously slow and was rewarded with the most exquisite sounds from his lover, which almost tipped John over the edge before they’d begun. 

And now he lies alone in bed close to sobbing because of…what exactly? He’s engaged to the love of his life, he’s got the next days off work, and he and Sherlock are going on a trip to fulfill Sherlock’s secret wish in January. 

John’s been so lost in his own misery that he hasn’t heard footsteps approaching the bed, and startles when the mattress dips and a warm hand is placed on his shoulder. 

“John. What is it?” Sherlock asks. 

The worry in his voice is evident and John turns on to his back facing him. Sherlock’s thumb wipes away a tear and frowns. 

“Only the usual mood, which I thought would leave me alone this year, truth be told. There’s no need for me to feel like this when I have you in my life. Do you have a kiss for me?”

Sherlock’s features soften and he doesn’t waste any time responding. 

***

The text from Greg after breakfast, puzzles John

Is it okay if I come over around 1 pm? No case, just a social call. 

Sherlock just shrugs when John asks if he has any objections to Greg’s unprecedented inquiry. Luckily, they have some of Mrs. Hudson’s delicious biscottis left, and the special hazelnut-scented coffee they received from Sherlock’s parents will be a nice addition. 

John has changed into the midnight-blue shirt Sherlock gifted him, and the detective himself, is impeccably dressed in dark blue suit trousers and a crisp white shirt with straining buttons. A jolt of desire runs down John’s spine by the very sight and he wants nothing more than to walk over to Sherlock and snog him senseless, but steps on the stairs stop him. 

“When did you give Greg a key?” John asks Sherlock. 

“I didn’t,” Sherlock answers with narrowed eyes before he collapses into his chair, muttering his brother’s name. 

And seconds later Greg and said brother stand in the doorway. Greg seems a bit nervous, and when John realises what’s going on, Sherlock has glared, huffed and scoffed for several seconds. 

“You can close your mouth now, if you don’t have anything to communicate, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft says haughtily. 

“Mycroft,” Greg hisses

The resemblance to how John scolds Sherlock when he behaves inappropriately is uncanny. John can’t hold back anymore, and when he meets Sherlock’s eyes, John’s done for. He laughs whole-heartedly and Sherlock joins him with his dark rumble. It takes a while before they remember their visitors, who have taken matters into their own hands and serve the coffee and biscuits with slightly blushing faces.

***  

“Thank God that’s over,” Sherlock states when Mycroft and Greg have left. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” John protests. “Did you know they were an item?”

“Not per se, but I observed that Mycroft greeted Lestrade with his first name at our Christmas party, and that struck me as a bit strange considering that he rarely uses your given name,” Sherlock says.

“Right. Well, I never saw that coming, but I guess it’s no weirder than the two of us being romantically involved,” John muses. 

“John! Don’t you dare compare what we have with what my brother and Graham are up to,” Sherlock blurts out and makes a total mess of his hair in his agitation. 

John straddles Sherlock’s thighs with a gleeful expression and gives in to the temptation from earlier, which effectively puts a stop to Sherlock’s reflections regarding his brother’s love life. 

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @sabsi221b @gregorovitchworld @helloliriels @peanitbear @raina-at

[aggresivelyfriendly]

‘Tis the Damn Season- Chapter 7 Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

Author’s Note- anybody still with me? If not, totally understand. This one is self edited- sorry I’m advance. Reblogs are still and always love!

“Are you sure I can't convince you to come home this Christmas?" Her mother's voice had just a tinge of loneliness, but Emma was set and certain.

"I think I would really like to have a Scandi Christmas this year mum! And I think the best present you could give me is to come and do it with me!"

They'd had this conversation eleventy million times. Emma knew her mum was doing so much better, and that her being in Holmes Chapel, even alone, would be ok, she'd be ok. Emma just knew they'd have so much fun in her newly reclaimed life abroad fusing old traditions with the ones they would make. Her mum was just resistant, she loved her home, was a certified home body, and now that it didn't hurt quite so bad, she loved the reminders of all the Christmases before. She was bathing in nostalgia with a smile on her face and a sweet ache inside.

Emma didn't feel the same. She'd had a fair few wonderful holidays in Holmes Chapel, but to many revolved around Harry Styles, and well, Emma's life did not revolve around Harry. Had never and didn't even have the axis centered around December 26 for a once a year moment any more.

She'd just really gotten back into her own life. Well, Emma patted herself on the back, she'd been living her way for 8 months now, that was almost as long as the 9 months she'd stayed in Holmes Chapel.

When her mother had assured her she was well enough that Emma could go to Iceland, the thought of ice capped fjords in summer thrilled her as though she was climbing them, not just studying them.

So she did.

She felt so much better, and her mother was better and she'd climbed to the top of her trail back to her own life, the one she'd made out of choice and ambition and only been sorry for in brief, lonely morning afters.

Emma wanted to share her life with her mother more than anything, certainly more than she wanted to spend a holiday in a place she now almost entirely associated with hurt. Heartache takes many forms, deep and abiding grief, the kind like she imagines phantom limbs give amputees years on. It also can hurt like a quick sharp mishap, a slip of the knife, full of crimson pain and stitches.

She'd had both together and then his deep cut on top of the other last Christmas. The wound was too fresh to go back at the moment. The good memories were still colored crimson. She needed to wait until her lover's memory flashed with true colors instead of red or blue. Her father's memory was cozier and longer, it was wrapped around the warm pink of her mother, but even it was still too tender.

She needed time.

Emma also had no idea where Harry was these days. She'd cut off all methods of inquiry.  She wasn't staying up late googling even, ever, not anything. Not his naked or Camille's. They'd be going on well into their second trip round the sun by now. Probably more deeply in love than he openly confessed to her. Emma didn't need evidence of it. It just opened the stitches she'd sewn herself.

So, no Holmes Chapel, no Google alerts or text messages. She'd blocked his number.

"Well, I suppose if you insist, we can try Amsterdam for Christmas." Her mother covered the sigh at the end of that sentence and Emma appreciated it. She suppressed a wry smile. Her mother could also still hear it in her reply she was sure.

"Oh mum! You won't regret it. It will be so lovely! I can't wait. I'll meet you at the airport, then we will go to my favorite cafe and take a snow walk. It will be picturesque. You'll fall in love, you'll see."

"Alright, darling. I'll give it a chance. I just hate to miss Anne's party two years in a row." Emma cringed and was happy this was not a video chat. She almost gasped and blew her cover when her mum said. "Won't you miss Anne's party? You're close with Gemma, and" she breathed while her mother hesitated, "and Harry?"

God, did everyone know?

"It'll be fine mum. I'll call Gemma. She'll understand."

She would, after they'd had that conversation the last time they'd spoken.

Gem had not really cornered her so much as insisted they get out of the house as often as possible from the day after Boxing Day until she'd left to head back to London.

She, the lovely friend that she was, didn't actually bring it up until she was back for Mother's Day. And she waited until Emma told her she was headed back to her program in the fall with a twinkle in her eyes even Emma knew had been long gone for too long.

Ever the blunt one, Gemma didn't even cozy up to the subject, "so did you break his heart or did he break yours?" She took a big sip of her cider and leveled her state over the rim at Emma.

Emma could feel her face blanching or heating or giving some indication who's heart was broken. Her elegant side step to that mine field was, "huh?" Then a moment later. "Who are you talking about?" To Gemma's patient silence.

"Alright, if that's how you want to be." Gemma playfully rolled her eyes. "You and my brother are not stealth, at all. You would make eyes at each other all night at my mum's and then disappear for the same amount of time. Remember I live with him."

"Do not." Emma didn't bother to deny it.

"I suppose not really, but as much as any one "lives"with him, I do over Christmas, and did for most of my life. I know when he's smitten with someone, and when he's got them around his little finger too." Gemma snorted and ate a chip. "His stupid walk even changes, all of a sudden he swaggers and walks hip first. It's gross!" Her face screwed up.

Emma tried to remember if she had ever seen this hip walk. She supposed she had when he'd walk towards her at the Boar's Head. Or occasionally when he'd corner her by the mistletoe.

"It's not gross." Slipped out.

"That right there," Gemma pointed. "Is gross. Your face all soft and flushed for my little brother. Bleach!" She sighed mixed with a bit of good humor. "But I suppose that means he broke your heart. I can't believe he just turned up with another lady. Did you at least know? I feel like I always know way to much about my brother's sex life."

"Huh?" Emma laughed.

"I just feel like I know way too much about his sex life, due to blind items and pap shots. Thought you might feel the same."

"It's not so simple as that, really. I knew because of that, about his girlfriend." Still couldn't say her name. "But I think he felt like I'd broken his heart, if I'm honest. And That's why he turned up with her. To hurt me back, in case I hadn't seen."

"Did you."

"Certainly not on purpose. My heart and head and life were in shambles, still are, and he made an assumption, and never let me explain."

"Why don't you explain to me."

So she did, haltingly, Emma talked about it all, tears on her cheeks about her dad and then her mum, and even Harry. The sad footnote of loss in a story of grief.

"Why didn't you just tell him?" Gemma asked the question Emma asked herself a lot.

"I guess, I couldn't say it and I couldn't text it. And it confirmed to me that he really only knew me so little, that he could think I'd take advantage of him."

"Did you ever think that was more to do with how other people have treated him than you? he's had to learn to expect the worst of people he wants to trust?"

"Don't make me feel bad for him. Remember? He broke my heart and found someone new. Had the audacity to move on before me!" Emma tried to joke.

"I think, I think you guys got into a mess and never bothered to clean it up until it was so unkempt you couldn't find the good parts." Gemma said after a quiet, mirthless moment.

"Oh no!" Emma tapped her head. "I kept all the good parts."

"Firstly, blech, I wish I could bleach that smile from my head, but 2nd-Is that enough?" Gemma asked.

"It'll have to be, I suppose." She swallowed the moisture in her eyes, "he told me he loves her. Straight to my broken face. Then piled on how he never got the time to love me."

Gem looked curious, then cautious, "I think he does. But it's cuz he wants to. Wants that desperately, to be in love. It may be some leftovers from you."

"Yeah?" Her eyes really pooled then and she bat her cheek to stop more from swarming. "Well I'll have to take that as cold comfort then, that she gets the seed of love he wanted to grow with me."

"I'm sorry. Sure he is too." Gemma sighed. "I'm so sorry for all of it."

"Yeah, yeah." Emma leaned on her friend, her only real one right then. "Me too."

And they left it at that. Emma's eyes were swimming and Gemma blinked a few times too rapidly. They hoisted their glasses. "To almosts!" Emma said.

"To dad's!" Gemma said. Then they both did cry.  Talked about Robin's diagnoses. Then it was Emma's turn to be the shoulder, to bolster.

Life went on, the way it always seems to do. Emma and her mom laughed more and then her mum even laughed on her own. By that summer, they both stood on their own two feet, without leaning on each other, except when they wanted to.

By June, there was no reason to stay.

"So, are your roommates excited to have you back?"

Her mum was making tea and packing her sandwiches.

"Mum, I actually had to find mew roommates. The others had to fill the room I was in." She could see the down turn of her mum's lips from the side. Guilt was heavy. "It's not a big deal. The people I'm rooming with are other grad students, I know them. And it's works for the budget. Mum, you know I'm not riding the bus to camp right? I don't need a sandwich. There will be food at the airport and on the plane?"

"Won't be home cooked." Was all she said.

This wasn't for her then. It was some sort of amends, or a thank you. Like the tea she had taken to bringing to her to her room when she woke up, and before bed.

"That's true." Emma kissed her cheek, "I'm gonna go finish packing." She ate the sandwich on the plane later.

Counting bags, she frowned. She'd acquired a lot. She sincerely hoped the bag wasn't as heavy as her heart.

Emma was going to miss Holmes Chapel.

She did, surprisingly as much as she missed school the first 6 months she was home. Maybe, those feelings were tangled up in other events, the other missing pieces of her former puzzle.

I'm any case, she found herself better at keeping in touch

"So, any cute boys in Amsterdam?" Gemma chuckled over the phone one mid December afternoon.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Was Emma's laughing response.

"I do, I really do." And Gemma, the blunt tongued, fierce hearted girl sounded suspiciously like a woman in love. Then she pretended to complain, because she was Gemma, about how They were both a little spoon, pretending to be annoyed about it.

"I'm really happy for you." Emma interrupted, meant it, even though she still didn't know if there were any cute boys in Amsterdam because she was still hung up on the cute boy who spent Christmas in Holmes Chapel.

Gemma must have picked up the stain of blue in her voice, "Hey, Emma, I think maybe I should tell you something-"

The buzz from her hallway door went then, and Gemma didn't get to finish.

"Hey Gem, my flat mate lost her key. I'll have to ring you back. Tell me then?"

And then it was Christmas, well Christmas Eve and she was at Schipol with a giant sign that said, "Katherine the great( est mum)!"

"Oh, bless you! Could you have made a bigger sign?"

"I'm sure I could have tried. Maybe found some glitter. Think a flat mate has the body sort somewhere." Her mum narrowed her eyes and pinched her cheek.

"Well, if you've finished embarrassing me, show me this dreadful country that's not England and all it has in terms of festive cheer."

"Let's go get some nuts then!" Emma laughed.

"I beg your pardon?" Her mum put on the prude and Emma laughed at her over the top expression as they made their way to the train to the city center.

Her famous Danish bakery was the first stop. "I thought we would have a taste test. We can rate them."

"Do you already have a favorite?" Her mum asked.

"Yeah." Emma thought about the trifle Harry's mum made and that he'd sneak to the boar's head to feed her in bed. It had only taken him watching her eat it once for him to recognize her glee. It was his favorite too. "But, I want to know what yours is!" Emma brought her memory and watering mouth to the present moment.

They ate their way through Christmas Eve And decorated her Kerstbomen. "Sorry the tree is already up. They were starting to disappear for purchase, but reappear in everyone else's windows! I had to grab one."

"Oh, no dear, it's alright. And actually, I brought a gift from Anne. I saw her the other day and had been complaining about you making me come all the way over here-"

"It's an hour flight!"

"Well, I suppose it will do, but it's not home."

Thank god.

"Anywho, she came by the day after and brought a present for your tree." Her smile was so expectant, Emma was expecting the worst. "It's so important to have good friends." Her smile was cryptic. What friends- Anne to her mum or Gemma to her? Who was the present actually from.

The box was festive. And wrapped beautifully just like Anne's house was always decorated so well. Emma set it aside, "I'll open it tomorrow mum, On christmas, at the proper time."

"Oh no! You must open it now. Gemma told her mom it was for your tree." Ah, mystery solved. Gemma was great at wrapping. When Emma opened it, her heart stopped a full beat.

At first she thought it was the frog, the one she'd gotten for him. That he was giving it back to her like a seal on their relationship that never was. But when she picked it up, she realized it was a proper ornament, not just ornamental. It was a frog, holding a heart.

What Did that mean, whose heart was it?

His for her? Or hers back where he decided it belonged.

"Where will you put it?" Her mother interrupted her train of thought.

"Um, dunno," she moved around the tree to an inconspicuous place. "I guess here." She shrugged.

"Oh no, dear. It's by far the cutest one we have." Her hand scanned over the other ornaments, a hodge podge of beloved ones and ones from Christmas markets. "It goes here." Her Mum stood and took the ornament from its hidden place, placed it front and center. "Let's get the rest up and take a picture."

She'd gotten her mother an aura frame for Mother's Day and she was now obsessed with adding to the Revolving cue of photos.

"Course, ok." Emma ripped her eyes from the frog, but they kept drifting back to it.

It was an hour of a little too much wine and her mother's cheer. It lightened her spirit and got her mind off it's wandery at Harry's intentions, until after silly smiley photos and teary eyed huggy ones, her mum said, "now let's take one for Anne and Gemma. Show them how nice it looks.

Emma thought she'd done a good job at the photo, at arranging her face the way it was supposed to look.

She must have been wrong.

Later, a number she knew by heart but had no current contact for came through. "Your smiles fake. Do you not like it at all?"

She didn't answer it on Boxing Day, or the day after, it wasn't until New Year's Day that she realized she'd blown her resolutions to Smithereens before they could even uphold their name.

All she'd texted back to his cold question was, "how come you're the only person who can always tell."

She may have never noticed she'd done it, with the way her group chats were going off, except he replied before her hangover even subsided.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Distant Memories - Prologue

One fateful night, the young Prince Samuel Hale disappears when the palace is overrun and the royal family are murdered. Years later, the Grand Duke Peter offers a reward for the return of his nephew. Stiles and Boyd come up with a plan to find someone to play the role and take the money; that’s when they stumble upon an orphaned man with no memories of his childhood and who bares a remarkable resemblance to the missing prince.

 For @benaya-trash​

[AO3]

  The large ballroom was filled with light and sound. The hall had been decorated with strings of crystal beads, draped from the chandeliers to the golden filigree of the ornate crown moulding and the towering columns on either side of the hall. The crystals shimmered like stars in the night as they caught the light.

Small groups of people gathered on the mezzanine, talking quietly as they sipped on champagne or looking over the ornate railing to watch the others dance.

Guests filled the dance floor, dancing gracefully to the music, the fabric of their ball gowns and evening coats billowing as they moved.

Grand Duke Peter sat on one of the thrones positioned on the landing of the staircase at one end of the hall, the hard lines of his face and his cold composure softening as he watched his nieces and nephews move among the crowd.

The eldest of the three children, Laura, smiled sweetly as she danced with her father – the Tsar. She moved gracefully, gliding across the dance floor as if she were floating on air. The fabric of her deep indigo ball gown billowed and swayed like the waves of the ocean in the darkness of the night; the gold embroidery and beading that ran down the front of her dress caught the light like moonlight reflecting off the waves. Her long dark hair was pinned back from her face, left to hang loose in cascading waves past her shoulders but decorated with gleaming beads and the delicate golden tiara that sat atop her head.

Nearby, Prince Samuel danced with his younger sister, Cora.

The young princess was dressed in a blush pink gown with a scooped neckline. The corset and sleeves were decorated with white flowers and pearls that matched the string of pale pearls that sat around her neck—the one her mother had given her to wear that night. Her long hair was tied back in a pony tail with a pink ribbon tied into a bow. The look was finished by a small tiara sat atop her dark hair. She looked much healthier than the last time he had seen her.

Prince Samuel wore a navy blue coronation suit much like his father’s, with gold embroidery around the cuffs of the sleeves and the stiff collar. Two rows of shining buttons lined the front of his jacket with braids of golden string hanging across his chest, draped from the golden plate on his right shoulder to the buttons on his chest.

Peter couldn’t help but smile as he watched them dance. Samuel would pick his sister up and twirl her around or spin her in circles until the sound of her laughter drowned out the music.

The girls were the splitting image of their mother; they had inherited her beauty and her elegance, but it was Samuel who had inherited her calmness and her patience.

Peter looked away from the ballroom floor, turning to look at his sister who stood beside him.

Tsarina Talia smiled at her brother, gently setting her hand on his shoulder before stepping down onto the dance floor and joining her husband.

Laura curtseyed as she stepped back, turning to see her brother’s pleading expression. She chuckled as she stepped over to their side, taking Cora’s hand and dancing with her.

Samuel stepped back before making his way over to his uncle’s side.

“I wish you didn’t have to go to Paris,” Samuel said softly.

Peter’s smile fell slightly. “I was going to wait until later to give you this, but I suppose you can have it now.”

Peter dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small bejewelled silver box; the dark sapphires and pale aquamarine and glossy opals catching the light.

“A jewellery box?” Samuel asked, bewildered.

“A secret,” his uncle corrected. He pulled out a necklace; a small silver pendant in the shape of a triskelion hanging from the end of the chain. He slotted it into the matching hole, holding onto the small grip on the back of the pendant as he turned it.

The top of the bejewelled box opened, revealing a surprise; inside were two figurines that looked like Samuel’s mother and father, spinning in circles as they danced along to the sweet melody of a familiar song.

He straightened, his eyes widening with realisation as he looked up at his uncle.

“The lullaby,” Samuel said.

“You can play it before you go to sleep and imagine that it’s me singing to you,” Peter said. He waited for the melody to catch up and softly sang, “On the wind, across the sea, hear this song and remember.”

Samuel smiled, his voice quiet as he sang along with his uncle, “Soon you’ll be home with me, once upon a December.”

Peter pulled the pendant out of the side of the music box and passed it to Samuel.

“Read what it says,” he instructed.

Samuel turned the pendant over, reading the text that was inscribed on the flat surface of the triskelion.

“‘Together in Paris’,” Samuel read. His face lit up as he looked up at his uncle. “Really?”

