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rons-hermiones · 4 years ago

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Seven

It had been two days since she arrived at the Burrow for holiday.

Within that time Hermione has done her absolute best to avoid the entirety of the family. Well, specifically a certain gangly, freckled git.

Most hours she didn’t spend reading, the guilt was gnawing at her for being such an awful, unappreciative guest. She’d avoid meals when she could, but in the event she couldn’t evade Molly, Hermione would eat as quickly as she could before excusing herself.

Ginny, like her mother, was very perceptive and quickly caught onto what was happening. Oftentimes the girl would peel whatever book Hermione had been latching onto away from her hands and practically force her down the steps. And in the event Ginny successfully got Hermione to the living room, she’d just sit idly and watch the family interact, never interjecting herself.

Harry had stopped by from time to time, thankfully he never pried her from the bed, but surprisingly, he did make her talk. He knew, probably from Ron, of what Harry phrased as her ‘ridiculous’ plan to stay out of his way. When the conversation started turning to anything Ron, or even worse, Lavender related, she’d excuse herself and venture out into the garden.

And besides the three parties mentioned, no one really bothered her.

Fred and George did their best to get a laugh from her on the occasion she was downstairs. Mr.Weasley would greet Hermione warmly and ask if she’s heard from her parents.

She hasn’t. Not since the day after she arrived. They had sent a brief letter informing their daughter that they arrived in France, they loved her, and that they would write soon. Despite their silence, Hermione still wrote them everyday for any answers.

Bill, Charlie, and Fleur had just taken to small talk, but Hermione usually halted it, never allowing herself to get invested in conversation. Something she’d usually do.

And as for Ron, well, some nights Hermione swears she hears his loud, familiar steps shuffling outside the door as he whispers with Ginny. But, whenever the door opened, it was just Ginny and Ginny alone. These instances always disappointed Hermione for some silly reason.

Now, on the night before Christmas Eve, something she dreaded so much knowing she’d be unable to evade Mrs.Weasley’s insistence she join them, she sat in the garden.

Normally this is where she’d retreat if Ginny or Harry had taken to pestering her from the camp bed she was now seemingly glued to. Or often the contents of her prized book were too heavy, and the fresh air eased her. But tonight, she came out for a different reason. That reason being, the sight of her trunk had begun to make her sick.

Inside it held hope. Something she had lost months ago.

When her parents originally agreed to let her stay at the Weasley’s for Christmas (not under the pretense of a possibly dying Arthur), she was ecstatic. Immediately she began searching for the perfect gifts.

For Molly, she had found a lovely welcome mat with small embroidered stars around the thick lettering. It would look perfect on the front steps.

For Arthur, a Muggle alarm clock. It was both practical and for him, fascinating.

She had picked up a broom cleaning kit down in Diagon Alley. Harry was attached to his Firebolt, so Hermione figured he’d appreciate it. In addition, she had a picture printed of him and Sirius from last Christmas. The brunette just hoped she wasn’t over stepping with that one.

For Ginny she had gone with a few hair clips similar to the ones the ginger told her she liked over the summer. That and of course, a book on the best female quidditch players who ever lived.

Hermione had been perusing a Muggle shop before coming to the Burrow over the summer, and there were the perfect gifts for the twins. A Muggle joke book along with a bag of whoopee cushions. They were harmless, but would surely keep the pair thoroughly entertained.

Ron had informed Hermione early on about Charlie, Bill, and Fleur joining them for Christmas, so she was able to pick something up for them. For Charlie, she decided to go with something practical being this would be the first time they would meet. A few bottles of dittany (known to help burns and scratches from Dragons) along with a baby picture of Noberta, was what she had gone with. Bill and Fleur, being newly engaged, Hermione had gone with a joint gift. She had struck gold when she found a brilliant take on the Beauxbatons and Hogwarts shields combined. Something to remind them both of where they came from.

And as for Ron, well, now she was afraid her original gift may be too personal for where they stood right now. She had gotten the idea from a talk they had back in fourth year, when he was fighting with Harry...

“Where have you been?” Ron asked Hermione as she entered the common room. His tone wasn’t accusatory, just worried.