Peter smiled and nodded. He took the necklace from Samuel and lifted it over the young prince’s head, letting the pendant fall against his chest.

The ballroom fell silent.

Samuel turned around, watching as the crowd parted and a dark figure emerged. His heart sank, his stomach twisting in knots as his eyes fell upon the woman.

She was a young lady with a golden wave of curls that cascaded down her back, bouncing off her translucent skin as she walked forward unhindered. She was dressed in a long black dress and a fur-lined coat, the tail of the coat sweeping across the floor as she glided forward. Her sapphire blue eyes sparkled in the light, but there was something about her gaze, a glint of malice that gave away the darkness in her heart.

Peter rose to his feet, gently ushering his nephew behind him as he stood defensively before the prince.

Laura and Cora ran to their mother as their father stormed forward.

“How dare you return to the palace?” the Tsar growled.

“But I am your confidante,” Kate said, her voice sickeningly sweet, “I healed your daughter.”

“For that I have thanked you, but you are no longer welcome. Now, get out!”

“You think you can banish me?” Kate scoffed, her hand absentmindedly reaching for the yellow crystal that hung from an old leather rope around her neck. “By the unholy powers vested in me, I will banish you; mark my words. You and your family will die. I will not rest until I see the end of the Hale bloodline forever!”

She turned sharply and stormed towards the large doors. The lights that filled the room blinked out, the crystals overhead catching the silvery glow of the moonlight as the chandelier swung back and forth dangerously.

“Father!” Samuel cried out.

His father looked up, noticing the chandelier. He staggered back as the chandelier crashed to the floor, scattering glass and crystal across the ballroom floor.

“Darling,” Talia called out, reaching out for her husband.

“I’m alright,” he reassured her as he stepped over to his wife’s side.

Cora clung to her father’s leg, burying her face in the fabric as he gently patted her head and hushed her tears.

Samuel and Peter ran to their family’s side; Samuel wrapped his arms around his father’s waist, holding him tight as Peter checked on his sister and Laura.

Several houseboys emerged from the darkness, holding candles. The dull glow of the flickering lights lit the ballroom as the Tsar made his apologies and the staff saw their guests out.

Peter gave his sister a look, a silent message passing between them, but Samuel knew them both well enough to know what it meant; don’t let them see how scared you are.

 -------------------------------------

 “Laura?” Samuel’s quiet voice disturbed the darkness of the night.

Laura sat up in her bed look to where her little brother stood in the doorway to her room, holding a small candle in his hand. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t sleep,” Samuel admitted.

Laura’s shoulders dropped as she let out a soft sigh. She shuffled over in her bed and pulled back the blanket, patting the mattress beside her.

Samuel stepped over to her bedside, Cora’s little figure trailing in his shadow He set the candle down on the bedside table and lifted his little sister into the bed. He pulled himself up onto the bed, letting Laura drape the blankets over them as they curled up together, drowning out the sounds of shouting and rioting that filled the city.

At some point they must have drifted off because they woke to their mother gently shaking them awake.

“Come now,” she said softly. “We have to go.”

She lifted Cora out of the bed.

Peter took the girl from his sister’s arms, wrapping her in a thick coat.

“What’s going on?” Laura asked as her uncle passed her a coat.

“We have to go,” Peter repeated.

The sounds from outside were louder than before, the deafening roar filling the air as a crow of armed men threw themselves against the palace gates.

“Let’s go,” Talia urged, taking Cora’s hand and leading the way towards the hallway.

Peter wrapped his arm around Samuel’s shoulder as they followed Talia out of the room and down the hallway.

“Wait,” Samuel said, pulling back from his uncle. “My music box.”

He turned and ran back down the hallway.

His uncle called out his name, chasing after him back through the dark halls of the palace. He sprinted into his nephew’s room, watching as Samuel scrambled to pick up the small bejewelled music box that sat on his bedside table.

“Samuel,” his uncle said firmly. “We have to go.”

There was a deafening crash as the doors fell, the sound of heavy boots against the floors like rolling thunder as armed men and soldiers stormed the palace.

“There has to be another way out of here,” Peter said quietly.

There was a small tug at his sleeve.

Peter turned to see a young house boy pulling at the sleeve of his coat.

“This way,” the boy insisted, pulling Peter and the young prince towards an open panel in the doorway. “Follow it all the way and you’ll come out near the kitchens.”

“Thank you,” Peter whispered, leading the way into the darkness.

Samuel followed after him, the bejewelled box slipping from his fingers as his uncle pulled him into the dark tunnel.

The sounds outside the room grew louder as the soldiers drew closer. The young kitchen boy looked at the hidden passage way. He swallowed hard and pushed the door shut, turning to face the men that stormed into the room.

“Where are they, boy?” one of the soldiers demanded.

The kitchen boy didn’t reply, staring the man down defiantly.

“Where are they?!” the soldier shouted.

The kitchen boy grabbed the vase of flowers from the bedside table and hurled it at the man.

The man turned slightly, shielding himself with his arm as the vase shattered against the sleeve of his coat. Jagged pieces of porcelain rained across the floor.

The soldier charged at the boy, slamming the butt of his rifle into the boy’s cheek and knocking him to the ground.

The boy felt a rivulet of warm blood trickle across his cheek, his ears ringing and his head pounding as his heavy eyes fell shut and the cold embrace of darkness enveloped him.

  -------------------------------------

 Laura thrashed about as the soldiers dragged her down the dark hallways beneath the palace and into the safe room. They threw her to the ground beside the rest of her family.

He father tried to catch her as she fell, holding her close and craning his neck to look her in the eye.

She gave him a sweet smile, trying to reassure him as she straightened herself up and turned to face the soldiers that gathered in the doorway.

She glared at the woman who stepped forward, her blonde hair hidden beneath a fur-lined cap.

Laura swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

The room was designed to be fortified; one door in and out. But now it felt like a coffin.

“Take aim,” a soldier shouted, his voice ringing through the night.

Kate’s emotionless eyes stared at Laura as the solider ordered, “Fire!”

The gunshots rang through the dark hallways, echoing in the confined space of the room as the bullets tore through flesh. Blood was splattered across the wooden floorboards as lifeless, bloodied bodies fell to the ground.

Searing pain tore through Laura’s side, her blood soaking into the fabric of her nightgown—clinging to her skin. She drew in deep breaths, tears pricking at her eyes as she slowly opened her eyes.

Her father’s body lay beside her, his eyes clouded and unfocused. His clothes were torn and stained red. Her mother’s still body lay beside his, her dark eyes staring into oblivion as the life drained from her body.

“Mama,” Cora whispered.

The soldiers rushed forward, grabbing Cora by her hair and hauling her to her feet.

“Leave her alone!” Laura shouted.

A second man grabbed Cora’s coat, digging into the pockets and pulling out chipped jewellery and silver lockets with bullets embedded in them.

Their faces twisted with rage as they threw the young princess to her knees again and drew a pistol, aiming it at her head.

“No!” Laura screamed.

The gunshot rang in her ears as she watched the bullet tear through her sister’s flesh, bathing her pale skin in red as her body collapsed to the floor.

Another soldier grabbed Laura, tearing her coat off.

“This one’s mine,” Kate said, grabbing Laura by her hair and dragging her out of the room.

Laura thrashed about, her head burning as Kate tightened her grip on the fistful of Laura’s long, dark hair and pulled her down the hallway and out the front door.

She dragged her into the open courtyard before the palace, a trail of red following them as Laura’s blood dripped into the snowfall.

The cold snow bit at her bare feet, the hem of her nightgown soaked and her skin prickled with goosebumps as she shivered in the cold. Searing agony flooded her veins as blood seeped from the wound where a bullet had torn through the skin over her ribs.

Kate threw her to her knees.

Laura’s long dark hair fell loose around her face, bruises marring her skin with smears of blue, black and purple. A stream of blood fell from her nose, trickling down her chin and staining the front of her gown red.

Tears welled in her eyes, glimmering in the moonlight as she blinked them back and lifted her gaze defiantly. She glared at the woman who towered over her.

Kate drew a pistol, aiming the barrel at Laura’s forehead.

“I curse you, Kate Argent,” Laura snarled. “The Hale bloodline will find you and make you pay. And when that day comes, I’ll be waiting at the gates.”

The gunshot rang out thought the night, the deafening boom echoing through the shadows as the spray of blood stained the snow red and the princess’s body fell against the icy ground.

  -------------------------------------

 Peter held onto the sleeve of his nephew’s coat, pulling him through the crowds that gathered in the streets. They kept their heads down, shielding their faces to avoid recognition as they ran through the falling flurries of snow.

Samuel’s feet pedalled beneath him as he stumbled and staggered on the icy cobblestone paths.

“Where are we going?” Samuel asked.

“There’s a train to Paris leaving soon,” Peter told him.

A thundering rumble grew louder as a carriage came barrelling down the street towards them. The carriage struck Samuel, tearing him from his uncle’s hand.

He was thrown aside, colliding with the icy cobblestones. Blood coursed from the wound on Samuel’s head, pooling on the ground around him.

Peter cried out his name, but the crowd pulled him away, leaving his nephew’s still body lying among the muddy sludge and falling snow.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas​ donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

*

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

       rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

               teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

 December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

       rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :(  :(

     �� rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

             teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

                     coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

 November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

    rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

         bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

               rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

 November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

 November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

     bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

           teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

     rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

          bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

*

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

*

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

*

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

        bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

              rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

     rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

    rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

[hockeylvr59]

The Best Christmas Gift || Jakob Chychrun

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: This is another plot I’ve wanted to write for quite a while and Jakob is just so perfect for it. Unlike so many of my other stories, you cannot yell at me for a slow burn here. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. 

Warnings: a little nsfw content (fingering) kinda tossed in the middle of all the fluff, some cursing. 