At this, she flushed red, “I was uh, talking to Harry.” At this he made a noise of disgust, “well I wouldn’t exactly call it talking.”

And for the briefest moment Ron paled, imagining the pair of them snogging.

“What do you mean?” He barely managed, fumbling over his words.

“Well,” she blushed again, “I mostly yelled and he well, he just stood there.” Hermione admitted sheepishly.

“Why’d you yell at Harry?” Not that he was opposed to the action.

And just like that she’s fired up again. Her hair crackles at the thought, “it’s completely unfair the way he’s treating you Ron! And I’m not going to let him get away with it.” She tutted.

He stared at her in amazement, “but you told me you didn’t think he put his name in.” He pointed out softly.

Hermione squirmed, “I don’t think he did, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat you the way he is. I suppose you tried to speak with him Ron and though I think he told you the truth, he didn’t have to be such an-” she paused, “he didn’t have to be so rude about it!”

“Bloody hell! You were about to swear.” The smile on his face only grew.

“No I wasn’t!” The brunette quickly defended, “anyway, he doesn’t understand it Ron. You’d think he would, you two are closer than I am to either of you.” Her voice dropped.

The smile he was wearing soon slipped, “that’s not true Hermione.” If only she knew...

At this, she remained silent, eyes trained on the fire.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Ron whispers after a moment.

Finally, her brown eyes meet his and she sighs, “Ron I know you better than you think I do.” If only he knew...

At this his face scrunched in confusion, imploring her to elaborate.

“You don’t particularly care if Harry actually put his own name in or not, you just care that he’s making you feel second best.” She whispered, worried he’d react in red hot anger.

Shocking them both, he merely gulped, “yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He admitted.

“Oh Ron,” she said sadly, “I don’t know how it feels, being an only child, but you have to know when I think of you, I think of you alone.” Hermione confesses bravely.

“What do you mean?” He dares to push her for more.

“I don’t think of how Bill may be a brilliant Curse Breaker, or how Charlie is bravely taming Dragons, I don’t think about how Percy was Head Boy and expect you to want that too. Even the twins, whenever you make me laugh, I don’t compare it to how much they make me laugh. Ginny too, she may be brilliant at Quidditch but that doesn’t make you any worse.”

He stares at her in shock, she takes this as confusion and goes on.

“What I mean is Ron, is that you’re you, Ronald Weasley, and I don’t want you to be anyone else. I don’t expect you to be like anyone else, alright? If I wanted to be best friends with any other Weasley I would, but I’m not, amI? Am I even making sense?” She rambles, desperate for him to speak.

Catching his breath, Ron nods and faces her, “I think I know what you’re trying to say Hermione.” A small smile finds its way across her face, “it’s just hard, when you’ve never had anything of your own, part of you feels like them. Does that sound mental?”

His mind flashes to all the robes, books, bed sheets, and toys he’s shared with his siblings.

In Bill’s old shoes, he feels like he has to be braver.

Whenever he’s reading one of Charlie’s old Charms books, he feels like he has to be daring.

In Percy’s robes, he has the sudden urge to make sure everyone’s doing what’s right.

When his Mum gave him a mixture of Fred and George’s old quilts, he felt like he had to make his dormitory laugh whenever he was nestled underneath them.

Even Ginny, his youngest sister, whenever he shared the family owl with her, Ron felt like his letter had to be an inch longer than hers.

“It doesn’t sound mental Ron.” She assures, and the look in her eyes conveys nothing but understanding, it warms his heart.

He huffs quietly, “Harry, I mean, he was my friend, and now, everyone’s gonna go around and want that too. And he’ll probably let them because what am I next to someone like Cedric Diggory?” He admitted.

“Hey,” her hand fell atop his knee making him look at her with wide eyes, “you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, I wouldn’t trade you for a dozen Cedric Diggory’s.” Hermione gave his knee a small squeeze.

And the action, the expression on her face, it all felt so sincere. So real.

Bravely, he grabbed her small hand from where it was resting on his leg and held it snugly.

“Thank you for yelling at Harry, it must’ve been wicked.” He teased with a light laugh.

A chuckle moved past her lips, “that’s not exactly the word the first years who watched would use.” She said blushing.

Ron beamed even more at this, imagining a feisty Hermione scaring away little first years as she took her anger out on the chosen one.

“Ron, I just wanted to let you know,” she’s looking away, suddenly feeling shy, “that if you’d have me you know, I’m yours. Just yours.” It’s nothing but a whisper, barely heard over the crackling fire.

The breath leaves his mouth so fast, it’s like a dementor’s kissing him. Quickly, he berates himself for allowing himself to think she means as anything more than friends. He’ll take it anyway. He thinks he’d take anything she has to offer.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah I’d definitely like that.”

A grin etches its way across her features as she twines their fingers together.

They sat like that the rest of the night. Not letting go even when Dean and Seamus eyed them from nearby.

It wasn’t a grand gesture or declaration of love, but it was the start to the possibility of something more. And as Hermione spent the remainder of her night holding his hand as they talked in hushed whispers, Ron realized she could’ve been anywhere else. But instead, she was here.

And for the first time in Ron Weasley’s life, he felt like the first choice.

When recalling that night on the common room couch, something always stands out in Hermione’s brilliant mind.

The fact that Ron said he’d never had anything that felt like his own. So with that in mind and the ever growing feelings the witch had blossomed for him, Hermione decided on something bold.

It wasn’t exactly an ‘I love you’, but it was personal to him, and if he had cared that much about her to read into it, well he might figure out how important to her he really is. The fact that she’s cataloged just about every interaction they’ve had in the past six years.

Wanting to convey as much without spelling it out, she had found a lovely oak whittled Wizarding Chess set. And in the box that held it, she had gotten ‘Property of Ron Weasley’ carved on the top.

She’d even preemptively written the card:

‘Something to call yours, Happy Christmas Ron.

Love, Hermione.’

She had signed plenty of letters to him with those four letters, but part of her hoped that the note coupled with the gift may wake something within him. The possibility he feels the same way.

However, she knows now that isn’t the case. It can’t be. Not when Lavender Brown will be waiting for him when they return to Hogwarts.

So here she is, out in the garden, the Weasley’s garden no less, her precious book thrown aside, contemplating on whether or not she should give the gift.

The selfish part of her says no. Hermione tells herself he doesn’t deserve anything from her after how he’s made her feel.

Her morals scream otherwise. They’re telling her she’s the one who expected anything more than friendship from him and that she’s stupid to get so upset because he didn’t feel the same.

Weighing her options, Hermione makes the quick choice to just give him the damn thing. One last act of friendship. A goodbye of sorts.

She closes her eyes in pain, she just wants him happy, even if it kills her. And if that means distancing herself from him, then so be it.

For the smartest witch of her age, she sure is oblivious to the fact that inside, only meters away, Ron is feeling the exact same way.

...

“You know I don’t like how she just sits out there. She’s so far away.” Ron comments boldly from his place on the couch.

“Ronnie, she’s not that far, you can see her from the window.” Fred says.

“I don’t think he exactly meant physical distance.” Bill commented over the book he was reading, making the room laugh, as Fleur elbowed him harshly.

He blushes, “shove off! The lot of you, I just mean that things aren’t exactly safe.” He points out.

Ginny scoffs from the couch, “please Ron, the wards here are almost as tight as the ones at Hogwarts.” She points out.

Bill speaks again, “yeah, Dumbledore himself helped put them up. He came by here with Mad Eye over the summer while we stayed at Grimmauld place.”

Ron sighed, “you still don’t know, I mean, look at Charlie. He just waltzed on up.” He defended. Harry seemed to agree, but said nothing.

“Well to be fair Ronnie, I know exactly where the Burrow is, I reckon You-Know-Who and his followers could care less about where a bunch of pure bloods live.” Charlie pointed out.

“Technically, we’re blood traitors.” Ron commented.

They ignored this, “anyway, there is an apparition line, why do you think I walked up from the pond? That’s where it ends.” He reminds.

“Still it’s rather close and look at Hermione, she’s not far off from the pond at the edge of the garden.” The youngest Weasley boy says peering out the window again, watching as the witch reads that same damned book soundly under a tree.