Word Count: 5,247

~~~~~~

It's the most wonderful time of the year

There'll be much mistltoeing

And hearts will be glowing

When loved ones are near

It's the most wonderful time of the year

Unconsciously, your fingers pressed the buttons on the steering wheel to switch radio stations. 

I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you

Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree

Won't be the same, dear, if you're not here with me

Groaning, you just turned the radio off, letting silence fill the car. Today was one of those days where every song that came on the radio felt like a personal attack and while part of you wanted to throw up, another fought to blink back tears. 

As you pulled into your parents’ driveway, you noted that there were no lights, no decorations, nothing that screamed Christmas was only three days away. It was just another reminder of how shitty life could be. You weren’t even supposed to be here, you were supposed to be at a cabin in the mountains with your fiance and his family. The plans had been made back in July and when you’d told your parents, they had booked a trip to Alaska, a trip they had been wanting to go on for years. They’d left for that trip last week, a mere 48 hours before your world crumbled around you. 

You’d been out to dinner when your fiance Nick had asked for the ring back, declaring that he no longer wanted to get married, his expression so nonchalant, so unwilling to acknowledge that he was currently ripping your heart from your chest and stomping on it. You’d screamed, you’d cried, you’d made a hell of a scene but his mind was made up and so you left the restaurant leaving both the ring and the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with behind. 

To make matters worse, you’d moved in with him when you’d gotten engaged and now, your childhood home was the only place you could turn. Nick had told you that you could stay in the apartment while he was in the mountains with his family but how were you supposed to sleep in the bed you’d shared, sit on the couch you’d watched so many movies together on knowing that all of it was a lie. Instead, you’d packed your bags, grabbing as much as you could and mentally saying screw the rest. 

As you finally shut off your car, you couldn’t help but muse that this was certainly going to be the suckiest Christmas yet. At least your parents had a heated pool and December temperatures in Florida meant that you could spend the next week working on a tan. Though your life had crumbled, at least by the time you went back to work you could at least look like you had your shit together. 

Slamming your car door shut, you moved to open the trunk when a familiar voice reached your ears. 

“Y/N! What are you doing here? You know your mom and dad are in Alaska right now right?” Nancy Chychrun was one of the sweetest women you had ever known and as she walked across the space between your driveways you felt the mask you were trying to hold in place start to slip. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m just going to hang out here by myself for a while.” You replied, rubbing your hands up and down your arm. 

“What happened to…?” Nancy started to question, her eyes going wide as she caught a glimpse of your now barren ring finger. “Oh, sweetheart.” She cooed, stepping forward to wrap you up in a big hug. Letting yourself bask in the motherly touch you’d been craving since the other night, you wrapped your arms around her in return, hugging tightly. When she pulled away she wiped the tears from your cheek before sending you a knowing look. “Well, we all know he’s an idiot.” She declared, her hands cupping your cheeks to ensure that you were alright. 

It was only as you were staring past her shoulder that you noticed their car was also open, being loaded up with suitcases. 

“We’re going to Arizona to have Christmas with Jakob.” She explained. “And you know what...you’re coming with us.” 

“Oh no...I couldn’t.” You immediately reacted, stepping back. “Truly I’ll be fine. Some time to decompress alone will be good for me.” You explained. 

“Y/N. You are not spending Christmas alone.” Nancy pressed. “We already have an extra plane ticket. One of Taylor’s friends was supposed to join us but had a last-minute change of plans. It’s no bother at all to swap the names and I insist.” 

If there was one thing you had learned about Nancy over the years was that she was certainly a mama bear and when she got something into her head, she wasn’t going to let it drop until you agreed. 

“I’m not...my suitcases are a mess and…” You murmured, opening your trunk. 

“Well, then I guess you better go rearrange them. We leave in an hour.” Her hand squeezed yours and she turned back, yelling up toward the house for Jeff to pull up the flight information to edit Erin’s ticket to reflect your name. 

_____

A little over six hours later you were disembarking from the flight into the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport feeling like some of the weight on your shoulders had been lifted. From the moment you’d stepped into your parents’ house, Taylor Chychrun had started texting you a list of a million things to bring with you. While you’d finally lugged your bag downstairs and into the Chychrun’s car, Jeff had started rambling about how good it was to see you and how excited they all were that you were joining them. The rambling was a good distraction from the depths of your brain and it lasted until you reached the airport. Then, the moment the plane had taken off, Taylor had insisted on sharing a pair of headphones as she put on a cheesy Christmas movie and it wasn’t long before her commentary had you nearly rolling in laughter. It had been far too long since you had spent any time with the Chychrun’s and maybe Nancy was right. You needed to be around people and the Chychrun’s were some of the best. You honestly hadn’t realized how much you missed them. 

And there was one member of the family, in particular, who you missed without even knowing it. 

You had just pulled your bag from the baggage carousel when you heard Taylor squeal out her brother’s name. By the time you turned around, both Nancy and Taylor had their arms wrapped around Jakob’s lean frame and a second later Jeff was hugging him as well. As the family moved to gather their bags, your eyes met blue and for a moment you felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

“Y/N…” Jakob greeted, surprise filling his voice as numerous emotions flicked across his face. “I...I didn’t know you were coming.” He whispered, though his body stepped forward to lean down and wrap around yours in a strong but gentle hug. “It’s good to see you.” He murmured softly in your ear and immediately you knew that he was being completely sincere. 

“It was a last-minute change of plans.” You admitted. “But your mom insisted I come and it’s really good to see you too.” Jakob’s smile was warm as he pulled away and immediately reached for your bag. “I can…” You started but quickly gave in when he sent you a look, one he had very clearly learned from his mom. “Thank you.” You corrected, looking over to see that the rest of the Chychrun’s had gathered their bags and were ready to leave the airport. 

As you sat in the back seat of Jakob’s SUV you tried to but couldn’t remember the last time Nick had ever carried one of your bags for you. It was such a small thing but it made you miss your broken relationship just a little bit less. 

_____

You’d spent the evening hours that first night curled up on the outdoor couch in Jakob’s backyard with a glass of wine in hand as you watched the flames flicker in the gas fireplace. Though you chipped in on the conversation occasionally, for the most part, you just sat and observed the family dynamics going on around you. As you watched Jakob laugh and be ribbed by his dad and sister, your brain popped up with that nagging reminder that Nick’s family had never been this laid back, made you feel this comfortable. Still, you occasionally caught yourself fiddling with your barren ring finger, mimicking the action of spinning your engagement ring around it. You hadn’t realized anyone noticed but a few minutes after everyone else headed inside for bed, Jakob returned with a fresh glass of wine for you and sat next to you, his thigh pressed against your knee. 

“Can I uh...can I ask what happened?” He inquired, the calmness of his voice settling deep in your bones. “If you don’t want to talk about it that’s cool but uh...you keep fiddling with your ring finger and I can’t help but notice your engagement ring is missing.” It didn’t surprise you that Jakob knew you’d been engaged, not with the way your moms gossiped. And though it shouldn’t, for some reason it did surprise you that he cared enough to ask about it. Downing another long sip of wine you debated whether you wanted to share the details but the feeling of Jakob’s warm hand on your knee pushed you to start talking. 

You rambled on about how you hadn’t seen it coming, how you thought things were going well. You complained about how he’d done it in public, making you look like a completely crazy woman. You cried softly as you talked about how now you suddenly felt like you weren’t good enough, had never been good enough, and then before Jakob could jump in and stop your negative thoughts, you admitted that maybe you hadn’t truly been happy either. 

Jakob just sat and listened, he’d always been a good listener...you couldn’t say the same about Nick...before he draped his arm over your shoulder and pulled you against the side of his body. 

“Can I be honest?” He whispered, his fingers tangling in your hair. 

“Of course.” You agreed though you were anxious to hear what he had to say. 

“He wasn’t good enough for you,” Jakob stated. “I know you cared about him...loved him even…” He paused for a moment. “But your smile never reached your eyes when you were with him.” Maybe you imagined it because of the wine, but you could have sworn you felt Jakob’s breath hitch as he leaned in to kiss the top of your head. “So this may not be what you wanted or expected but I’m relieved...because I just want to see you happy, truly happy Y/N.” 

Sitting, curled into Jakob’s side you sat and watched the fire flicker back and forth, his thumb rubbing lazily against your upper arm. 

At the same time, a fire was starting to flicker inside of you, long-forgotten embers slowly being stoked to life. 

_____

You weren’t sure if it was the insanely comfortable mattress, the wine, or the feeling of Jakob’s arms wrapped around your waist as he hugged you goodnight, but you fell asleep almost instantly and didn’t stir until the sun was peeking through the windows. As you pushed the sleep from your body, you pondered over the fact that you couldn’t remember the last time you had slept that well. 

After breakfast, you had bugged Jakob about where the best local shopping was and then dragged Taylor out with you to buy presents despite everyone’s protests. Your raised eyebrow when you accused Nancy of trying to talk you out of shopping while knowing she was going to make sure there were presents for you was enough to get her to back off and after a few successful hours, you had a set of small presents for each member of the Chychrun family. 

You snuck into your guest room to wrap them before changing into your swimsuit and heading down to spend some time at Jakob’s pool. As you lounged with Taylor, working on your tans, you occasionally felt a pair of eyes on you that made you shiver. Eventually, Jakob pulled you into the pool with him, and for the first time since the break-up, you forgot about Nick completely. As dinner time approached, you pulled yourself away from where Jakob was bugging you in the pool and dried off, heading inside to see if you could help Nancy with dinner. 

Dinner was once again delicious, and you teased Nancy about how she was turning you into a lush with all of the wine. Conversation felt even more seamless than the night before and as you worked to clean up dishes, you felt Jakob pressing against your back as he reached up to put dishes away over your head. 

“You doin’ okay?” He whispered and when you nodded you felt him squeeze your hip, the heat of his fingers transferring quickly through the thin fabric of your sundress. The two of you danced around each other as you finished cleaning up and when you were done, he tugged you over to the piano sitting in his living room. “Mom wanted me to play and I think you should come and play with me.” 

“Jakob...that’s all you buddy...I haven’t...it’s been years.” You admitted. In fact, you had both been teenagers the last time you had touched piano keys. 

“It’s not exactly something you forget.” He insisted, sitting you down on the piano bench before sliding in beside you. “I’ll even give you the easy part.” He declared, bumping your shoulder with what would be his own if you were a little bit taller but was instead just his arm. Scanning both the music and the keys in front of you, you tried to remember but settled for resting your fingers on the key Jakob pointed you to, following his direction and what little natural musical talent you had to press your key at the appropriate time. 

By the second song, you just watched Jakob, who was such a natural at this that you knew he still took the time to practice. After playing a little mini-concert for his family, the two of you moved to join everyone else on the couches where Nancy was looking through photo albums. For the most part, she just showed them off to her kids but every once and a while she would draw your attention and point to a photo of you and Jakob. Sometimes you forgot about how close you once had been, and as you took in photos of you in Jakob’s jerseys over the years you felt waves of peace wash over you. 

By the time you headed to bed, your head was full of memories. 

And as you lay there, tossing and turning, those memories fed into the slowly growing fire deep inside you until tears were streaming down your cheeks. All at once, you remembered why you had even given Nick a second look in the first place. 

You were trying to get over your feelings for Jakob. 

For most of your teenage years, you’d had a schoolgirl crush of sorts on your neighbor and best friend. But then you got older, he got drafted into the NHL and your hopes of those feelings ever being requited vanished. You had just watched Jakob play his first NHL game when Nick approached you and honestly the rest was history. It wasn’t that you hadn’t liked Nick...but you certainly had never been in love with him...you just told yourself you were. You had settled for what you thought was attainable because you were afraid of truly being hurt by the man you considered unattainable. 

Now you were back at square one and this time you could feel yourself falling back into those feelings, falling rapidly in love with Jakob. 

Unable to sleep, you tiptoed downstairs and over to the piano, your path lit by the Christmas tree which twinkled, reflecting off the windows. Gently your fingers ran over the keys, not using any pressure for fear of waking someone. 

“Y/N…” A scratchy voice whispered and after jumping from being startled, you looked over to find Jakob walking toward you from the kitchen. “What are you doing up?” He asked. You hadn’t realized that you were still crying until Jakob was squatting beside the piano bench, his fingers brushing the tears off your cheeks. 

“I never loved him.” You admitted. Confusion filled Jakob’s face and he quietly stood, pulling you from the bench and over towards the tree that looked like it came straight off the cover of a magazine. 

“What do you mean?” Jakob questioned, his arms resting lightly on your hips as he tried to understand everything going through your head. 

“I never loved him.” You repeated. “I just told myself I did. Told myself he would have to be good enough.” Jakob started to speak but you shook your head needing to get it all out there. “But he never carried my bags. Opened my door. Brought me wine. I don’t think his family ever liked me much. They certainly never made me feel very welcome. And he...he never really listened. I never felt like he truly ever heard me. Like he truly ever even knew me. I…” This time it was Jakob who shut you up, his fingers flexing against your hips as he stepped closer. 

“Are you saying…? Fuck...please tell me you’re saying…” Jakob’s voice was rough with emotion and the Christmas lights caught his eyes in ways that made them send shivers down your spine. You weren’t surprised that he had picked up on how everything you’d mentioned was something he’d done, his family had done in the last 48 hours. “Please…” Jakob repeated, and you could feel how much he needed the answer. 

“I never loved him because he wasn’t you.” Jakob didn’t respond, and immediately you started questioning if that was even what he expected you to say, what he wanted you to say. “I...was so certain that you’d never feel the same that I went for something that I knew was actually attainable and I guess I was right on the first count but wrong on the latter…” 

A gasp spilled from your throat as Jakob crashed his lips onto yours, pulling you against his body for a deep and passionate kiss. Jakob kissed you until you had to pull away to breathe, and then as soon as you had caught your breath, he kissed you again. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood in front of the Christmas tree, Jakob’s hands and mouth trying to tell you all the things he had yet to say. But eventually, he paused, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers drifted to take your hands in his. 

“You just made my every Christmas wish for the last five years come true.” He breathed. “Fuck...I’ve been in love with you since I was like 16. I just didn’t know what love was. I’ve missed having you in my everyday life more than you know and I hope you know I’m not letting you go now. I know you have shit to work through, we have shit to work through but I promise you...the day I put a ring on your finger I am never going to ask for it back.” 

Jakob’s words, the certainty behind each and every one of them, stoked the teasing flames into an all-consuming inferno. You’d never imagined this day would ever come. But it had, and it was possibly the best Christmas gift you could ever receive. 

“I’m going to hold you to that promise.” You murmured, pressing your lips against Jakob’s once more. With his hands tangled in your hair, Jakob walked the two of you back to the couch, pulling you down to curl into his lap. It was there that you finally fell asleep for a few hours, waking to the feeling of Jakob’s lips against your neck. 

____

By the time his family made their way downstairs, you and Jakob had breakfast made and were sitting outside enjoying the warm Arizona Christmas Eve. As you basked under the sun’s rays, you thought about both your future and your past. To many, it might seem crazy that a week ago you were engaged to be married and now you were quickly falling head over heels for another man. To those that truly knew you, however, you were certain that it would come as no surprise. There was so much that you and Jakob needed to discuss but you could honestly and truly say that you were excited for what the future held. 

As you finished breakfast, you chatted with Nancy about all of the food preparations that needed made both for dinner tonight but also lunch and dinner tomorrow. It wasn’t long until you were elbow deep in recipes, working alongside Nancy and Taylor to make sure that everything was ready and needed as little effort as possible later. By the time preparations were finished, it was time to change for church and when you came down the stairs you felt Jakob’s eyes taking in the sight of you, the feeling holding a deeper meaning now. His hand rested against the small of your back as he guided you to the car and he dipped his head to whisper in your ear. 

“You look beautiful.” The deep color of his eyes signaled that there were words he wasn’t saying given the time and audience but it still made you fight back a blush knowing his thoughts weren’t all appropriate. 

Church was followed by dinner and board games before everyone retired to bed. Everyone but you and Jakob. Now dressed in loungewear, you made your way to where Jakob was seated on the couch, straddling over his lap as his hands fell to your hips. 

“Care to share what you were really thinking earlier…” You teased, your body responding with excitement to just the feeling of his eyes on you. 

“I was thinking there are things I want to do to you that I should definitely not be thinking on my way to church.”  He replied, sealing his lips around yours in a kiss and sliding his tongue into your mouth as you gasped against him. “I probably also shouldn’t be thinking them with my parents and sister upstairs.” He added as he pulled back to breathe. 

“Think them.” You murmured, dropping your hips to rock against his. “Because I know I am.” Jakob groaned and allowed you to seek the friction of your hips on his for another moment before his hands forced you to stop. “J…” You whined, pouting as he laughed against your neck. 

“Trust me, baby...I want it too.” Jakob assured you. “But I want to take you on a date first.” He insisted. “And I certainly want to be able to hear every noise you make without worrying about being caught by my parents.” You knew he was right but that didn’t mean you had to be happy about it. “I’ve wondered what it would feel like to be inside you since I was 17...I can wait a little longer. And I swear I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“J...you can’t say things like that.” You grumbled now feeling even more turned on than you were when he first stopped you. 

“I’m sorry.” Jakob breathed, moving one hand to cup your face and pull you into a gentle kiss. For a moment, his remaining hand twitched on its spot against your hip before it moved quickly, shifting around your stomach to slide under the waistband of your pajamas. As his fingers slid between your slick folds you felt him break the kiss to murmur against your lips. “You gotta be quiet okay baby?” His fingers quickly found your swollen clit as he kissed you again, muffling your whimpers as you shifted your hips against his hand. Quickly, one long finger pressed inside of you before being joined by a second, and before you could even process just how quickly you were cumming on just his fingers, your orgasm crashed over your leaving you gasping quietly into his shoulder. 

As you caught your breath, Jakob removed his fingers, wiping them onto his sweats before his lips kissed your forehead. 

“Better baby?” He asked, a soft smirk on his face. All you could do was nod, the muscles in your thighs still twitching. 

“We’re gonna talk about that later.” You sighed, amazed at the fact that he hadn’t even hesitated in reading your body and providing you exactly what you needed. Not to mention that it was that good. 

After a moment, Jakob had you cradled in his arms and had stood from the couch, heading for the stairs. 

“Now I think it’s time for bed. You know Santa won’t come if you’re still awake.” He joked. As he laid you down gently on the guest bed he kissed you once more, his fingers pushing a stray strand of hair away. “Merry Christmas Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Merry Christmas J...thank you.” Sated from your orgasm, from the feelings of being loved by Jakob, sleep once again came quickly as you snuggled into bed. 

______

Taylor was the one who woke you up in the morning, insisting that everyone was downstairs and ready to open presents. Cleaning yourself up a little from last night’s activities, you made your way downstairs a few minutes later to find presents now stacked neatly under the tree. The only spot available was beside Jakob on the couch and in front of the empty spot was a steaming mug. With a silent nod, Jakob confirmed it was for you and as Nancy handed out the first round of presents you took a sip, smiling at the fact that someone remembered that hot chocolate was the only appropriate beverage for Christmas morning.

In the first round, your present was from Nancy and Jeff and when you opened it you smiled and laughed when it was a wine pairing book. 

“You’re going to try and educate me yet.” You joked. “Thank you.” 

In the second round, you received a gift bag with bath bombs and body scrubs from Taylor and Jeff opened up some silly daily calendar that Taylor had helped you pick out. The third round you got some new nail polishes from Nancy and she opened the wine ice cubes that you had gotten for her. You continued around the room a few more times until you reached the final round. Taylor opened a romper you had picked out for her while she was in the bathroom and she immediately insisted she would have to go try it on as soon as you were done. Jakob opened a pair of swim trunks, he had complained about his old ones pretty much as soon as you arrived, and while he laughed his eyes met yours silently communicating that you had already given him the best gift just by being his. 

As his mom leaned over to hand you your last present, Jakob slid another one on top of it causing his family to raise their eyebrows. 

“Open the big one first.” He insisted and when you tore off the paper and opened the box, inside you found exactly what you had been expecting. Your fingers pulled the maroon fabric from the box and your heart beat faster as you examined the name and number. It had been so long since you’d worn one of Jakob’s jerseys and you absolutely couldn’t wait to put it on. 

“Thank you.” You breathed, trying not to cry as you leaned over to hug him quickly. He was smiling, but you could feel that he was nervous about the other package as you tore through the paper. With the paper tossed to the floor, you found yourself holding a small jewelry box. Glancing over at him you watched as he rubbed the back of his neck. Popping the lid to the box open, you revealed a small metal ring in the shape of a knot. With your breath caught from the statement he was making, you looked over at him again. 

“I uh...I thought your ring finger might be feeling a little bare.” He whispered. “It’s uh...it’s a promise ring, a promise to help you heal, a promise to explore everything we’ve both been feeling for so long, and a promise to someday replace this one with both a proper engagement ring and a wedding band so that that jersey will be your last name and not just mine.” You choked back a sob at everything that tiny band symbolized, trying to speak but unable to find words. “I got you a chain too..you know in case you aren’t ready to wear it as a ring…” He added. 

Finally, the simplest of phrases flew forth. 

“It’s perfect, J.” Offering him the box, you held your left hand out for him to slide the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly and unlike your engagement ring which had never really felt like you, this looked like it was meant to be there. 

Laying your left hand onto his cheek, you leaned over again, pressing your lips to his in the sweetest of kisses. It wasn’t until you pulled away that you realized the show you’d just put on for his formerly in the dark family who was currently staring at the two of you from their spots around the living room. 

You honestly didn’t know what to say to them so when Nancy stood, beckoning you forward so that she could see the ring you felt your breath settle back into your chest. 

“Oh honey, it’s beautiful.” She exclaimed, her arms wrapping around your body in a secure hug. 

“Thank you.” You murmured. “Just thank you.” There weren’t enough words to express all that you were thankful for. For bringing the man you were falling in love with into the world, for insisting you come on this trip, for being so supportive even when you knew there were a lot of unanswered questions. 

“Of course...you’re family now aren’t you.” She smiled and at that moment you knew that this was what you wanted forever. 

Christmas truly was the most wonderful time of the year because it reunited you with the love of your life and expanded your heart with the love of his entire family. As Nancy and Taylor worked to serve breakfast, Jakob pulled you into his arms, kissing you once again as he dipped you in front of the Christmas tree. And like the photos in Nancy’s albums, that was a picture you would look back on and smile, a picture that would hang on the wall for years to come in your home together. 

[moonmothmama]

so my mom took two at-home rapid covid tests, a day apart, on xmas eve and xmas day, and both were negative.

she was still sick with this nasty fucking old, so she couldn't come to my brother's place, but man. super cliche but you know how people say "it was like a weight had lifted"? literally felt like a giant ball of lead had been lifted out of my ribcage when i got that text.

we were on the way out to bklyn when i got it. so otw out to my brother's place, which is like 15 min away from my folks, we dropped off my mom and dad's gifts at the door. then we got to my brother's apt and he gave each of us a rapid test in the backyard (as a precaution, like with my sister in law's parents and sister). both negative.

so Brian put on his little beard ornaments (tiny xmas balls on wee butterfly clips that i put in his beard) and my brother gave him a santa hat and we hung out

my lil niece immediately tore into her xmas gift from us while me and Brian had our heads turned talking to my sister in law. she loved her gift. we got her a couple "paint your own squishy" sets and of course she wants to do it RIGHT THEN in her FANCY DRESS and she's TRYING TO OPEN THE PAINT POTS THAT SECOND while LEANING THEM AGAINST HER FANCY DRESS. you know.

but yeah her gift was a big hit and so were the gifts we got for my brother and sister in law who repeatedly apologized for not getting us something but like. they have a kid! and that's not even the point of gift giving anyway! it was just nice that they enjoyed what we got them. i was really happy about that.

we got my brother a star wars rebel insignia beanie in brown and orange, which i thought looked cool and matched his style, and i was right, and also apparently he needed a hat? so that's a win. but we "wrapped" it in a Chewbacca stocking which he repeatedly called "one of the best gifts i've ever gotten." also in the stocking was a Darth Vader "#1 Dad" shirt from my sister which got an "AAAHHHHH NICE"

for my sister in law, whose middle name is Raven (so cool right?), we got a handmade stoneware mug with a light blue glaze and a raven motif which she loved so much that she just stared at it for like fifteen solid minutes. i remembered her saying she likes a mug with a good weight in her hands, so that was part of my thinking on that, and she did appreciate it, also loved the color, and, you know, ravens, which is a Thing of hers

and it was just really good to hang out with them

so i stayed over that night while Brian went home, and spent xmas day with them. it was a sort of quiet tired xmas day bc my wee niece woke everyone up at the asscrack of dawn after we'd been up really late wrapping gifts and otherwise not sleeping well (i had only fallen asleep like 2 hrs before she woke us) so all three of us adults passed out at some point during the day. in my brother's case, at multiple points. which is fair bc there's no way in hell he has been getting enough sleep.

then around three, me and my brother (double masked) went to see my folks (also masked) to say merry xmas and drop off some food. mom already looked and sounded better than the day before, so we were both happy to see that.

then later we all (me, my brother, my sister in law, my niece, and their super cute and mild-mannered pitbull named Nala) went for a walk around the neighborhood for some fresh air (bc it was unseasonably warm. hmmmm) and look at the lights. which was really nice bc it was hotter than hell in my folks' apartment, and even though it was a lot warmer than it should've been in december in new york fucking city, it was good to get out into the cool air.

also predictably at some point my niece's paint-and-glitter-covered hands touched my cardigan so i've gotta wash that lol.

Brian and our niece showed up to take me home after my wee niece had gone to bed. the dog absolutely fucking loved her, which is pretty much expected at this point; she's got legitimate disney princess levels of animal charming. but it was really cute to see. and then we rode home singing muppet christmas songs

and when we got there, me and Brian gave our niece her gift, then opened a big box of stuff his friend in Hawaii sent. it was stuffed with candy, a box of mango black tea (hell yeah), some pancake and drink mixes, etc.

then i got to SLEEP! for a LONG TIME! in my OWN BED! so yeah. not a bad couple of days.

[gothgovernment]

In Bed With Geo (Louis Tomlinson One Shot)

December 2015

"Hi friends and welcome back to in bed with Geo. As you can see, today I'm in bed by myself. This video has been a long time coming, which makes filming it right now absolutely terrifying..." I trail off with a nervous laugh. "Because I was so nervous, I spent three hours getting ready just to avoid this for as long as possible." I smile into the camera before taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

"As I'm sure you've all heard, One Direction announced their hiatus today. I've known this was coming for a few weeks now and it breaks my heart to see this all come to an end. These guys are the reason I have a career. These guys are some of my best friends. These guys are the reason I'm still here. And I am so proud of them for doing what's right and taking a break now before they all burn out..." I start to tear up. Fuck this video is going to be a rough one to edit.

"So, this is my story of how One Direction, and one member in particular, impacted my life in the best way possible."

September 2011

"Welcome Mr Tanaka," the petite lady at the door said as she let my father and I into the party. It was packed with important looking people wearing their nicest suits and dresses. One Direction signs littered the walls as everyone celebrated the release of the boy bands first single 'What Makes You Beautiful'. My dad is a musician with Syco. He helped write and record the guitar for One Directions upcoming debut album. I've always admired his work and I am so proud of him for helping aspiring musicians to realize their dreams.

Dad turned to me and smiled while throwing his tattooed arm around me, "you look so beautiful tonight, honey." He always knew how to ease my nerves. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear as I responded with a soft thanks. "I've got to go congratulate the boys, want to come meet them?"

"Of course! I've only been asking you to introduce me since your first session with them," I giggled as Dad stuck his tongue out at me. I quickly grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray a waitress was carrying before following dad in the direction of 5 young lads. As we approached them, beautiful blue eyes locked with mine. I smiled politely at the handsome boy as Dad and I came to a stop in front of the group. He returned the smile and stuck his hand out for me to shake.

"Ahh so you're Geo. Izuki here has not shut up about you! I'm Louis," he said cheekily, giving my dad a playful nudge on the shoulder after our hands parted.

"Oh really? What has he said about me? All good things I assume," I bite back a smile as I see Dad rolling his eyes at us. Dad has told me a lot about the boys, but especially Louis. He seems to think we are destined to be friends.

"Alright, give it a rest," my Dad huffed with a smirk, "Boys!" My dad called to grab the attention of the remaining four band members. "This is my daughter Geo. Geo, this is Zayn, Harry, Liam and Niall." They all took turns shaking my hand with Harry even giving me a hug. "Right well, I'm leaving Geo with you while I go and talk business." Dad quickly turned and walked away, leaving me with these strangers. I watched Dad walk away before slowly turning back to the boys, immediately locking eyes with Louis again.

I spent the next 3 hours being dragged around the party by Louis, being introduced to countless important people. Something about this boys carefree and almost childish nature made me feel instantly attached to him. He is just so unapologetically himself all the time, it's almost contagious.

We had just finished raiding the food table when Louis asked me, "so, Geo... what are your plans for the future? Izuki has mentioned you're an incredible drummer." I should have known my Dad would talk about my drumming. It is, after all, his greatest achievement in me. Instilling me with a passion for music is the reason we are so close to each other. After my mother suddenly passed away, connecting through music has gotten us through our grief.

"Well right now my dream is to work as a drum tech but I also have an idea for a YouTube channel where I interview musicians, in my bed, pyjamas on, and ask them real questions. I want to talk to people about how their lives have influenced their music. How being in the industry impacts them. I want to know about their families, their hopes and dreams. I want to talk to artists like real people. Get to know why they are in this industry and if it's worth it. If the pros outweigh the cons... But that's just a fantasy. I would have no idea where to even start. I mean, the only musicians I really know are my dad and now you." I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger, realizing I just gave a much longer than necessary answer. Louis' silence causes me to look away from my ring and toward him. He is looking at me, mouth agape. His face suddenly splits into a smile which instantly helps to ease my slowly growing anxiety.

"You're a very interesting girl, Geo. Very interesting indeed..." He trails off as he quickly pulls out his phone, texting someone rapidly.

~

It's now close to midnight and Dad has decided to call it a night. As I bid farewell to the boys in the form of hugs, I reach Louis last.

"So..." I made eye contact with the Doncaster boy. "is there any chance I could grab your number? Ya know, in case you ever feel like making that dream a reality?" The cheeky glint in his eye makes me nervous.

"What? You want to come on my imaginary show?" Surely he was just being polite. No way would he actually want to waste his time on an interview that would maybe get 6 views.

"I text the lads about it earlier and we're all on board. It sounds like a brilliant idea. I fully believe in you, love." Okay wow, this feels like a dream. THE X Factor boy band One Direction want to be interviewed by me?

"If you're trying to make me swoon, you've achieved your goal," I giggle, pulling my phone out of my purse and handing it to him. When he returns my phone I see that he had text himself 'sup u sexy fuck'. I burst out laughing before giving him a long hug, whispering a goodbye in his ear.

December 2015

"I met One Direction in 2011 at the single launch for 'What Makes You Beautiful'. My dad was the guitarist for all of the recording and writing of Up All Night. All the boys instantly accepted me into their lives. Especially my now best friend Louis Tomlinson. After talking to Lou about wanting to start this channel, he immediately encouraged me and we set up the first ever 'In Bed With... One Direction'. That video gained 400,000 views within six months and affectively created my career. My whole life as I know it is owed to Lou. If it wasn't for his complete and utter faith in me, I don't think I would be here today." I start to cry, reminiscing on beautiful memories. I take a sip of my tea and think for a moment. I really wish L was here right now, but I know we would both be blubbering messes. I need to do this alone. For once, I need to do something without relying on him.

"Since my first interview with One Direction my channel has blown up. It has afforded me this house, my friends, the opportunity to meet some of my biggest idols and most importantly it has moulded me into the strong and powerful woman I am today. So I want to take this opportunity to thank you boys. Louis, Harry, Zayn, Niall and Liam. I love each of you more than I can put into words."

My phone buzzes beside me and I pick it up. 'Big Louser' sent me a text.

baby g, you okay? youve

not text me in a week :(

I sighed as I put the phone back down. I should have known he'd pick up on me semi-ghosting him. I have been so nervous around him ever since he and Eleanor split up about 9 months ago. It's like, I finally have my chance to tell him how I feel but I am so scared of losing the best part of my life. That's why, when he called me about a month ago to say the band had finally come to the conclusion of going on an extended break, I knew I had to make this video. So that the world can know and remember how important Louis and the rest of the lads are. And so that Lou can finally know how I feel. I pick my phone back up, knowing I should reply.

I'm sorry L. I promise

I'll make it up to you.

I'm filming a new video

right now that will be up

later tonight. I'll send

you the link when it's up!

Love you x

I turn my phone onto do not disturb and return my focus to the camera. "I want to talk a little bit about each of the boys from a friends perspective. Firstly, I would like to talk about Zayn. Z, you are one of the gentlest, kindest people I have ever met. You have dealt with so much during and after your time with the band. The constant racist and Islamophobic tweets and comments really wore you down a lot more than you'd let on. But Z, you would always rise above them, knowing that your culture made you into the incredible person you are today." I pause, hesitant about what I am going to say next. I would hate to overstep any boundaries here.

Choosing my words carefully, I continue. "Leaving the band must have been the toughest decision anyone could make. I remember you texting me about two months after you left to ask if I thought you'd made the right choice leaving behind your friends, your brothers. Your concern wasn't about if this would affect your future career, it was if it affected your friends. That's the epitome of the Zayn I love." I knew I would edit in a few videos I have of Z and I over the years throughout this mini speech.

I have a video of Zayn and I napping together on the couch in the green room before their show in Sydney in February of this year. He'd been really anxious about the first show of the tour and the nerves wore him out. We were originally sat together, talking about how huge this tour was going to be when he drifted off to sleep with me in his arms. I soon followed after and we napped for two hours before he was woken up to get his hair done. Who would have known that just a few weeks later he would crumble under the pressure and quit. I wish I noticed the warning signs.

"Liam 'good game' Payne, where do I begin? You are my brother, my teammate, my friend. You have always been my favourite person to play Fifa with. I remember a week after my Dad died, I heard the doorbell ring and when I opened it, you were standing there with a dozen of my favourite red velvet cupcakes and your PS4 controller. We played together in silence for hours. Once I was finally ready to talk, you stayed awake with me until 6am, sharing stories about my Dad, our lives and talking about our futures. I will always cherish you, no matter how frustrating you can be." Again, I know exactly what videos to edit in of Liam and I. One of them is him, wearing a crop top and skirt voguing after I did a full glam makeup look on him. He's going to hate me for posting it.

"Haz. My love. My guiding star. I would be a complete disaster without you. Although you are the worlds worst replier and you never answer when I call, you always seem to text me or show up at my house right when I feel like I'm falling apart. It's like the universe has linked you to me. You're my crisis line, and I am yours. I cannot even begin to count all the nights we have lied on the couch together just crying. Happy crying, sad crying, angry crying... It would almost have to be as many nights that we have spent laughing together. H, you were destined to be a rockstar. I can't think of any other job you could be more suited to. I know this is just the beginning for you, and I honestly can't wait to see you grow." I still cannot believe that my baby H is only 21 yet has achieved more than most people do in their entire lifetime. "I love you almost as much as I love apple pie." I am full on crying now. That last sentence really broke me. He and I have an inside joke that nothing in this world is better than a homemade apple pie. We would often text each other about incredible/rare/unique moments and rate them on an apple pie scale.

"Horan. I don't really have much I can say here because 90% of our conversations are inside jokes but I will say this; you have changed my life in such a unique way. I know we've had our differences, but I wouldn't change any of it. You're the one person who can make me laugh no matter what mood I'm in. You are such a light to this world. Without you in this band, I think the boys would've collapsed under the pressure a long time ago. Without you, this industry would've swallowed up every bit of joy they have. You have kept all of us sane with your stupid, loud laughter and irritatingly optimistic attitude. Please never, ever change for anyone you precious wanker." I know that I might seem a bit harsh towards Niall, but this is how we speak to each other. We've always been way too honest and, at times, cynical with only each other. He truly is one of a kind. Niall and I haven't shared as many moments together as I have with the other boys, but the moments we've had are definitely special.

"And last but certainly not least, Louis 'dumb fuck' Tomlinson. I don't even know if I can put into words how you have changed my life. You are my favourite person in this entire universe. Without you, there's a good chance I wouldn't be alive today. You are the reason I have so much self-worth, confidence and happiness within myself. You have single-handedly gotten me through some of my deepest depressions. I can't imagine my life without you. I've been trying to think about what story best represents how you're truly an incredible friend. I decided that although everything you do is a testament to how amazing you are, I would tell the one that made me cry the most.

"The year was 2013, I was 20 years old and I experienced my first heartbreak. My girlfriend of 2 years cheated on me with multiple people. I called you up, crying so hard I couldn't form a sentence. You sat patiently on the phone with me for an hour, never knowing what was wrong, just waiting for me to calm down. When I finally just hung up because I couldn't string two words together you text me that you love me. Six hours later and you walked into my bedroom, pulled me into your arms and laid with me for two days. You flew home early from your press tour without any idea of what was wrong with me. You just knew I was upset and you pushed everything aside to be there for me. When I finally told you what had happened, you hugged me tighter, looked me in the eyes and said, "you are the most perfect person in the world and you deserve to be with someone who recognises that." I think it was then that I realised that I'm completely and utterly in love with you. But you were with Eleanor, whom I adore still to this day. I would never have wanted to ruin what you two had. Because all I've ever wanted since I met you is for you to be happy. And El always made you happy." A sob escapes my mouth as I think of how broken hearted I have felt over the last few years, knowing that my true love would never be mine.

I decide to talk some time to cool down, so I walk to my kitchen to make another cup of tea. While I wait for the jug to boil, I rub my finger over my tiny teacup tattoo. Lou and I got matching tattoos not long after the boys finished recording 'Little Things'. He showed me the song and I fell in love with his verse, so we went out that afternoon and got our tattoos together, his shout. I walk back into the bedroom, press record on the camera again and get comfortable.

"When you called me up crying because you and Eleanor split up, I came straight over and returned the favour. I lived at your house for a week, doing anything I could to make you happy again. And then you went back on tour, and I returned home, and I've never felt so alone. After that week of us spending every second of every day together I realised that you're my soulmate. There's no one I want to be around more than you. And I know you're going to be so mad that I'm posting this video instead of texting you back but I want the whole world to know that you are perfect."

I finished the video with a few happier stories about my time with the boys, then wrapped it up. This was going to be an emotional afternoon.

~

Pressing public on that video was strange. I almost felt numb after all the emotions I had poured out while filming and editing it. I immediately text the link to all 5 boys and went to have a shower. The video was about 20 minutes long so I expected their responses would be a little while away. What I didn't expect was to walk out of the shower and into my bedroom to see Louis sitting on the end of my bed, tears streaming down his face.

We made eye contact once he realized I had entered the room. Frozen in my spot, Louis took the initiative of standing up and walking towards me. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice broke as he spoke, tears threatening to spill. I tried to form words but I was too scared of the impending rejection. "Geo. We're best friends. Why didn't you talk to me? I thought that... I..." His words trailed off as the tears streamed down his face. He looked down at his feet, he always gets embarrassed when he cries. I gently grab his right hand, causing him to make eye contact again.

"I am so, so, so sorry Lou. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I guess I thought saying it indirectly would make this easier but it's so much harder than I ever could have imagined." I look away from his bloodshot, blue eyes and focus on my hand in his. "I'm in love with you. I think I always have been... And I'm sorry that this will make our friendship weird now. I don't expect you to ever want to talk to me again to be honest."

"How fucking dare you think that. If you think I could live without you, you're insane." Louis swiftly pulled me towards him with his free hand, kissing me with all the love he could possibly give.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:          

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Chapter 25: In the Womb of the Earth.

*waves at all y’all collectively* I CAME BACK LIKE I SAID I WOULD!!!

So, I started this chapter way back in November/December (read: after the previous chapter posted) and then everything fell apart. My health took a nosedive (I’m having surgery day after tomorrow) and I was literally focused on getting thru the day and surviving work and my brain couldn’t function on the level I needed it to to write this chapter. Things have gotten a little better (soon to be a LOT better) and I managed to crank this one out!

Special thanks to @thefraserwitch for the constant stream of texts that inspired a whole heckuva lot and to @diversemediums for being the confirming POST IT voice that I seem to always need in my life. Y’all rock.

BUT ANYWAY HERES THE DEETS

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night to Jamie?

You can find the previous chapter here (Part One / Part Two) if you need to catch up (I wouldn’t blame you). You can also find the master list of the whole fic here on Tumblr or its also current on AO3.

___________________________________________

February 20th, 1744; The Abbey, Scotland.

“I’m fine,” I glared at Jamie and pointed to our chamber’s door for good measure, insisting, “Go.”

He made no move to do so, his auburn brows bunched together in concern instead as he observed, “Ye’re lookin’ a bit green aboot the gills, Sassenach.”

“I’m just tired,” I hedged.

It certainly wasn’t a lie.

We’d sail with the next morning’s tide and the knowledge had everyone on edge. No one had slept well the night before, nor had anyone high hopes of the day passing quickly. Time seemed to stretch on forever now that the end was in sight and my husband’s nervous presence — though well intended — was becoming insufferable.

“Can I help ye back into bed, a’ least?” he offered. “Do ye think you could sleep a wee bit?”

I contemplated this, then turned my gaze to my usual chair by the fire. It was a worn out sort — overstuffed to the point that it made reclining bliss — with a low footstool to accommodate my swollen ankles.

Did I want to lay down completely… or just sit a while?

A wave of bone-aching fatigue washed over me, but my brain rattled off all the things that still needed to be done before we left.

How many more linens would Brother Erastus let me turn into nappies?

Brother Nathaniel said he’d see to the food stores for the journey, but I wanted to inspect them yet today… so I’d have time to repack should I need to.

Come to that, were our things packed?

I winced, knowing I’d think of a dozen more things my weary mind had forgotten once I got started.

Maybe I would just sit a bit.

A decidedly Scottish noise broke into my thoughts as a warm hand slipped around mine, gently leading me towards the edge of the bed.

I opened my mouth to protest but stopped as he eased me onto the soft mattress, swinging my feet up and helping me roll onto my left side. I grabbed for all the available pillows — gleefully seizing Jamie’s — and was soon completely ensconced.

Bloody hell, this feels amazing.

I heard a rumble of laughter from above me and lifted my face for a kiss, Jamie happily obliging.

“Sleep well, my hen,” he crooned, his thumb gently stroking my cheek as his lips hovered just above mine.

I realized that I really must look something like a mother hen tucked up in her nest and a slow smile spread across my face as I kissed him again.

“I willna be gone long,” he assured me a moment later when we came up for air. “Jus’ to see Murtagh about the carriage, aye?”

“Take your time… I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Jerking awake to the sound of the door bouncing off the wall, I caught a rather undignified squeal of alarm just before it left my lips as I was yanked from a deep, numbing sleep and thrust unceremoniously into the land of the living.