The twins began to laugh, “you sound almost as paranoid as Harry over there.” Fred teased causing the dark haired boy to give him a small shove, but a grin played on his lips no less.

“Ickle Ronniekins just wants his girlfriend inside so she’ll finally talk to him.” George reminded.

Ron opened his mouth, no doubt to say something nasty to his brothers, before Bill stopped him, “even if someone did apparate we’d hear it first Ron.”

“Yeah,” Ginny chimed in, “we heard Charlie the other night.”

“Exactly.” The eldest Weasley agreed.

“Ron if you are so worried you could always go out there too, no?” Fleur suggested with raised brows and a mischievous smile.

At this Bill proudly kissed her cheek as the room erupted in snickers as the blonde joined the fun.

“Yeah Ickle, listen to the last, why don’t you go sit with her? Unless...” he began knowingly.

“Unless what Fred?” George asked his twin.

“Unless little Hermione would rather be taken by death eaters than spend time with Ronniekins.”

“That’s not even something to joke about Fred!” Ron boomed angrily, suddenly feeling faint at the idea of the likes of someone like Malfoy’s dad anywhere near Hermione.

“Alright.” Charlie said standing, “Ron, don’t you have reading to do or something?” He asks his heaving brother who looks like he’s about to pounce on Fred.

Surely, this calms his breathing, “right, reading.” He says gruffly, quickly exiting the room.

“Honestly, he’s so sensitive.” George mutters to his brother.

The room is still tense. No one speaks for a few minutes, and it’s Ginny who breaks the silence. Her eyes are wide as a somewhat amused smile strikes her lips.

“Wait, did you just say Ron’s reading?”

#ron x hermione #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #ron weasley #hermione granger #sixth year #hp fanfic #hp #romione fanfic #romione

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cas-lost-grace · 6 years ago

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Dare

As demanded by @mythicalesbian , @dascean , @ailuromatron , @theladydetective , @anxious-gay-dinosaur , @casbeanie (I probably forgot someone)

A sequel of Truth or Dare, explicit, college!au, first time, friends to lovers

It must be Murphy’s law that when you drunkenly decide to do something you don’t have the courage for while sober, the moment you are about to actually do it, you instantly sober up.

Dean watches as Cas closes the door and sits on Dean’s bed and his head is suddenly painfully clear.

Dean leans his back against the door and runs his hands over his face.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate.

Castiel stands up and with a concerned expression on his face walks towards Dean.

"What’s wrong?" he asks tilting his head.

"Do you... do you really want to do it?"

"What? Finger you? Yes. I’d like to suck your cock too if that’s fine."

Dean closes his eyes and lets his head hit the door.

"How can you just... we- we’re-"

"Friends?"

Dean looks at him and nods, glad that he understands.

"Yes, we are, Dean. But I’m also very attracted to you. And it´s mutual judging by how determined you’ve been all night to get me undressed."

Dean’s lips part, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything.

Cas gives him a small sad smile and brushes his fingertips down Dean’s jaw.

"But you’re right, Dean. We shouldn’t do it. Not like this, not because of a dare. If I’m ever going to do anything sexual with you, it has to be because you actually want it." With that, he reaches around Dean for the door handle.

For a moment, Dean imagines he lets Cas go, then wakes up in the morning still wanting him but never ever finding the courage so they will stay very frustrated friends.

"Wait!"

Cas looks at him. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are still flushed and he’s wearing just his boxers. How the hell could Dean let him go?

"I want it," Dean basically spits the words out. Cas squints at him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah I’m sure just... could we like... maybe... kiss first? If that’s okay?"

Cas looks like he’s trying to hold back a grin, but his lips still curl into a smile.

"Of course, Dean. You didn’t expect me to throw you on the bed and just fuck you with my fingers, did you?"

"I-uh." Dean rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks feel on hot. Cas huffs out a laugh.

"Come here, you dumbass, let me kiss you."

Dean looks up and before he can realize that they are really about to do it, Cas is leaning in and pressing their lips together.

Technically it’s like any other first kiss. A little awkward and hesitant before they get in sync with each other.