I lifted my head from the pillow and discovered I was no longer alone in the room, but now in the middle of a veritable bear pit. Loud, male declarations of Herself’s safe arrival and that there’d been nae trouble aboot the matter at all only muddied the waters as I blinked groggily, hastily looking for my husband amid the array of kilts and breeks.

“Aye, place it there,” came his voice, followed by a muffled thud as they did so, and I dropped my head back down onto the pillow.

He was here. He obviously had things — whatever the hell they may be — well in hand. If I were needed, he certainly knew where to find me.

My hand slid up between the sheets and I lifted it to my face, rubbing my heavy eyes as I tried to place what on earth they could be talking about. Why they couldn’t use proper nouns in this godforsaken country like any other civilized people was beyond me.

The movement accomplished nothing except to wake the rest of my body up, settling a dull, pulsating throb in the depths of my skull and my hip to aching with such a veracity that I could have sworn my fall in the Theive’s Hole had been yesterday, not four months ago.

“Jamie?” I called and the room fell instantly silent as they all quite suddenly remembered my presence.

My voice had sounded pitiful, even to my own ears, but I didn’t care. I needed him to explain what the hell was going on and get the rest of these men out of my room… and he’d better do it quick.

“Och, I’m sorry to be wakin’ ye, lass!” Willie’s voice was the first to profess from somewhere at the back of the crowd, “Tis only tha’ we thought ye’d be wantin’ to ken wha—“

But Jamie immediately pushed through the throng and succinctly cut him off, his face drawn with concern as he nearly threw himself onto the floor at the side of the bed. I reached for him and he bent over me, kissing my brow softly as he apologized profusely, “Christ, I’m sorry, lass!”

My abject confusion over the situation must have been evident, for he continued on without letting me speak.

“Lady Drummohr sends you her good wishes, mo nighean donn… She says she hopes she’ll see you at dinner but understands if you dinna feel up to it… Says she remembers bein’ this far wi’ her own bairns an’ wouldna blame ye if he didna leave yer chamber this evenin’... I’ll give her your thanks, aye?”

I shook my head, dismissing both the notion that I was so feeble that couldn't leave my room and the cancellation of the opportunity to see a real, bonafide mother in the flesh for the first time since arriving at the abbey ten weeks ago.

“What is that?” I scowled vaguely in Murtagh’s direction, where a good sized trunk lay at the man’s feet. He stood beside Jamie with the barest hint of a smile beneath his heavy beard and I knew something was up.

I may have a name to go with the who but I still hadn’t the foggiest idea of the what.

“Aye, tis from the Lady,” Jamie continued, his face brightening with excitement. “She said she didna ken how much you were able to take awa’ with you, so she brought some things you may be needin’ for yourself an’ the bairns.”

“Oh, Jamie…”

All of the air left my lungs in a mighty whoosh as everything came rushing back to me.

We would, indeed, be sailing to France, but first we would have to successfully make it aboard the ship.

There were at least half a dozen of His Majesty’s finest dragoons stationed in the village just outside the abbey and positioned at strategic points between here and the harbor. We would need to fool every single one of them… and Dougal had found a perfect cover for us in one Lady Margaret Grant of Drummohr. Hailing from Dalkeith, a good three days' ride away, she would not be recognized as anything other than a traveling woman of good repute.

I could then take her place with a nom de guerre of my choosing, with Jamie and Murtagh trading places with two of her footmen, and we’d safely ride to the harbor in our luxurious borrowed carriage. Should we be stopped leaving the abbey — and heaven forbid we would — I could explain in my blatantly British accent that I was sailing for Le Havre where I would be meeting my merchant marine husband.

But I hadn’t counted on Lady Margaret being generous above and beyond her arrangement with Dougal.

My free hand lifted to my lips, my fingers trembling as Jamie undid the latch and opened the trunk. He lifted out a small quilt and placed it on the coverlet before me, then froze as he spotted the fragile contents below.

“Oh God, Claire,” Jamie wheezed, immobile at the sight of four tiny baby gowns.

I reached out blindly through sudden tears, needing to touch the garments — to touch him — and was rewarded with both. His arms wrapped around me again, his head dipping into the curve of my neck as the tips of my fingers reverently traced the swirls of thistles and leaves around the neck of one gown.

“I don’t... I didn’t have any clothes for them,” I swallowed hard, trying to tramp down the feeling of complete and utter inadequacy, “Jamie, I barely have nappies for them to shit it, how the hell am I supposed to be a mother to them?!”

His head lifted and his blue eyes — so completely calm, damn him — focused on mine, one corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile as he assured, “We’ll manage it, mo nighean donn… There’s the both of us, aye? I’ll no’ be lettin’ ye fall.”

I kissed him then, pulling him closer in desperate urgency. His lips met mine and anchored me to him, holding me fast as I tried to make sense of the storm building around me.

“I’ve got you,” he crooned, pressing my head against his chest when we came up for air.

I concentrated on the sound of his pulse, the rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek, and slowly felt clarity return to me.

“What else is in there?” I sniffed.

His arms loosened around me and he peered over the edge of the trunk a moment.

“More wee things for the bairns… but I think this one’s for you, Sassenach.”

With this he let go, retrieving a bodice and woolen skirt dyed a deep navy blue from the depths of the wooden chest.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t fit you,” I grinned and took it from him.

He grunted good naturedly at my jest and obediently bent his head for a closer look when I shoved the bodice back into his lap, cheering with delight.

“Oh, aye,” he nodded appreciatively, yet his voice held that hollow tone of disproportionate earnest. “Tha’ll do verra nicely for you, Sassenach.”

I rose one brow at him, “You have no idea why I’m excited about it, do you?”

“Aye, well… tis a new frock, isn’t it? An’ a bonnie one a’ that,” his grin turned sheepish as he confessed.

I lunged for him, meaning to poke him between the ribs, but he caught my hands well in time and I laughed.

“The boning, the lacing of it,” I nodded towards the bodice, “It’s made for mothers!”

“Oh, aye?” his brows shot up at this and he dropped my hands in order to take a second, proper look.

I began to examine the waistband of the matching skirt as he did so and very much liked what I found.

“So’s this,” I continued. “I can wear it now and continue to after they’re here.”

He handed it back with a greater appreciation, his gaze growing wistful, “Did Jenny’s gowns have such things?”

I nodded, fighting back my gut-wrenching yearning for Jamie’s elder sister. It was always there, brooding under the surface as I contemplated our life to come. I didn’t have much of anything in the way of worldly goods, but what I did have, I’d gladly give to have her with us.

“We may be leaving Scotland at dawn,” I whispered hoarsely, then swallowed hard in order to continue, “but I know we’ll be back… I just know it. You children will see their birthright. I promise you.”

He leaned forward and kissed me softly, the promise of his body, of his protection and undying love echoing my own.

Leaning back after a moment with a sigh, his gaze fell on the tiny baby gowns and his eyes took on a light of complete wonder.

“I havena held a bairn in a verra long time,” his voice was deeper than usual, husky with longing to take his own children into his arms. “I ken they’ll be wee… but, a dhia, Sorcha, I forgot just how much so.”

I draped the gowns over the swell of our children and brought his hand to the place where one insisted on causing a disturbance within me.

Nodding, I pressed hard against them, urging them to respond to us, “But they’re strong.”

“Aye,” he brought his lips to mine as his children proved my point emphatically, “Just like their mother.”

…

Later That Evening

Dinner had been delightful, though we’d still excused ourselves as soon as was appropriate, citing our early departure.

But in truth, I had only one destination in mind.

The hot spring.

I shut the door of our chamber behind us with a grin and leaned against it, insisting abruptly, “Take off your clothes.”

Jamie started visibly then burst out laughing as he sat down hard upon the bed.

“Oh, aye?” He rose a brow when he could finally speak, his shoulders still shaking, “Is tha’ how it’s goin’ to be?”

Heat rose to my cheeks as I shook my head in mock derision, reaching over to the nearly empty chest of drawers and withdrawing two homespun robes of a deep chestnut hue. I tossed one to him and his amusement turned to curiosity.

“I want to show you something,” I blurted, not wanting to give away the surprise and yet needing to get him out of the room somehow.

Both brows rose nearly to his hairline as he looked at me skeptically.

“An’ I must wear this?”

I undid the lacing of my new bodice, commenting, “We both are.”

“Ye’re delirious, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head. “Ye canna be tellin’ me ye mean to wander about in nothin’ but that?”

“Well,” my blush rose considerably and I wished he’d just put on the damn thing and be done with it already, “it covers more than you’d think… and I stick to the shadows.”

“Ye’ve done this before?!”

The incredulity of the idea had him back on his feet in an instant, a fire burning bright in his eyes.

“I have,” my chin rose defiantly, “and I plan on doing it one last time before we go.”

A slow grin spread across his face, the indignation in his eyes melting into unfettered requirement.

“With me?”

“Of course with you,” I snorted, shoving his robe against his chest. “Just put the bloody thing on, will you?”

He did so immediately, then helped me in turn, all the while his grin permanently splitting his face in two.

“Good,” I appraised him, adjusting the belt around my waist more securely.

“Shall we go, then?”

Jamie rose a brow at this and opened the door, bowing low over his hand as he gestured into the deep shadows of the hall.

Slipping my hand into the crook of his arm, we made our way wordlessly along the dark passageways. We turned this way and that, the slope of the floor slowly dipping as we got closer. Finally reaching the door to the passageway, I opened it and sighed with relief as I found the sconces already lit.

We continued on for some time and eventually had to walk single file as the tunnel narrowed.

“Are ye sure ye ken where we’re goin’?” Jamie asked skeptically from behind me, his frown evident in the darkness.

I suppressed a laugh and brushed the tips of my fingers along the solid rock wall, “Well, there’s no chance of us taking a wrong turn, now is there?”

The tunnel was dimly lit and full of twists and turns, but held no offshoots or forks of any sort. It simply led to our destination, which was the only reason the brothers let me travel to and fro unattended. There was absolutely no chance of me getting lost underground as I traversed completely naked beneath my borrowed robe.

Brother Jeremiah had introduced me to the abbey’s restorative hot springs during the long weeks of Jamie’s recovery. I could slip away and find relief for a few hours as Murtagh watched over our beloved charge. The warm buoyancy of the water relieved the pressure of the lives within me, rewinding time to give my body back to me. The quiet solitude soothed my frazzled nerves and slowly healed the mental and emotional wounds inflicted by the horrible ordeal we had all just gone through.

The heat of the spring wafted towards us quite suddenly and a shiver of excitement ran up my spine, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

“We’re almost there,” I assured him unnecessarily.

The light of the cavern was discernible before us — bless the brothers for preparing it for us — and Jamie now could see it for himself. We continued on a few paces more and then we stood in the midst of the gaping cavern. Sconces were positioned here and there between us and the shore, attempting to illuminate the void, but great gaps of darkness stood beyond and it was clear that the space was a good deal larger than either of us could imagine.

I let out a sigh of absolute delight, so relieved to finally be here, and asked, “Do you like it?”

Jamie didn’t answer but looked around with his mouth agape. I knew the feeling fell, but my eagerness to be within the pool had me disrobing before my poor husband knew what was happening. I had one foot in when his voice stopped me.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he burst in delight, “‘tis a hot spring!”

I laughed and continued my descent down the carved stone steps.

“Oh, you do. Good,” I grinned and reached the bottom. “Do come in, then.”

Jamie shed his robe, but kept a firm hold of his skepticism, asking from the top of the stairs, “How hot is it? Should ye be bathin’ in it in yer condition, Sassenach?”

I shook my head, my curls splaying this way and that on the surface of the water, and I rolled my eyes.

If he only knew how bloody amazing it feels in here.

The muscles of my lower back had immediately relaxed upon contact with the water, my hips loosened and my breathing eased. They seemed to like it too, for they tumbled with delight at the first and then settled into a blissful slumber. I could walk slowly about, stretching my long limbs without the strain of gravity. Or I sometimes lay my arms on the stone ledge of the shore, resting my head atop them as I let my legs float out from beneath me… levitating weightless in the water.

“It gets hotter the further out you go,” I assured him, gesturing vaguely into the darkness. “I stay over here in the shallows and I’m just fine… it's like a splendid bath that never grows cold.”

He continued in, the water slowly swallowing him up as he joined me. The awe was back in his eyes, now seeing and feeling for himself what a splendid thing this was. He wiggled his toes in the clean, black sand at the bottom of the pool, sending pulsating currents over my own. The surface looked deceptively still, but there were small currents here and there if you knew where to find them… the pulse of the living, breathing spring.

Jamie turned to grin at me in the darkness, his teeth flashing white in the sconces’ flickering light.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he repeated and shook his head, completely at a loss.

I laughed, “You approve, then?”

“Oh, aye,” he insisted, looking ‘round excitedly. “I do, indeed.”

Jamie bounced on his toes slightly as he squinted out into the darkness.

“How far does it go?”

“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “It got too hot for me.”

He nodded with an adorable sense of determination and I knew he was out to explore this oasis I had just introduced him to. He started to move away but I touched his arm, stopping him for a moment.

“Be careful, alright?”

His face melted and he leaned back in for a kiss, nudging my nose with his, “Aye, I’ll keep an eye for any wee beasties.”

“Any big ones too.”

“Mmm,” he kissed me again, “I think we’re quite safe, m ’ionmhas. Though, tis a shame we left our pet selkie behind, hmm?”

I laughed and shoved him away, letting him explore to his heart’s content. I could hear him splash this way and that, muttering to himself, but was surprised when he returned shortly after he left.

“Nothing out there?”

He snorted, “Entirely too much that I canna see… and you’re right, tis a good deal hotter out there.”

His skin was delightfully warm as I slipped my arms around his neck with a sigh. Resting my cheek against his chest, I let my feet float out beneath me. He towed me slowly around the edge of the pool, the water rippling over my legs and abdomen feeling remarkably like his caressing hands. I became warmer and more aroused by the moment, the tips of my sensitive breasts brushed against his chest and set off fireworks deep within me.

He found the man-made niche cut into the wall that I liked to frequent and sat on the wooden bench, pulling me to sit sideways on his lap. I knew there was plenty of room for both of us on it and pushed him backwards as I moved to straddle him. The eager glow in his eyes set me afire as I settled myself more comfortably, treasuring him for a moment before guiding him home. The accompanying inrush of hot water surprised me for a brief moment, but I soon found it incredibly exhilarating and settled myself with a sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, I like that one,” he purred.

I blinked at him stupidly and asked, “Like what?”

“That sound you made,” he explained, the delight evident in his eyes, “the wee squeak.”

I didn’t think it was possible to blush — I knew my skin was already flushed to the point of beet red — and I found myself dropping my gaze, hoping my hair would fall in my face and hide my embarrassment.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be noisy.”

Jamie tipped my chin up, brushing the curls from my brow as he insisted gently, “I said I like it.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what to say to that and found I didn’t have to, for he continued.

“And I do… ‘tis one of the things I like best about bedding you, Sassenach,” he grinned, “the small noises that you make.”

He cradled my head in his hands, kissing me with an urgency that made me forget myself once more, and shifted his hips just so beneath me. I half stifled a gasp and he commented softly, “Aye, like that.”

“That's what I thought most about,” Jamie murmured, his hands slowly caressing my back, curving around to cup my breasts, to frame the swell of our children.

“In prison, at night… chained in a room with dozens of other men, listening to the snoring and farting and groaning. I thought of those small, tender sounds that you make when I love you… and I could feel you there next to me in the dark, breathing soft and then faster, and the little grunt that you give when I first take you, as though you were settling yourself to your job.”

My breathing was certainly coming faster now, my head light. Had it not been for my rather firm hold of him down below the surface, I was sure I would have floated far away into oblivion.

“Even better,” his lips brushed against my neck, sending a shiver of delight up and down my spine, “when I come to you fierce and wanting... and ye wimper under me and struggle as though you’re struggling to get away, and I know ‘tis only that you’re struggling to come closer... and I’m fighting the same fight.”

His hands sank to my hips, slipping between us to caress the stretched and yearning point of our joining. I quivered and my breath went from me in an unwilled gasp.

“Or when I come to you needing… and you take me into you with a sigh and that quiet hum like a hive of bees in the sun,” a sweet smile played at his lips, “and ye carry me into peace with a little moaning sound.”

“Jamie,” I hoarsely whispered, my need nearly strangling me. “Jamie, please.”

He kissed me soundly as his hands settled around my waist, slowing me until I groaned around his lips.

“Not yet. We’ve time, mo chridhe,” he calmly answered. “I mean to hear ye groan like that again… to moan and sob, though ye dinna wish to, for ye canna help it… I mean to make you sigh as though your heart would break and scream with the wanting...  and at last to cry out in my arms… and I shall know I’ve served you well.”

With that, my release overtook me, shooting like a dart into the depths of my belly. It loosened my joints so that my arms slipped limp off his shoulders, Jamie’s steadying hands all that kept me from drowning.

Resting my head against his chest, I felt boneless as a jellyfish. I didn’t know — or care — what sort of noises I’d been making, but felt incapable of coherent speech.

That is, until he began to move again... strong as a shark under the water.

“Oh God, no,” I protested. “Jamie, no. I can’t bear it like that again.”

The blood was still pounding in my fingertips and his movement inside me was an exquisite torture.

“You can… for I love you,” his lips brushed against my neck. “And you will, for I want you… but, dinna fash, for this time I go with you.”

Bloody hell, you’re coming with me, I vowed.

I lifted my hands to his chest and splayed my fingers wide, still trembling as I pressed my palms against his slippery skin. Sliding my hands up, I took hold of his shoulders and shoved him the couple inches backwards into the stone wall of the niche with all the strength I could muster.

Jamie’s eyes flew open in surprise and the arousal I found there was the second wind I needed.

His brows rose suggestively and I sat back — settling myself to my business, as he had so eloquently stated before. His hands settled at my waist, curving round to clenching my buttocks tightly as I rode him towards oblivion.

A low groan rumbled within him and I cupped one hand beneath his head, pulling back up to me by the scruff of his neck. I was rewarded with a Christ, Claire and kissed him hard as I sank even deeper. It wouldn’t — couldn’t — be long now for either of us and with that knowledge, I tossed restraint to the wind.

“You are mine,” I repeated, the final vowel twisting into a cry of pure ecstacy.

I heard his own cry and I knew I had served him well.

[call-me-rei]

Chapter 7

I woke up the next morning to a pillow whacking me against the face. I groaned at the impact at first, then became angry. My eyes shot open and were faced with the shit-eating grin of my younger brother.

“The fuck?” I asked with a scowl. Mike kept the smile on his face from my doorway as he shrugged.

“You needed to wake up. It’s beach day!”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”

He shrugged again. “Get up. We need to buy food and shit. Oh, and Mom’s home so there’s breakfast.”

I sighed as I leaned back onto my pillows. Mike had left quickly after his sentence which gave me some time wind down from getting attacked. I glanced to my left and saw the pillow Mike had thrown at me. It was his cherished memory foam pillow that he had begged our mom to buy for him. I was surprised that he’d chosen to throw that one at me, even more surprised that he’d hit me from the threshold of my bedroom door.

I decided not to dwell on it and sat up. I stretched my arms over my head to pop whatever needed to be popped then reached for my phone.

“Shit,” I groaned when I tapped on the screen. My phone had died overnight. I guess it wasn’t plugged in like I thought. I made sure it was connected to the outlet before getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. The smell of bacon wafted through the hallway and put a smile on my face as I walked across the hall to prepare for the day.

Sundays were always nice at our house because our parents didn’t work. They usually got some shopping done while Mike and I were asleep, but other than that we could all spend the day together. Mom would cook us a nice breakfast and Dad and I would play soccer in the backyard. Then at night we’d settle down with a family dinner and watch a movie. It was a welcomed contrast to our parents never being at home during the week.

“There’s our star athlete!” I blushed at my dad’s comment as I entered the kitchen. “Michael showed us some of the tape from last night. You were amazing!”

“Gracias papá.” Mom put a plate of hot food in front of me as I sat down next to Mike at the table.

“So is the team doing anything to celebrate?” she asked.

“Bonfire!” Mike answered excitedly. Our parents looked at each other and laughed.

I shook my head with a smirk. “It’s not the team, more like Mike and me and the guys, but we’re inviting the team too.”

Dad nodded in approval. “Sounds like fun. Tengan cuidado.”

“Sí papá,” Mike and I answered at the same time. Satisfied with our response, our parents started talking about having a little date night since their children had plans. Mike and I tuned it out and focused on eating. Or I did at least.

Mike nudged his elbow into my side as I was about to bite into my French toast. “We’re going shopping after this, right?” he whispered. Confused, I just nodded.

He gave me a sly smile before focusing on his food.

“Wait, why?” I asked, now curious about his intentions.

He just shrugged and kept his smile. I didn’t know what he was planning, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the outcome.

***

I pushed the shopping cart behind my brother. He was going down aisles tossing things into the metal basket on wheels. It was obvious that he didn’t care about what he was picking or how much it cost. I stopped him from getting some snacks that he’d never eaten before, knowing that he’d buy them then regret it.

We were going through the store getting snacks for the bonfire. I told Mike that it wasn’t necessary, but he said we’d need them. When I asked him why he just told me to trust him. I wanted to, but I knew better.

Mike always loved parties. We never hosted one at our house, but our friends did occasionally, and Mike was always there to help get things ready. I know it was because he wanted to figure out how much he could fuck things up without getting in trouble.

I watched as he put two huge bags of marshmallows in the cart. We already had an assortment of chips and paper plates. I wanted to question my brother once again, but I knew it would lead to nothing. He was the partier out of the two of us, so if he said we needed those items I’d go along with it.

“We need beer.”

I focused my attention on him. “Beer?” That was an item I didn’t think I could agree to.

“Beer. We should get beer.”

He’d said it like it was a fact. Like, “the sky is blue; the sun is bright. ‘We should get beer’.”

“Great, but neither of us are old enough to do that.”

I was going to turn eighteen in a couple weeks while Mike was still sixteen, going to be seventeen in December.

“Jaime’s brother is.” Jaime’s older brother, Javier, had turned twenty-one earlier in the month. He was always down to help us with some things, but I wasn’t sure he’d want to buy alcohol for a bunch of teenagers, especially since he wasn’t going to be hanging out with us.

“I don’t know…,” I said skeptically.

“Trust me,” was the response I received. With a devilish grin on his face Mike pulled out his phone and typed on the screen.

I sighed. I knew Mike was texting Jaime asking him to ask Javier for help. Of course, Jaime would agree because he was always down for making bad decisions. I would’ve texted Jaime and told him not to indulge Mike, but I had left my phone at home to charge. Sadly, that meant that Mike was in charge of telling our friends about his plans, no matter how bad they would become.

“He’s in.” I shook my head.

“I don’t believe it,” I mumbled.

“Lighten up, bro.” Mike patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll have even more fun tonight. Don’t be a buzzkill.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Just don’t be dumb. I don’t wanna have you drive your drunk ass home.”

He smirked. “You’re gonna have to do that anyway. We do live together.”

***

We’d driven back home to get coolers for all of the drinks, tables for the setup of everything we bought, and to pick up my phone. Once I had it I sent a message to my teammates telling them about the bonfire. Mike was in such a hurry to leave that that quick text was all I was able to do before he made me drive to Jaime’s house.

Mom was nice enough to let us use her car since she and Dad planned on having their date night. Mike was excited to not have to call shotgun and to have me as designated driver. He planned on getting fucked up, as he put it, so I had to be the responsible one. Not that it was my party or anything.

We got to Jaime’s and picked up the alcohol. Javier had gotten us way more than just beer. There was also vodka, seltzers, gin, tequila, and mixers. It was more than any of us expected. “Have fun, just don’t get me in trouble,” he’d told us. Mike and Jaime just looked at each other like they were planning to go against everything Javier had said.

After leaving the Preciado household Mike and I went to the beach to set everything up. We found a spot where we wouldn’t bother other people and unloaded all of our supplies: the plastic tables, food and drinks, and a Bluetooth speaker. Jaime, Tony, and Curtis arrived a bit later with logs and newspapers for the bonfire.

By the time the wooden teepee was assembled the sun had begun to set and people were arriving. My teammates trickled in, then some other people from school. I had expected as much since we were out in the open and word always spread quickly at school. The word “party” was like an invitation for anyone to come through. No one really minded, as long as everyone was respectful of the space and other people then anyone was welcomed.

People entered the area and immediately grabbed the red cups on the tables and filled them with their drink of choice. Tony turned on the music and soon the party was in full swing. The soccer team members toasted to yesterday’s game and to me for the winning goal. Then everyone went off and did their own thing. There was some dancing, some mingling, but mostly drinking.

Time went on and the party went on and got rowdier. A lot of us went into the ocean and either swam or played chicken. There was a game of truth or dare going on somewhere that crossed with seven minutes in heaven. I knew that that game would lead to someone fucking in the sand.

Javier had gotten us enough alcohol that most of the people at the party were borderline drunk or buzzed. I felt kind of lame being one of the only sober ones there, but someone had to look out for my brother and friends, who by the way were almost too far gone to know where they were. At first I had been talking to them and some of my teammates, then they went off to do whatever. Next thing I knew they were taking bets on how many shots they could handle. Once that part of their night was done, they moved on to playing beer pong.

I could only watch from the sidelines with a bottle of water in hand. I didn’t want to be a buzzkill, but I couldn’t get too out of it; I needed to be the responsible one. I only hoped that the drunk people I would be driving home wouldn’t get on my nerves too much at the end of the night.

But let’s face it, they would.

Mike and Jaime would get into a stupid argument about something they wouldn’t remember when they sobered up, but it would be so important that they’d be yelling all the way back home. Then eventually they’d tire themselves out and end up apologizing and hugging before one of them would say something stupid to make the other start a new fight. Then they’d go around in circles until I dragged them out of the car and forced them into their home.

I hated that I would have to go through that exact scenario again.

I watched as a ball landed in a cup on Mike’s side of the table. He downed the contents without hesitation and screamed with pride.

Yeah, he’d be too far gone by the end of this party. And I’d have to carry him to his room while trying not to wake our parents up. They’d be pissed if they saw him the way he was at that moment.

I tried not to think about it and went to sit with Curtis and Tony. Since they had driven themselves to the party they weren’t interested in getting shitfaced. Maybe I could convince one of them to take Jaime home so I could avoid an argument in my car. It was worth a shot.

“You guys having fun?” I asked as I sat next to Curtis. He hummed before taking a sip of whatever was in his red cup.

“It looks like a lot more fun is happening over there.” I looked toward where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a group of people around the table of drinks. They had their own cooler and were pouring various bottles of alcohol into it. By the looks of it they were making a very potent jungle juice.

“Five bucks that Mike and Jaime are gonna compete to see who chugs it the fastest.” I shook my head at Tony, not wanting to acknowledge that he was right and that my brother and one of my best friends would actually do something like that.

“I don’t think there’s a reason to bet anymore,” I said. The guys looked back at the scene and sure enough, Mike and Jaime were racing to chug the jungle juice. I would’ve liked to say that Jaime won that one, but really, there were no winners there.

I saw Mike say something to Jaime before he stumbled over to the three of us.

“Vic, I think I’m drunk.”

I nodded. “I think you are too. Here.” I handed him my water bottle and gestured for him to sit in the sand. He did and silently drank from the bottle. Sad to say that that was the calmest he’d been all night.

With my brother finally taking a break I was able to relax a bit. I took the opportunity to check my phone since I’d been so busy earlier. I knew I had a couple of notifications from social media apps and I wanted to clear those. Unread notifications bothered me to no end.

I checked Twitter and Instagram then posted a story of the guys and I and the party. Even if I wasn’t a major player in it, I still wanted to commemorate the night.

Once I posted the story I left the app and opened Facebook Messenger. I assumed the notification I had received was from a friend asking about the party; I was about to open it then immediately close the app. That was until I saw his name.

Kellin’s name was bolded with a blue dot at the end, indicating that he had sent me a message. A mixture of emotions clouded my brain. I didn’t know whether to be excited that he was talking to me again or nervous that he was talking to me again.

I eventually settled on scared. I opened the message and felt scared. Panic coursed through me as I read and reread the four words he’d sent.

JAN 27, 10:24 PM I want to die.

Over and over those words ran through my mind. That message had been sent almost twenty-four hours before. And I abandoned him. Fear mixed with dread and regret and self-loathing. How could I let him down like that? Why couldn’t I have been there for him?

Twenty-four hours was more than enough time for him to have hurt himself. And if he did because I didn’t answer when he needed me, I would never forgive myself. I needed to know if he was okay, so I sent him another message.

Are you ok??

But he wasn’t even online when I sent it, and he wasn’t online for five minutes after. In fact, it showed that he hadn’t been active since he sent me that message the night before.

Maybe he didn’t get on Facebook daily, or maybe he was just busy like I had been. Or maybe…

“Vic?”

Tony’s voice seemed far away with the thoughts in my brain screaming at me, telling me that I hadn’t kept Kellin from doing something he couldn’t take back.

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

I absentmindedly shook my head and stood up. I needed space to think and process so I walked farther away from the party and took a few steps into the ocean. An idea to calm myself popped into my head; it seemed as good as any. So without a second thought I pressed the phone icon at the top of our conversation and put my device to my ear, hoping to hear his voice on the other line.

[arcticfox007]

The Yeti, the Witch, and the Angel

Hi everyone - this is a continuation from days 2&3 which you can find under the same series as this one on AO3.

It will continue with Day 5. I had a great time writing this, it has more action than ther previous ones. Some fluff, some angst, general audiences.

I’m happy to add and/or remove people from my tag list, notes/comments/kudos on AO3 are all appreciated and I’m always open to feedback!

Destiel December 2020

Day 4: Sledding

Sam and Dean were running for their lives – again. Dean noted, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was much more difficult to accomplish this in knee-high snow. Unfortunately, the Yeti, yes, an actual goddamn Yeti because their lives weren’t bizarre enough, anyway - the Yeti was much better at running through the deep snow. They were hoping to make it to the abandoned park station up ahead, maybe they could barricade themselves against the creature long enough to figure out a plan.

“Dean, c’mon already!” Sam had less trouble in the snow with his stupid giraffe legs. Dean had resorted to running by basically leaping as far as he could to try and stay above the wintery fluff trying to get him killed. Thankfully, the station was now in sight.

The brothers managed to make it before the snow monster had caught up with them. The station was right by a rather steep hill and was surrounded by trees on most sides. Dean quickly accessed the area as Sam reloaded his handgun. Dean started to push the bookshelf over to help block the door.

“I don’t think that’s gonna kill it man. We’ve already unloaded two clips into that thing, just made it madder.” Dean looked around for anything else to barricade the door but there wasn’t a whole lot in here and he doubted the Yeti would be slowed down by much.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dean was about to snap back sarcastically at his brother when his eyes fell on the massive trash and recycling bins that must have been pulled aside when the station was shut down for the worst of winter.

“Well, no, but I do have a crazier idea.”

Dean knocked over one of the bins and started working the lid off of the top. “Come help already!” Sam and Dean together popped off one of the massive plastic lids just as the door shook with the Yeti’s weight. The thing screeched in rage and pounded harder.

“Shit Dean, what good will these do against that thing??”

“Just shut up and get the other one!” The second lid was wrenched off and Dean shoved it into Sam’s arms. He took a second to reload his gun which made him feel slightly better, even if the bullets hadn’t phased the monster. Then Dean picked up the other lid in his free hand. When he glanced over at Sam, his overly tall brother was looking at Dean like maybe he had finally lost it for real. Dean just shoved Sam towards the back of the building.

The Yeti screeched again and Dean thought that maybe it was part banshee. He was starting to wonder if his ears would ever work properly again. Dean threw open the back door just as he heard the front one start to shatter. The sight of its prey escaping seemed to give the Yeti a burst of energy and Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the door and walls being ripped away as if they were nothing more than paper.

“Dean! We could use that plan anytime now!” Dean ran out the back door pulling Sam with him towards the hill. It was steeper than he remembered but he only hesitated for an instant. He threw the lid on the ground in front of him.

“This is the plan Sammy, we’re going sledding!” Sam’s jaw dropped.

“What kind of plan is – shit!” They both turned to see the Yeti barreling towards them and Sam stopped arguing about Dean’s questionable plan as they both turned to throw themselves down the tree speckled drop off. Sam started yelling something about Dean’s plan being terrible as Dean just tried to steer the trash bin lid enough to avoid the trees, which was getting harder as he picked up speed.

“Fuck!” This was a terrible plan; the service road was coming up on them fast as Dean spotted a car turning the corner. He wasn’t sure if crashing into a tree, getting mauled by a Yeti, or hit by an incoming car was a better way to go out. Meanwhile the Yeti was still chasing them.

“Dean, it’s right behind you!” Impulsively, Dean spun his lid around so he was now speeding down towards the road backwards. Hoping he didn’t hit a tree he managed to pull his gun out and shoot at the rampaging monster. Not that he managed to hit it more than once.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Before Dean had time to spin back around, he felt as if the bottom of the lid dropped from under him as he heard it crunch on gravel. With the last vestiges of his adrenaline he managed to throw himself off of the lid and roll – right into the Yeti. Dean only had a moment to stare up into the face of the vicious spitting creature before hearing a pop-pop noise and then the hairy snarling thing tipped over. Onto Dean. Dean felt his head crack on the ground. “Ermph!”

“Sorry, Dean.” Dean gasped for air as his guardian angel rolled the creature off of him. Dean looked up at Cas still trying to catch his breath, and damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. Cas crouched down and briefly checked Dean over for injuries. When he seemed satisfied that there was nothing immediately wrong with the hunter, he glowered at him. Dean had no idea what he had done to piss Cass off, but honestly even his glower was fucking beautiful. Dean continued to stare at Cas but the angel turned to look in the other direction.

“Are you alright Sam?” Dean heard his brother let out a high-pitched laugh that was just shy of sounding manic.

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll survive. Is Dean okay? What did you shoot the Yeti with?” Dean could see Cas’ mouth turn down into a frown. So pretty, Dean just wanted to touch his face.

“Dean will be fine, but there are no such things as Yetis, Sam. It was a witch that transformed itself, I used the witch killing bullets.” Dean heard Sam’s boots in the snow as he approached them but Dean stayed on the ground staring at Cas as he reached his hand up and started pushing his fingers into Cas’ face. Cas swung his attention back to Dean as the older Winchester started pinching Cas’ cheek between his fingers.

“Dean. What are you doing?” Dean smiled hazily at the angel.

“You’re so pretty Cas. I just want to squish your face.” Dean let out a breathy giggle. Cas gazed more closely at Dean. All of a sudden Dean could see Sam as his younger brother came to stand by Cas.

“Did you hit your head Dean?” Cas’ voice was so gravelly and sexy. He tried to move Cas’ chin to make him say more. Cas just caught Dean’s arm and looked up at Sam. “I think he has a concussion, give me a moment.” Sam nodded and went to check out the Yeti. Meanwhile Dean was enraptured by Cas’ eyes, they were just so blue.

“Blue is my favorite color Cas. Blue, blue, blue.” Cas ignored Dean in favor of pushing his grace into Dean’s bruised head. Dean felt warm and a soothing feeling spread through him. He sighed and then felt the world snap back into place. Cas continued to cradle Dean’s head making sure there wasn’t any other injury he needed to heal. Dean just lay still until Cas looked into his eyes. He was vividly aware of Cas holding his face with one hand and his forearm with the other.

“Better?”

“Yeah Cas, thanks. Um, could you help me up?” Cas raised an eyebrow, and all Dean could think of was how hot that was. Crap, maybe he still had a concussion? No, his head was fine, he’d known for a while now that he was attracted to him best friend, he was just usually better at shoving those feelings down. While Dean was struggling with his thoughts Cas had stood up and pulled Dean up with him. Dean staggered for a moment and Cas helped steady him. As soon as Dean seemed stable on his own two feet Cas resumed scowling at him.

“What?”

“What? What? You just text me to say you and Sam found the trail of a YETI, and then refuse to answer your phone? What if I couldn’t find you in time? What if I hadn’t already figured out it was a witch? I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU IT WAS A WITCH IF YOU HAD ANSWERED YOUR PHONE. Instead I make it just in time to see the two of you throwing yourself off of a mountain!” Dean was all ready to get angry and defensive but found himself defusing as the whole “it was just a witch” thing sunk in. Crap. Cas seemed to have run out of words and was now just glowering intensely at him.

“Uh – sorry? My bad man.” If possible, this seemed to make Cas even madder. He turned his back on Dean and went over to Sam and the Yeti corpse. Dean just stood there for a moment feeling like an idiot. Then he headed over to help the two of them get rid of the body.

***

Later that night Castiel was still unhappy with Dean and had left them at the motel to return the car he had borrowed when he had frantically scrambled to get to Dean and Sam in time. He mumbled something about the Impala not having snow tires and that they were lucky the local deputy was generous. Dean hoped Cas would cool off while he was out, Dean hated feeling like he was in the dog house which he mistakenly mentioned to his brother.

“He’ll calm down. You could try a more sincere apology though.” Little brothers were obnoxious, especially when they were right, thought Dean. He frowned at Sam but couldn’t keep it up as he sat on one of the beds with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not great at apologies, but he’s right, I should have answered the phone. I was just so caught up tracking the Yeti-witch thing, I dunno, I just didn’t think.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“So, tell him that.” Dean nodded and stared at his feet, thinking. Sam must have assumed the conversation was over because by the time Dean looked up, he was absorbed in his laptop.

“Sammy. I need to do better than that. Cas, well, he’s important. He’s my best friend and I feel like I always, um, take him for granted or something. I want to do something really great for him for our Christmas present thing. But I ain’t got a single damn idea of what.” Sam turned back towards Dean and smiled at him.

“I think that’s a great idea Dean. You can’t think of anything? I mean, I’ve had a hard time thinking of something too, but I don’t have as much to apologize for.” Sam smirked and Dean was already regretting asking his brother for help.

“No. I mean I know some things he likes – like bees.” Sam snorted. “But I want to show him that I really do, er, value his friendship, y’know?” Dean was skirting around the idea that he wanted to show Cas that he valued him, just his presence in his life. Who was he kidding? He wanted to show Cas he was loved, but without actually saying it. Dean wasn’t even sure angels could be in love. There was a reason Dean kept his feelings buried, and it wasn’t just because he couldn’t imagine an angel, an actual freaking angel, loving someone like him. Sam just looked thoughtful.

“You know, that reminds me of something Mom told me.” Sam watched his brother carefully, but Dean had seemed calmer about Mom leaving since Cas had come back. “She told me she asked Cas how long it had taken him to feel like he belonged here – I guess because technically, she and Cas both had to experience adjusting to Earth after being in Heaven. Anyway, Cas told mom he still wasn’t sure he belonged. She said he seemed, uh, sad about it. Lost.” Dean felt like he had been stabbed through the heart. Cas felt like he didn’t belong?

“Why… why would he say that? He’s always chosen us over Heaven, chosen humans.” Dean started to internally panic at the idea of Cas deciding to leave one day.

“No Dean, he’s chosen you over Heaven.” Sam wasn’t right, was he? Dean felt a massive headache starting, he was drowning in thoughts. “Dean. Pay attention.” Dean’s head snapped back up and looked at Sam.

“What do I do Sam?” Sam looked at Dean, the exasperation clear on his face.

“You need to do something to show him he belongs here Dean.” Sam said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And of course, it was. Dean’s head partially cleared and he started thinking, thinking back to when Cas was the happiest, when he seemed to fit in here on Earth the most, and then Dean knew what present to get his goddamn angel on Earth.

“Sam, I know what I’m going to do for him.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Well that’s good, Dean, because you only have eight days left until Christmas.”

***

@jellydeans, @galaxycastiel, @nguyenxtrang, @my-favourite-hellatus

[pls-let-me-out]

Invisible String  22nd of December

Nico awoke slowly. Blankets were tangled all around him, sticking to his sweaty body. He wanted to yank them off, but his limbs were heavy. Too heavy. A headache pounded in the back of his head, but that wasn’t the cause of his sickness. It took him an embarrassing long time to realize it was his knee.

And that there were fingers in his hair.

“Niccolò, you’re running a fever.” The fingers didn’t stop.

Nico managed to roll on his side and look up, his knee protested loudly. He hissed through gritted teeth. Worry was written in Will’s eyes, in his every feature. He was always so pretty, though.

Yeah. Pretty.

“What did you just say?” Will asked.

Nico blinked again. “Ibuprofen. I need to go buy some.”

Will yanked him back on the mattress as soon as he tried to sit. “You don’t remember?” His voice was soft, caring. Like an older brother’s. Nico hated it. “You woke up earlier. When you tried walking, you fell. You were asleep on the floor when I found you.”

Nico didn’t think it was possible, but that heat him up even more. “I’m fine now.”

“You’re running a fever. You’re not fine.”

Nico opened his mouth, but Will tightened his grip on his hair, and he closed it. Will talked again.

“Why are you sick, Niccolò?”

He had never said Nico’s name, and now he had said it two times. In his dizzy state, Nico could admit his weak spot for Will to himself. He could admit that Will’s pout and mannerism could bend him to anything. And Will was pouting now, maybe without realizing.

Nico realized he was touching Will’s freckles when the other smiled, and his soft skin moved under his fingertip. He was cooler than Nico, but only for Nico’s fever. Otherwise, he knew the other boy would be warmer. He was so sunny. Like a spring day, far gentler than summer.

“You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone. I need to know before buying you anything.”

Nico’s hand dropped back to the mattress. “It’s nothing. It just happens. I need ibuprofen.”

“Alright.” Will’s smile was tight, almost pouty. “Alright. I’ll go buy it, then.”

“It’s my knee.” Nico swallowed. “Chronic pain. I just-yesterday and everything. I probably overused it.”

Will’s fingers moved again against Nico’s scalp. “You don’t need to injure yourself to take me places, you know that, right? I have fun even on the couch. I like spending time with you.”

Maybe Will was blushing. Hope buried so deep Nico had completely forgotten it, came to life in his chest. Hope. Such a sweet, devouring thing. Nico suppressed it, with everything he had. What would people say if he got with Will? Not that Will could ever know of this new thoughts of Nico. They were friends. Kind of. However hard it had been at the beginning.

“Don’t get hurt for me,” Will continued. His voice was soft, sweet and strong all at once. Why was it so difficult, trying to understand Will? “I have to go now. Ibuprofen is good.”

Nico tried to nod, but his neck was stiff. Before living, Will asked him another bunch of questions. Whether he wanted more pillows (despite Nico’s protest Will elevated his injured leg), if he wanted something (“Well shit, I’ll just leave a glass of water here.” “I’m not thirsty, put it away.” “You’re not thirsty with a fever, but normally in the morning you drink half a bottle of water? Of course”) and lastly if he wanted something to eat.

When Will returned an hour later, Nico wasn’t surprised to see him carrying a grocery bag. But Will was smiling like a little kid, and it was hard to remain annoyed with him.

 All morning long, Nico had tried to force Will into going outside, and not spend the day in bed with him. He assured Will that he wouldn’t feel alone, that he’d be fine on his own. He didn’t like his knee constricting him to bed, if it constricted Will too, it would just break whatever they’d accomplished in their time together. Nico would retreat into his shell.

“What about me?” Will exclaimed, nudging his foot against Nico’s. “I’m in a country I don’t know, with a language I don’t know. I could die. What if I were kidnapped? Who would explain that to my grandma? You would break her heart.”

Nico huffed. “Don’t be so dramatic for once.”

Will moved his head so much Nico wouldn’t have been surprised to see it falling off. “Oh, I am dramatic? Me? Moi?”

Nico bit back a smile. “Oui, toi.”

“Baguette.”

“Oh my–”

“Tour Eiffel!”

“Will, shut–”

“Le cul!”

Nico burst out laughing, falling forward with his upper body. Will smiled, and for the first time, Nico wondered what it would be like to kiss that smile. Not Will, just the smile, of course.

 “Persephone sent me a message earlier,” Nico said, talking over the film they were watching.

The Lion King, because Will found himself so clever. ‘You’re basically Simba. But he’s sexier,’ he had said, as if just that would convince Nico to watch that film with him. It did.

‘You don’t even like it,’ Nico had said. ‘We had known each other for what, half a day? And you screamed at me about childhood-friends-to-lovers trope bad done.’

Will had just laughed. And now he watched Nico with a transfixed expression waiting for more information.

“Anyway, Persephone.” Nico cleared his throat. “She said people don’t know your name yet. In the palace it was only known by my family, and a few selected ones. And that there’s no information about Will Solace. I told her that’s not your complete name, and that’s the reason. And also to mind their own business, but I guess she’ll be calling you up, too.”

Will didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on the TV, as if he couldn’t bring himself to lose even one second of that badly executed trope. “I never paid for international data, so I won’t really be receiving her calls. But thanks.”

Nico nodded, and took the remote to adjust the volume. He stopped mid-movement. “So you aren’t calling your family.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m–you can use mine. If you know their number, that is. You can use my phone and call them, anytime. Now. Even if you don’t know their number. I can call the Secret Services or something.”

Will chuckled and finally looked up. “My siblings are sleeping now. But later. Thanks.”

Nico nodded. It was hard to breathe when Will shifted, so that they were closer, resting his head on Nico’s chest. It was hard to breathe, but Will smelled of cinnamon, and Christmas in Venice with his mom and Bianca.

 “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

Will almost choked on his hot chocolate. Niccolò had talked to him unprompted, completely out of the blue. “When I was a kid…” He bit his lip. “I wanted to–I…”

“You don’t have to respond.” Niccolò’s words were slurred, his eyes a bit glossy.

He was still running a fever, although it was much lower. He had slept for over three hours, during which Will had stayed downstairs, and eventually texted Kayla’s number, the only one he could remember. Just to call him there when she could talk.

“My parents didn’t have stable jobs,” Will eventually said. His voice was low, and his heart thumped in his chest, so hard it hurt. “They traveled a lot, so my siblings and I were always home alone. Michael and Lee wanted to be like them, you know?”

“What about you?”

“My grandfather was a doctor. He wanted my mom to be one, too. She didn’t. She–it’s difficult to explain, but I wanted to be a doctor, too. Want.”

“You don’t really sound like it.”

Will had been fidgeting with the hem of Nico’s shirt, but now he stopped. “I’m studying to become one.”

“Of your own will?” Niccolò furrowed his eyebrows. “Is it Will’s will to be a doctor?” He scoffed.

Will shook his head. “You’re so out of it.”

“Answer me.”

“Being demanding is my thing.” Will poked Niccolò’s hip, which had his furrow increase. “I don’t know. It’s difficult. My grandparents raised me, I–I owe it to them. I just want to be someone my grandfather would be proud of.”

“Would you be proud of yourself if you became someone you don’t want to be?”

“Is that even still on the plate?” Will blurted out. He blushed under Niccolò’s gaze. “What happens to me after this week is over?”

Niccolò looked down. He wiggled his toes, clad in socks with reindeers. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen to you. But you won’t be trapped on Elysium. People don’t know your name, they don’t know who you are. So you wouldn’t be harassed on the streets, probably. People would forget about you, eventually, if we weren’t seen together anymore.”

“Would you want that?”

Nico stopped mid-yawn. “It’s not about what I want.”

“It is to me.”

“That’s kind of hypocrite of you to say, isn’t it? You don’t want to be a doctor, but you’re becoming one.”

Heat flushed Will’s cheeks. “Do you want to be a king? Because you’re becoming one.”

Niccolò bent his good knee, and he thought about it for a moment. It was something he did when he had Italian words on the tip of his tongue, and he had to rethink them in English for Will. He pursed his lips as he did so. He always did. Would Will ever forget that?

“I want to make the world a better place. Elysium is good, for the most part. We are one of the happiest countries to live in, or so the data says, but we could still do better. By being prince, and in the future king, I could make the world a better place. I would have the influence to change history.” He took a long breath. “Being king isn’t the final goal, it’s the way.”

He was twenty, much like Will, and he had his own life together. “Didn’t you say something about studying at the Academy of Fine Arts, though?”

Niccolò hummed, but closed his eyelids. “I just want to know art before I devote to that.”

As he slept, Niccolò snuggled closer to Will, until they were laying only a few inches apart, with their hands brushing. Will looked down at him. He wondered what it would have been like to be introduced by Piper. He could almost imagine it.

He found the courage to tell Niccolò only as the other was still asleep, and the afternoon sun’s light was becoming weak.

“My sister and Piper’s sister are kind of dancing around each other now,” Will said. “They’ve been best friends for years. I think they’ll be forever, and they’ll be something else too, soon enough. I hope it’s soon, because I’m getting tired of their pining.” He released a shaky breath. Why was he such a coward that he could only talk feelings to Niccolò if the other were asleep? He didn’t notice, but his fingertips were tracing patterns on Niccolò’s hand. “Piper wondered whether they were soulmates. I think that just complicates feelings, you know? Do you love someone because of them, or because of the bond? Can it be real if it’s because of something you can’t see, only feel?” He sighed. “If Drew and Kayla got together, then Piper and I would get close again. She’d introduce us, then. She wouldn’t know we were soulmates, of course. We’d be in Central Park, so maybe I wouldn’t look like an idiot who doesn’t know anything about the country he’s in. I’d be annoying you, because it’s apparently all I ever do, and you’d be so arrogant about it. I wonder whether we’d be friends in that life.”

Of course, Will’s words were only met by silence. Did he want to be a doctor?

“I consider you my friend in this life,” Will mumbled. “I know I’m annoying.”

 Niccolò didn’t wake up, and Will ate instant noodles alone that night. Kayla called sometime around ten, and loudly shrieked as soon as he answered the call.

“I thought you’d been kidnapped!” She screamed. Will could vaguely hear Austin telling her to put Will on speaker, and someone else shushing him. Drew, probably.

“I never paid for international data,” Will said.

“You fucking scrooge,” Austin said, his voice filled with awe.

“Spill the tea!” Drew exclaimed. “We want to know everything.”

Will studied his nails, although they couldn’t see him. “Don’t ask me how I am doing first, or I might get offended.”

“You’re using an iPhone, aren’t you?” Kayla cut in. “Let’s FaceTime!”

“I don’t want to see your ugly faces, though.”

“You’re so lucky you’re in Italy, Solace, or I would slap you into your next life for ever hinting that I’m not the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen,” Drew hissed. Will didn’t need to see her to know her eyes were narrowed, and cheeks puffed out. A smile tugged on his lips.

He thought about another person, though. For some reason, at her words he imagined Niccolò studying Fine Arts. He didn’t even know what people truly studied in that, but he imagined Niccolò sitting on a stool, wearing old denim overalls, and a white shirt underneath. And of course he had a scalpel in his hands, and a block of marble in front of him.

“We’re seeing your ear, idiot!”

Will took the phone off his ear. Niccolò’s phone. In which he messaged people, but Will wasn’t creepy, and Niccolò had trusted him not to snoop around it. Did he exchange messages with his girlfriend on that same phone?

“Why do you look like you’re pooping?” Austin asked.

Will pursed his lips. “I really want to snoop around his phone.”

“Don’t!” Austin exclaimed. “He trusted you with it.”

“What if he talked about you with his friends?” Kayla said. She covered her mouth with her hands. She tilted her head to the side. “We need to know!”

“We have a right to know!” Drew added.

Oh, the two of them were good at it.

“Will!” Austin whined, when Will left the app, and his video paused.

He came back less than a second later, kicking his feet on the sofa. “I can’t believe I almost did that. I’m a monster!”

“Yes you are, now go back and look!” Drew said. “Oh my God, what if he has photos of you?”

“Will!” Austin whined again. “Come back and talk to us. Get distracted, say something!”

“I met Piper,” Will blurted out. “And Niccolò thinks I’m Apollo’s fan.”

“Oh dear.” Drew sighed, putting a hand on her neck. “That’s tragic. That’s tragic.”

Kayla put her head on Drew’s shoulder, and the other turned a bright red. “Tell us everything.”

“There’s literally nothing to tell,” Will whispered, looking around. If his calculation were right, Niccolò wouldn’t awake until the next morning, with the sun up. “There was the trailer of Apollo’s movie on the TV–by the way, great way to be dad of the year, don’t even tell your children you’re filming a movie about your family–and I just froze. I completely froze, and he was sitting next to me, and he goes ‘oh, you’re a fan? I met him once,’ and then he insulted him. Like, I can’t disagree with what he said, of course, but I lied to him. I don’t know, it’s just–it makes me feel bad.”

Will fisted his free hand around his loose fitting sweatpants. His fingers kept trembling.

“I just–I like him, he’s a good friend. But I think I’ve hidden it for too long to come clean now.”

“You like him as a friend,” Drew deadpanned. She took a smoothie from behind the camera, and slurped loudly. “’Course you do.”

Heat rose to Will’s cheeks. “I do! He’s nice.”

“Good-looking, too,” Kayla added.

Will groaned. “Tell them I can be friends with boys without wanting to marry them, Austin.”

“But he’s your soulmate!” Kayla said. “There’s got to be something between the two of you.”

Will turned red, but for a completely different reason. “That’s just what society says, and what everything seems to believe. So what if two people get paired by whatever force, or god, resides in the Universe? What do you expect me to do, sacrifice everything I’ve ever wanted to live off an island in the middle of nothing with him? Even if there was something between us, which there isn’t, I’d have to be his whore, while he goes and finds a girl to be his queen! And that’s not something I want for myself, thank you very much.”

Kayla sucked in a sharp breath. “Willie...” She didn’t add anything else.

Tears burned in Will’s eyes. He let the phone camera to face the ceiling, and threw his head back. Breathe. In and out, in and out.  

“Sweetheart,” Drew started, in a tone far sweeter than any Will had ever heard. He immediately knew she was talking to Kayla. “Why don’t you and Austin go take us a coffee from downstairs? I’ll talk to him in the meantime.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Austin promised. Somewhere not too far, a door clicked shut.

When they were younger, Will and Drew were best friends. They were around fourteen when they got together. At sixteen, they thought they were still going strong, but that was before Will broke Drew’s heart. They managed to stay friends, but it took some time. They drifted apart.

“Piper watches your videos, by the way,” Will said. He shifted on his belly, and put the phone against the armrest. Folding his arms under his chin, he heaved out a sigh. “She didn’t want you to know.”

“And what a dear snitch you are,” Drew said. She sighed as well, putting her cheek against her raised hand. She always was beautiful, but sometimes it still took Will by surprise. “So, from what I heard you sound pretty scared.”

Will snorted. “Sure.”

“You’re scared of falling in love with him, aren’t you? It’s clear in the way you are holding yourself back. If you weren’t afraid, you would tell him who you are. Show him. Does it look so easy, falling for him? With the matching marks and all, it must.”

“He wants a platonic relationship,” Will said. “We even talked about it, kind of. Said we both weren’t ready to have a romantic relationship. I’m honestly not sure whether he likes men, women, none. I just don’t know.”

“How did talking with him make you feel?”

Will snorted. “We aren’t together anymore, you don’t have to stand all my bullshit.”

Drew furrowed her eyebrows. “But we are friends.” She stayed silent for a while. “Aren’t we?”

“Listen, I just–I know you’re doing this because of Kayla, and I want you to know that you don’t have to.”

“I was your friend long before I even met Kayla.” Drew blinked quickly, looking everywhere but at the phone. “Listen, I–I’m sorry. For-for liking Kayla. I know I shouldn’t, and I’ve tried, I really tried. I just–I’ve grown. I would be better to her than I was to you, if she would give me a chance.”

Will’s stomach sank. Was she asking for his permission? Was it his fault they weren’t together yet? “What the hell.” He was breaking his sister’s heart without even realizing it, wasn’t he?

“It’s just–I know I’m not nearly enough for her, but she makes me happy, and I make her happy. And maybe we could do this just for us, you know? If she were a bit more selfish maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t care that you and I were each other’s first heartbreak. Maybe she would see me as more than her brother’s psychotic ex, who still goes to his house every single day. And I know–”

“You don’t know anything if you think she sees you like that.” Will interrupted her. Seeing Drew’s cheeks stained with tears and not being able to wipe them away physically hurt. “And I’m sorry if I made you think that I wouldn’t be okay with you being with Kayla. I would be more than okay with that, not that either of you needs my permission. And you were never bad to me. I’m the one who needs to apologize, I was a dick to you. A real dick, and–”

“You were hurting. I should have stayed closer to you.”

“I disappeared on you. I just–I needed time, and it helped me, but I did it the wrong way. I can’t go back in time and change it, but you deserved far better than that. Our relationship deserved better than that. Our friendship even more.”

Drew let out an ugly sob, which caused Will to cry harder. After a while, they were both just sobbing harder every time they caught a glimpse of the other.

“Way to get closure on your first love years later,” Drew said, putting her hands on her mouth.

Will sobbed harder. “We fucked up so bad.”

Drew’s makeup was running over her cheeks. “Yeah. We did. We’re dumbasses. Pining after people we can’t have is what we deserve.”

Will let out a wet laugh. “You have hope with Kayla.”

“Shut up,” Drew hissed, looking around. “I think I hear them. Quick, do I look like I cried?”

Will laughed again.

Pining after people we can’t have.

“Do you think I should date someone else?” Will asked. “Like, trying to move on somehow? Before actually falling?”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Drew said. She sniffled. “Do it.”

Will thought of the Hot Instructor. Then he thought of Paolo.

“Remember Clarisse?” Will asked.

Drew grimaced. “Not only is she dating someone else, and by all means, I love-hate her, but do you actually want to date her? That sounds like-like torture.”

Will groaned. “I meant her brother. Sherman or something?”

“Oh dear.”

[jtsfavslut]

✧ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ✧

Description: Inspired by the song ‘Heather’ by Conan Gray.

Warning: Suicidal Talk

Word Count: 1.2k+

*THE THIRD OF DECEMBER*

"21 more days till' Christmas eve, I can't wait," Grayson excitedly beamed at you.

"Me too, but I can't wait for winter to be over," you smiled back at him, rubbing your clothed arms trying to create some sort of heat, as your long-sleeved, yet thin shirt managed to provide you with no source of heat.

"Here," Grayson said handing you his sweater that he had on, it was a plain black, crew neck kind of sweater.

"Thank you Gray, but your going to get cold, or worst, sick," you pouted at him as he was left in a black long sleeve shirt.

"It's looks better on you than me anyways, plus I'm used to the cold," he smiled at you making you blush. Luckily for you, your cheeks were already cold from the breeze hitting your face.

"And am I, we've lived here our entire lives duh," she playfully rolled your eyes, and turned around to lean your body on the railing, looking at the green pines ahead of you.

You and the Dolan siblings were known for being extremely close, however, you and Grayson however, were inseparable. If Grayson got invited to anything, you would come along, and vise-versa.

And of course, you caught feeling for your hot best-friend who happens to live across from you, you kept it to yourself, not wanting to jeopardize anything.

"I can't believe we're going to be seniors next year," Grayson sighed as you softly nodded your head.

"Me neither," you whispered. You're head making up scenarios about how would it be if you finally dated him during senior year.

"Y/N, Gray, mom said to come inside because it's getting cold," Ethan said through the door, making you and Grayson walk back inside.

The warm heat making your skin get that weird feeling everything the temperature changes suddenly.

"Go lay in my bed, I'll bring some hot chocolate and we can watch movies, yeah?" Grayson asked making your heart do cartwheels.

You nodded your head and made your way to the bedroom that you've spent many nights in.

You wished you could stop being a pussy and tell him that you love him. But the fear of rejection, humiliation, and loss scared you to death. You we'rent scared of anything. Except one thing.

And that being loosing Grayson, he was the only person you truly loved, the only one you would die for.

Grayson was always there for you. Everything your parents yelled at you for making a little mistake like accidentally spilling a bit of whatever on the table, your first crush-rejection, and especially your parents getting more toxic.

He knew you more than you knew yourself. Yet he was oblivious to the fact that you were madly in love with him.

"Extra whipped cream, just how you always get it," his voice suddenly spoke making you flinch.

"Thank you," you whispered while smiling, reaching up and grabbing the cup from him.

"You're awfully quiet today. What's up?" he asked making your shoulders tense.

"Umm, nothing, I'm OK. Just thinking about something," you shrugged, sipping on the hot drink that he made you, making your insides warm up.

"Thinking about what?" he asked and you thought of something to say.

'How I'm madly in love with you,' you thought to yourself, but managed to lie and say that it's about graduation. Of course he believed you, since you've been worrying about that lately.

*THE TWELVE OF DECEMBER*

"I'm staying after school today," your soft voice spoke as you stood with Grayson and Ethan by your lockers.

"You want me to wait for you?" He asked as you shook your head smiling.

"I'll walk home, you can go with E," you told he as frowned. "It's cold, you could get sick. I'll go with E, then come pick you up." He shrugged as Ethan nodded.

"Yeah you could get sick, and it's gonna snow later." Ethan said agreeing with his brother.

"Fine, I'll text you when it's done," you sighed.

"I'm gonna blast, and get lunch." Ethan said and walked away.

"So I was thinking that for our friendvesarry we could go to the skating rink on Satur-," you began saying but stopped as you noticed he wasn't paying attention to you.

You followed his eyes trying to find what had managed to catch his attention.

His eyes followed her until she was out of sight. Her blonde hair bouncing on her shoulder with every step she took.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked turning to look at you again.

"Nothing, it wasn't important." You whispered with a ting of hurt in your voice.

"Oh ok," he answered confused but let it be.

"I'm gonna go to library, wanna come?" You asked him.

"I have something to do, but I'll meet you before class starts ok?" He asked and you nodded your head.

And as you walked to library by yourself, Grayson went to go find her.

And as you found a new book to read, Grayson found a new date for Saturday.

Saturday being the 14th of December. The day you two met 13 years ago.

While that day meant everything to you, it seemed like it managed to escape from his mind.

"When are you gonna tell my brother?" a very familiar voice spoke scarring you and making you look up from the book you were reading.

Ethan.

"I'm sorry, what?" you said taking off your fake reading glasses. A habit you picked up while reading.

"That you're in love with him. I know you are Y/N," he said sitting down next to you.

"I am not. I don't know what you're talking about," you denied and put your glasses back on, and going back to your book, before he snatched it.

"Y/N, I  know when you lie. We all know you are." he spoke making you sigh.

"OK, so what if I am. He doesn't love me in that way. He likes her. Her eyes are brighter than a blue sky, her blonde her makes my black one look dead. He's mesmerized by Heather, Ethan. He likes her, not me," you spoke while tears clouded your vision.

"You still have to tell him,  before you, uhh- before you go," he spoke as  his eyes also filled with tears because of what he was referring to.

"He doesn't know Ethan," you groaned.

"You have to tell him, it'll be better. If you don't tell  him, it's going to destroy him." he cried. Thank god no one was around.

"How do you tell the person you're in love with that you’re going away because you tried to kill yourself. How do you even tell them that you're trying to kill yourself?" you calmly asked as he shook his head.

"He kissed me Ethan. He kissed me and apologized and said that he didn't mean for that to happen. He said to act like it never happened." you softly cried while shaking your head.

He stayed quiet so you took it as a cue to continue talking. You took off your glasses placing them on the table.

"I won't tell him, he's happy with her, I'm going away. He'll be find without me, he doesn't need me, and neither does you or anyone else. I'll start a new life, somewhere else but here. He'll date her and they'll be happy. You'll find someone else and be happy. Me? I don't know what happiness is, but I hope I'll find it." you said getting up.

"Think of this as a fresh start or reset. Please give this him. I'm leaving in two hours so I better get home," you whispered as tears raced down your face.

"I love you Ethan, never forget that. I love all the time I spent with you guys. You guys saved me, but I need to save myself now," you handed him the letter and left.

And you ran home, took all your stuff and left to the airport.

You wanted to go to New York, but that was close, too close. Florida was not for you, so LA was the only option.

As cliche as  it sounds, LA does give people opportunities, and being all the way across the country sounded good.

And while you got in the plane, Grayson opened the letter that you gave him. Screaming at Ethan for not telling earlier, giving you a chance to stop you.

Dear Grayson,

By the time you're reading this, if Ethan gave it to you when I asked him to, I should be on a plane, headed somewhere far.

As you may know, my love for poetry, has given me the talent to express my feelings in a more soft cleaner way, the poem below will explain everything that's been going through my mind recently.

I still remember Third of December

Me in your sweater You said it looked better

On me, than it did you Only if you knew

How much I liked you But I watch your eyes, as she

Walks by What a sight for Sore eyes

Brighter than a Blue sky

She's got you Mesmerized

While I dieWhy would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty

You gave her your sweater It's just polyester, but you like her better Wish I were Heather

Watch as she stands with Her holding your hand

Put your arm 'round her shoulder Now I'm getting colder

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel

But then again, kinda Wish she were dead, as she

Walks by

If  you know me, you know exactly what this means.

I love you Gray, and not in a friendly way, I love you as in I want to be in a relationship and share everything with you.

But that doesn't matter anymore. I just had to say it, and I'm not scared of anything, only loosing you. But I was going to loose you anyways, so I wrote it on paper.

I want to thank you for everything that you've done for me.

I want you to forget about me, about our friendship. About our friendship. I want you, and Ethan, to start fresh, to go out there and explore the world.

I want you and Heather, or any other girl to be happy. I want you to be happy and for someone to make you happy and to give you everything you deserve and vice-versa.

As for me, I'm going to cherish everything we've done together. Every movie we've watched, every hugged we've shared, and every second.

Make sure to tell mama Lisa that I love her and that was she the mother I needed. And tell her that I moved for some program or something, you're smart and creative so you'll make something up.

I love you Gray <3

- Y/N.

"YOU KNEW  DIDN'T YOU? YOU KNEW SHE WAS LEAVING AND DIDN'T TELL ME?" Grayson angrily shouted at Ethan as hot tears streamed down his face.

"She needs this Gray. We'll find her, I don't know where she went but we'll find her,"Ethan sighed trying to comfort his brother.

"I love her Ethan and now she's gone. How come I didn't notice?" He cried.

"I love you Gray," you whispered to yourself as your plane took off.

PART TWO

[desiraypark]

Drawing New Lines (Final)

Previous Entire Series

Characters: Kylo Ren x Tiffany Palmer (OC - Blk/F) Setting: Modern/Current/Alternate Universe (I went ahead and set it in NYC/NJ lol) Content: Brief smut (possibly dub-con?); *plays “Freedom” by Beyoncé

“Do you think your brother would be willing to help me?”

“Of course. Even if he wasn’t, I’d make him anyway.”

“They drive around my building. They drive around here. They park outside of my clients’ house. I can’t get away from them.”

“Say no more. I know what you need.”

They waited for two weeks. Tiffany didn’t want to leave her co-workers scrambling. Even when in danger, she felt the need to think of others. Additionally, the plan needed to be well thought out. She needed to buy airline tickets. She needed to call her mother. If Kylo were just your average Joe, she could have just abandoned everything. But no…

Kylo was the son of Michael Ren--entrepreneurs with important affiliations. He was the wife of Chelsea Ren, born Chelsea Palpatine--protégé of her father. The Rens and the Palpatines had the city--the state, even--on lock. They had eyes and shooters everywhere. She couldn’t “just leave”.

“What are you thinking about?” Kylo asked at the dinner table.

Dinner was a bit more comforting tonight--breakfast for dinner. Shrimp and grits, bacon, and biscuits from scratch. The meal warmed her. Relaxed her. It eased a longing.

Tiffany shook out her head out of its haze. “What?”

“I said, what are you thinking about?”

She shook her head again. “Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like a nothin’ face,” Kylo pushed.

She thought quickly. “Thinking about a pushy client.”

Kylo raised an eyebrow. “A pushy client?”

Tiffany nodded with confidence. “They wanted me to decorate their living room but they micromanaged me. Now their shit is ugly.”

Kylo chuckled. “As long as they don’t give you any bad reviews or anything.”

Tiffany agreed with a forced smile, and returned her attention to her plate.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you...”

Kylo stared at her. Suddenly, she became self-conscious. She didn’t look particularly different, or special. Did he suspect something? Was this a trick? He patted his lap.

“Come here,” he said.

Tiffany chuckled nervously. “For what?”

“For what?” he asked. “Just get over here.”

She cleared her throat and walked over to Kylo’s side of the table. He took her hand and gently pulled her down to his lap. His hand ran up and down her thigh, then he gave her ass a squeeze.

“Take your pants off.”

Tiffany’s heart skipped a beat. They’d done this before. “Kylo, this food is going to get cold.”

“And we can heat it back up.” He tugged at the band on her pants. “Take your pants off.”

Tiffany stood up and pulled down her slacks, revealing her luscious hips in boy shorts. Kylo bit his lip and ran his fingertips up her thighs. “Has it been long enough?”

Tiffany was being torn in three different directions. She could’ve lied--and said that her body needed more time (because he truly didn’t deserve to touch her). She could have told him the truth--yes, it had been long enough. He’d probably researched it, anyway. Or, she could have told him the truth because unfortunately, she needed him inside of her one more time. 

She pulled down her underwear and Kylo ran his finger between her outer lips--feeling her warmth and gathering her wetness.

“Did she miss me?” he asked. He shoved a finger inside and met Tiffany’s eyes. Her jaw dropped. She could have slapped herself in the face. Kylo chuckled to himself, slid his chair back, then tapped the dining table.

Tiffany climbed onto the table, and Kylo slid his chair close. He pried her thighs apart, exposing her to him--her beautiful flower blossomed and ready for the taking. He leaned in and dragged his pointed tongue against her clit. Her eyes closed. She grabbed his hair and threw her head back.

____________________

“I texted him,” Tiffany said, walking through the parking garage with Adelle. She looked around and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I asked if he was planning on coming over.”

Adelle unlocked the doors to her Mercedes and they both climbed into the car.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was busy. Then asked why.”

Adelle started her car. “And what did you say?”

“I haven’t texted back yet.”

Adelle slowly backed out of her space. “Tell him where you’re going. If you don’t say anything he’s going to get suspicious. Just say a restaurant. Only tell him the name if he asks.”

“And if I lie, Black Car is going to tell him differently,” Tiffany thought out loud.

Tiffany texted Kylo, telling him that she would be dining with her boss. Of course, he asked where. And she told him: The Red House.

The black car was behind them the whole time--one, two, sometimes three cars away. But Adelle drove like a secret agent--unfathomed and in charge. Miraculously, she found a space not far from the restaurant. She grabbed her phone, ID, and credit card, and stuffed the items in her jacket pocket. Tiffany did practically the same--stuffing her wallet into her suit jacket. The ladies placed their handbags and laptops in the trunk of Adelle’s car, then walked just several yards to the restaurant’s door.

Chills went down Tiffany’s spine as they walked into The Red House. The air was palpable. Old images flashed in her mind--Kylo at the bar with another woman, many Decembers ago. She looked out at the dim hallway in the back, remembering when she came out of the restroom and he was standing there. The host sat them near the kitchen at a table with four seats.

“Your server will be right with you,” he said.

“Thank you. Could you tell Mr. Mason that Adelle is here?”

“Uh, yes ma’am,” the host said, nodding.

Tiffany feigned a search over the menu. Then, Antoine Mason came from the back, bent down, and hugged his twin sister.

“Hey, Sis,” he said.

“Hey, Honey.”

He looked at Tiffany. “How are you this evening?”

Tiffany shivered. “Excited. Scared.”

“No need to be scared,” he said. He looked at Adelle. “John?”

“All set,” Adelle said. Antoine returned his attention to Tiffany and smiled. “Your server will come soon. I told her all she needed to know.”

Tiffany nodded and Antoine smiled, then walked away. Then, a young lady walked to them. “Good evening, Ladies,” she said, pulling out her pad. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

No alcohol. Adelle got a raspberry lemonade, Tiffany iced tea. Their minds needed to be clear. Rolls and salads came. House salads. Nothing that Antoine or the cook would be angry to see wasted. The server “took their orders”. Then, Adelle got up to grab something from her car. Moments later, she returned with a random bottle of hand sanitizer.

“Don’t panic,” Adelle said. “Where they’re parked, they can see right inside. They can see the kitchen.”

“Fuck,” Tiffany whispered. Her heart rate increased and she rested her elbow on the table.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” Adelle said.

“You telling me not to panic is making me panic,” Tiffany mumbled.

Tiffany and Adelle waited for their server to come back. She asked if they were okay, and needed refills. Adelle said “yes”, but said she would need to text her brother. Only two minutes passed, and Antoine instructed them to continue with their plan...

Tiffany got up to use the restroom. She stood in the bathroom, pacing the floor. Her breaths bounced off the linoleum and met her ears. Taunting her. She paced a couple of more minutes--as planned--then slowly opened the bathroom door. Standing by the kitchen door was Antoine, fiddling with an old rolling cart, covered in white linen.

“Stay right there,” he said, voice booming down the short hallway.

Tiffany kept her back to the door. Antoine shook his head and pushed the cart down the hallway and stopped in front of Tiffany.

“Climb in,” he said.

Tiffany shook her head and laughed. 

Antoine lifted the linen that covered the cart and Tiffany climbed in. She sat in a tight ball as the rickety wheels rolled over the restaurant’s tile floor--the very tile that sat under her feet when Kylo invited her to his hotel room. The light outside of the linen brightened, and the cloth was lifted. Antoine held out his hand and helped Tiffany out of the cart. Unknowing cooks looked at the scene with knitted eyebrows, as Antoine led her out the back door and toward a blue car in the alley.

Antoine opened the back door and she climbed in his back seat, laid on the floor, and burst into tears.

“You take care, Sweetheart,” Antoine said. He closed the back door.

“Oh, don’t you start that now!” John joked. “Tears of joy?”

“Yes,” Tiffany whimpered.

There was a short silence, then John began to speak.

“Hey baby,” he said. “She’s in here...you in your car?...Alright. Stay on the phone with me.”

Tiffany wiped her tears.

“North Carolina, huh? My family’s from South Carolina…” John said. He started his engine.

“What?” Adelle said through the speakerphone.

“Talking to Tiffany.”

“Oh,” Adelle responded. She chuckled. “I don’t think this man is even paying attention to me...”

____________________

Two Days Later

Kylo’s fingers and ears were stuck to two phones--his personal phone and his business phone. He had his business phone to his ear, and his eyes trained on his personal phone. Suddenly, it lit up.

Cardo: Nothing, still. No sign, no trace.

Kylo balled his fist, imagining Cardo was in front of him so he could beat the shit out of him again.

“Yeah, do what the fuck you have to do,” Kylo said, rushing off his business phone. “Alright.”

Chelsea strolled around the corner, just in time to see Kylo hang up his flip phone and quickly look down at his desk.

Kylo rolled his eyes at the sight of Chelsea and her smirk, then took a swig of his drink. His smartphone went dim.

“What?” he asked.

Chelsea walked behind him and ran her fingers down his chest. She planted kisses on his cheek.

“Your boyfriend out of town?” His phone lit up.

“No, I’m actually going to see him tomorrow,” she said. 

Cardo: So sorry Boss. Please forgive me.

Kylo grunted and took a sip of his drink. Chelsea kissed him on the neck, then nibbled on his ear.

“I know that you’ll probably be able to find her…” she mumbled into his canal. “But if you ever put your hands on her, or any other woman again…”

Kylo slowly put his drink down, as Chelsea sucked at his neck again.

“I will beat the shit out of myself…” Kiss. “Tell my father you did it…” Kiss. “…and let him chop you into tiny pieces and fry you up for breakfast.”

Chelsea licked a stripe up his neck and to his cheek. Then, planted another kiss. She walked out of the study and froze in the hallway. She put her hands on her hips and smiled.

“Come say goodnight to your father, my loves!” she said. ____________________ December 2020 (A Few Days Before Christmas)

Christmas in Charlotte was a world different from Christmas in New York. There was no need for central heat in Gina Palmer’s house in December. The air was warm and balmy. Tiffany sat on her full-sized bed, staring at the flip phone on her dresser. Finally, she stood up, walked to the dresser, and opened the phone. She called the Cannon Street Design Firm, and pressed 111--her desired party’s extension.

“Cannon Street Design Firm, this is Adelle Mason-Brooks speaking.”

“Hi, Adelle...it’s Tiffany...”

There was a brief pause. “Tiffany?” 

“Yes...”

“How are you, Sweetie?” Adelle asked, joy in her voice.

“I’m fine. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you. I’m so glad you’ve called me.”

“How’s everything?”

“Everything is everything,” Adelle said. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Ren was here a few days ago.”

Tiffany swallowed. 

“She just wanted to know if you were alright. I told the chick that I wouldn’t know.”

Tiffany chuckled. “Thanks.”

“A strange dynamic those two have, huh?”

“The whole thing was strange...” Tiffany responded with a grunt.

“Well. Yeah. That’s true. She gave me a message to pass on to you...”

Tiffany could hear Adelle shuffling around on her desk.

“She put it in a Christmas card and everything. Hold on...”

There was a long pause--paper rustling--and Adele cleared her throat. “The card just says Happy Holidays, blah blah. But she wrote, “I don’t know how you did it, but I’m happy you did it. You are my hero.” Signed, “CR”.”

Tiffany drew in a deep breath, smiled, and shook her head. “That was nice.”

“Yeah, it was...want me to hold on to it?”

Tiffany took another deep breath. “No. No need to.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at Tiffany’s door. Then, it opened. Gina Palmer peeped in and smile--the movement of her cheeks shifting the old scar that ran down her cheek. 

“I made shrimp and grits,” Gina whispered. 

Tiffany smiled and nodded at her mother. Gina smiled harder and slipped back out of the room.

“--but I’m so glad you called me. Should I save this number?” Adelle asked.

“Yes, I’d like for you to,” Tiffany replied.

“Alright.”

“Thank you for everything Adelle. I owe your whole family, pretty much.”

“You don’t owe us a thing, Honey. Not a thing.” Tiffany smiled to herself. “Merry Christmas, Adelle.”

“Merry Christmas, Tiffany.”

Tiffany closed her phone and walked out of her bedroom. She walked down the dim hallway--the wall’s wood paneling straight out of the 70s, and joined her mother in the kitchen for shrimp and grits, bacon, and homemade biscuits. ____________________

TAG LIST @aloneandsleepless​ @a-true-janian-reply​ @iamasithprincess

____________________

Support my grilled salmon addiction (Ko-Fi)

[tenglows]

in the name of the old days

summary: it’s the last day of the year and you’re feeling nostalgic. you come across the twitter of the boy who used to be your best friend a few years ago, and decide to message him.

category: fluff, a bit of angst? maybe??, internet friend!mark

it was currently december 31, at half past one am, and you were scrolling on twitter

some chuckles here and there while reading your friend’s posts about timothee chalamet

you were about to close the app to go brush your teeth and prepare for bed

when your eyes wandered off and focused on another tweet

“almost 2020 and still no flying cars” read the tweet

from @/markly_

this made you sit straight in your mattress

you clicked on his profile

you two still followed each other

there weren’t a lot of recents tweets, so that’s why you figured you hadn’t come across the boy’s twitter sooner

plus; lately you weren’t the type to be so active on social media either

you mentally counted the years since you first met mark lee

it was 2019 (almost 2020) now and you guys had met in 2015

you had gotten involved in a drama with a one direction stan, you being part of 5sos stan twitter

and mark, little mix stan, had defended you

it was in the middle of the zayn and perrie scandal, so he assured both of your teams had to stick together to defeat one direction’s fans

you became mutuals after that

and you soon realized that mark had the tendency to initiate lots of twitter fights

often with the people that would bash perrie and her group

your friendship rose as the two of you took turns defending the other one on those enfrentations

you don’t know how but all of the sudden there was no day you wouldn’t talk to mark

you were both 16 at the time, you being older just by a few months

you guys would talk about everything and anything

and basically grew up together

you were there for him when school got hard and future scared him

he was there for you when you faced a pretty bad relationship

and you honestly considered him your best friend

sleepless nights with him on facetime were one of the things you looked forward to the most

hearing him talk about his day

him showing you a new song he learned on the guitar, or him playing some melodies and lyrics he composed himself every now and then

watching the same movie or show at the same time on your respective screens

struggling to press play together to match the exact second

“i totally knew he was gonna die”

“shut up you’re way ahead!!!!”

you had other friends at school, too

but mark was just mark

and you two had such a loving bond, you were so close you took him with you to everywhere you went

you just wished you had him closer

at least you were both from canada

him being from vancouver and you from quebec

you had made lots of plans about meeting in real life, and you genuinely believed they would come about

but it is true that time passes and people drift apart

you were about to begin college and made new friends

mark moved out to toronto

and gradually, the responses took longer

and the calls had kinda been left aside

until one of you just stopped replying

you honestly don’t remember who it was

but there isn’t really a reason, either

you just parted ways

and it’s fine, it’s human and natural and normal

but now looking at his profile picture: a polaroid of him hugging another boy

you felt as if a bucket of cold and frostbound nostalgia had been dumped over your head

you recognized his moles, and how he had the same smile

his header picture was a guitar

and it wasn’t the same he used to have, but something about him still liking music made you feel warm

it’s always astonishing to see how the life of a person who is no longer in yours just,,,

goes on

and you aren’t aware of a thing about their existence

or even think about them

so it’s almost as they don’t exist

but now you know mark still exists

and it’s so weird to think about how your lives had been so overlapped, so united

and now you didn’t know anything about him

the mix of reminiscence about this and the year ending

resulted in your impulsive fingers pressing the envelope icon in mark’s profile

you stayed like that for a few minutes, writing and deleting messages. the sentences you thought about never feeling enough

you sighed as you told yourself this would be the last attempt

“hi mark, i’m not sure if you remember me but i saw you on my tl and it made me want to check on you! maybe this message will disappear into thin air but i just wanted to try. i hope you’re doing well <3”

you stared at the blue bubble of text almost without blinking for a moment

maybe he didn’t want to talk to you, and it was okay. you stopped talking in 2017, almost three years had passed

you thought looking at yourself in the mirror while you brushed your teeth

you came back to your room and turned off your lights, ready to go to sleep

but when you grabbed your phone with the intention to charge it, you saw you had a twitter notification

“y/n! how could i forget about you? haha it’s been so long two years without talking. how are you? how’s life? tell me something”

an instant smile started growing upon your face

the way he texted was the same as before

and you missed his haha

two and a half hours into the night you felt as if you were stuck in 2015 all over again

you had always had this fluidity at the time of talking with mark

the conversation just,, bloomed

he told you he still lived in new york, but he was actually gonna move back to toronto in a couple of months

he was majoring in music and owned a soundcloud rap account, and he had gotten quite popular as well

you mentioned how you had changed majors

what started as you being a marketing management major ended up on you leaning towards philosophy

something that no one had seen coming

so you expected the same reaction from mark

“i can totally see it, you always liked to think and question everything a little too much”

and that comment made you feel thrilled in your stomach, to say the least

even after all these years

mark was probably the person who knew you the most

days passed

weeks, even

and what you thought was just a conversation remembering the old days and filling the other in on your life

just,,, never stopped

mark and you went back to talking every day

everything felt the same as it did before

because after all, it was the same mark. it was always mark

still, the day you had agreed on facetiming for the first time again you felt kinda nervous

what if you ran out of what to talk about? what if it was suddenly weird?

and when you picked up the call and found yourself face to face with a flustered mark you knew he felt the same

you both hesitated as to who would speak first

him being the one to break the ice

“hey y/n” he giggled

“wow, your voice has gotten deeper”

he laughed loudly at your honesty, making you laugh back

“your hair is shorter”

“i know right? it was so long, i just got fed up of it reaching my waist”

“i like it, it looks pretty” he paused “you look pretty”

and in that moment you wondered how your heart could be beating this hard at a blurry screen with poor connection

comments like that kept making an appearance as time went by, sometimes from mark and eventually from your part

and that was the only thing that differed from the relationship you used to have with the one you had now

was it flirting? you didn’t know

but you had never thought of mark the way you think about him now

“so? what do you think?”

you set the phone on your desk as you walked away and showed mark your white dress. you were on your way to a costume party one of your friend’s brother was throwing, and even though it was cliché, you couldn’t be bothered to think of a more ingenious costume than a traditional angel

mark took his time fixing his gaze on you, his eyes getting closer to concentrate on what the vague wifi let him

“i can’t recognize the costume”

“what do you mean? i’m literally wearing wings and a halo”

“could it be because you always look like an angel?”

“ayee mark that was cheesy”

“i know, i’m sorry” you both laughed

“but really, you look amazing. go and have fun babe”

then pet names came into play

you weren’t sure what you were doing, but flirting with mark was sweet and fun and innocent

you always found yourself wanting for more

you were yearning for mark, you wanted to see him, listen to him, touch him

and you didn’t know what to do with yourself

until one day he called you out of the blue, which startled you, since he always asked before calling

“hey! were you busy?”

“no no i’m just doing the dishes, what’s up?”

“okay, so you know how i’m moving to toronto in two weeks, right?” you nodded “well, i just managed to change my flight so i would go to quebec for some days before properly settling in toronto, you know since it’s not that far”

“you’re kidding”

“i’m going to visit you!!!!!!!”

he squealed in your ear and you squealed back, scaring your poor cat who was sleeping soundly

after some more yelling, the excitement died out a bit and you stayed in silence for just a few seconds

“i don’t really have a place to stay though” he snorted, embarrassed

“you can always stay with me, mark”

after some long and never-ending hours and days (you had seriously convinced yourself some wrinkles had appeared on your forehead from all the waiting)

it was finally the day you would see mark

it was currently 11 am, mark’s flight was at 1 pm and he would arrive at quebec at approximately a bit less than 3 pm

now, he was at new york’s airport taking care of all the travelling procedures

and you were cleaning up the same spots in your aparment for the fourth time in a row

to say you were nervous was an understanding

you felt like you were going insane

you barely had gotten any sleep the night before, not being able to defeat the crowding thoughts about finally meeting your long-time friend

(who now you wanted to be more than a friend and seeing him physically could totally help with that)

you arranged some lunch for you and your cat (magnus) and sat in front of the tv, wanting to find literally anything that would keep your mind occupied

luckily, it worked, and you let yourself lose track of time

until your phone beeped, indicating you had received a text

“i’m boarding now!! i’ll text you when i get there, can’t wait to see you”

“have a safe flight love”

you sighed dramatically and rested your arm against your forehead

magnus stared at you in confusion and boredom

“magnus, i think i’m going to die”

as promised, mark texted you as soon as the plane landed

you offered to go pick him up at the airport, but he denied, saying he had already scheduled a taxi

so now you were ready and dressed, going all over your apartment non stop

mark was texting you through all the taxi drive and updating you on his location, you growing more and more anxious as you knew he was getting closer

you went to the bathroom and as soon as you stepped out, a knock was heard on your door

it was soft and steady, and you opened your eyes widely when the realization of who the owner of the hand was hit you

you panicked, one last time

you even eyed your room window to check if you had any chance of jumping out and running away

but you took a deep breath and walked decidedly towards your door

you just had to remind yourself it was the same mark as always, and nothing could go wrong if there was him

thus, you opened the door

and the facetime pixels and instagram pictures could have never prepared you for how dreamy mark looked

you two stayed like that for a bit

just watching the other with shy eyes and smiles

you eventually snapped out of your trance and helped mark get his luggage inside

"it's a bit small but i hope you can make yourself comfortable"

"oh please it's perfect, don't worry" he gave you a reassuring smile before getting totally distracted by the fluffy ball of hair in your couch

"oh my god is that magnus!!!!"

after letting mark get comfortable and installed, you guys decided to take a walk and go over your apartment zone, showing mark all your favorite places and memories you had there

it was a bit cold and you were both tightened around your coats

eventually, it was getting late and more chilly

so you opted for going back to your place

as you walked there in a bit of silence, you could feel mark's body getting more close in proximity

you looked at him, his gaze fixed upon the path with a small grin on his lips

you got closer too

and you liked it

it was cold outside but when mark brushed against your body

canada has never felt more like summer

you guys were really close now

as you took step after step, your jackets made static sounds, rubbing against the other

you looked at mark and delicately touched one of his fingers with your pinky, as if asking for permission

he finally looked up from the way and focused on your eyes instead, breaking into a smile once again

he took a peek at your close hands and softly intertwined your fingers

both of your faces reddening, from the low temperature and the feelings that were growing in your stomach

when you got to your apartment you guys were still holding hands, but you realized you had to open the door with that one, and couldn't find the keys in your pocket

"y/n, you will have to let go of my hand to get the keys"

"that's the point. i don't want to"

"y/n, i'm freezing. please open the door i can still hold your hand when we're inside"

and yeah,,

he did

you changed into comfortable and warm clothes and prepared some hot chocolate while mark chose a movie in your laptop

when you entered the room, two mugs in hand

mark was lying on his stomach on your bed, his hand on his chin with his mouth a bit open while concentrating on the variation of movies netflix offered

you felt a shiver down your spine

he really was here

after taking a while to decide on a movie, or at least its genre, you just selected a random title

you turned off the lights and went back to your bed, getting under the covers

and you just felt warm

and whole

maybe more because of mark than the actual sheets that were meant to keep you heated

(he also held your hand the entire time, rubbing his thumb against your palm and drawing invisible figures on it)

your head rested on his shoulder and you went up as the same time his chest did with every breath he took

in some moment you stopped paying attention to the movie

your mind wandered off to thoughts about the boy, about how you have never felt this close to him. you felt like you were really inside his ribcage

still from his shoulder, you moved a bit so you could look at him

his face was glowing

yeah, the images and lights of the computer were reflecting on him

but you meant this boy glowed in the dark

he just had something in him

it was either rays of sunshine or neon paint

but he, in this frosty and amusing night within your bedroom walls, glowed on his own

he turned his gaze towards you too, and tightened the grip on your hand

you felt mark’s arm on your waist and he rearranged the position so you would be on his chest

hearing his heartbeat, it was music

mark always did music. and he himself was music too, his heart creating your new favorite beat

“markie”

“hm?”

“i’m falling asleep” you confessed with a drowsy voice, making him laugh

“let’s turn off the movie, shall we? we can continue it tomorrow”

he shut the laptop closed and placed it on your desk, quickly making his way back to the bed so he would hold you

you had prepared him another bed next to you, a mattress already covered

but he was showing no intentions of moving a muscle

“are you going to sleep here?”

“that was the plan, yeah” he giggled on your neck. you shuddered

“i made the bed just in case”

“i can go there if you prefer”

“no” pause “i want you here”

and he smiled proudly as he hid his face in the crook of your neck

you smelled nice, like coconut and vainilla and all his sweetest dreams combined

and with his arms around your waist he felt strong, like he could defeat anything that the world aimed at him

“do you think it was meant to be that we’re here after all this years? would you consider it destiny?” he thought out loud, gazing at you

“i can’t give you an answer right now”

“fine, philosophy major” he mocked, making you both laugh

“as a philosophy major, i don’t know. destiny is always a tricky thing to discuss”

“but as y/n, yeah, i believe it was meant to be”

he stared at you in awe

“i really want to kiss you right now”