But other than this, it’s totally different than any other kiss Dean’s ever had. Because it’s Cas. It’s Cas and his lips are very soft, his tongue pointy and downward sinful and his shoulders are firm under Dean’s hands and his hair is all fluffy and it’s Cas. Smart, kind, dorky Cas that Dean’s been fascinated by from the first moment he met him. And now they are kissing and it’s blowing Dean’s mind making him feel even drunker than he’s felt before.

"Still want it?" Cas asks, his lips bearly leaving Dean’s.

"More than ever," Dean answers truthfully.

Dean’s still nervous as they stumble onto the bed, but Cas’ kisses distract him enough that he doesn’t entirely freak out when he finds himself on his back, his pants and underwear being pulled off.

"Wow, nice," Cas breathes out when Dean’s cock bobs against his belly. Dean’s cheeks feel so like they might go up in flames any minute.

"Thanks, I guess," he mutters. Cas chuckles and leans down to mouth at the base of Dean’s cock.

"Oh fuck!" Dean cries out. His arms fly up to grab the headboard.

Cas lets out another deep chuckle and rescues Dean’s feet from his clothes. He runs his palms up Dean’s hairy thighs, his stare is so intense on Dean’s body it’s almost unbearable. Dean tries not to twitch as Cas’ touch gives him goosebumps.

Cas’ hands tighten on Dean’s hipbones and he actually licks his lips before diving down and swallowing Dean’s cock.

Dean gasps for breath. He’s had blowjobs before, quite a lot, but nobody has ever blown him like this, with such devotion, like Dean’s the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Dean makes a sound that’s halfway between a moan and a sob, desperately trying not to push deeper into Cas’ throat.

Cas pulls off with an obscene wet sound and looks at Dean. His lips are even pinker than normally and his blue irises are almost entirely swallowed up by black pupils. Dean clenches his teeth feeling like he might come from the sight alone.

"So," Cas says as he straightens and pushes lightly at Dean’s knees to make him bent them. "When you did it yourself, how many fingers did you take?"

Dean’s boiling blood all drained to his cock but now it’s in his cheeks again.

"Just one," he admits breathlessly. "And I’ve never been with a guy." He bites his lip the moments the words are out. He has no idea why he said it. Cas’ eyes widen in surprise and for a brief moment, Dean dreads that Cas might back off.

"Not at all?" Cas asks. Dean shakes his head.

"I... I know I’m into guys I just... never acted on it."

"Hmm," Cas’ deep voice rumbles as he looks down at Dean. "Then I’d better try really hard to not ruin it for you," he says and rubs his stubbled cheek against Dean’s knee.

Dean thinks he might be already ruined for anyone else, but he fortunately manages to keep these words for himself.

Cas pushes Dean’s knees further up. Dean has to steady his breathing when he basically feels Cas’ stare on his hole.

Cas runs the pad of his thumb over the puckered flesh making Dean shiver.

Cas hums again like he’s deep in thoughts. "You know what? I changed my mind."

Dean gapes at him, terrified. If Cas is going to leave now, he’ll die of embarrassment.

"I want to eat you out."

"What?"

Cas frowns. "Use my mouth, on your hole. I’m pretty sure you’ll like it."

"But... but what about you? Isn’t it like... disgusting?"

Cas huffs out a laugh. "Don’t worry about me. I’m gonna enjoy this just fine." With that, he puts his hands on Dean’s ass cheeks to pull them apart and leans down.

"Cas!" Dean cries when the hot wet tongue drags over his sensitive rim.

Cas hums-a sound that’s starting to drive Dean crazy and licks and sucks. Dean lets go of the headboard to grab onto Cas’ hair tugging slightly. He knows he’s moaning like his life depends on it but he’s unable to stop himself. The sensations are so new and intimate and exciting.

He’s actually a little relieved when Cas stops because he’s started to feel overwhelmed. He looks at Cas who’s looking just slightly less out of breath than Dean feels.

"Good?" Cas asks.

"I’m having a heart attack."

Cas grins at him. "Ready for more?"

Dean nods. It will be a great way to die.

"Lube?" Cas asks.

"The second drawer," Dean says gesturing towards the nightstand. He’s glad he doesn’t have to move.

Cas crawls over him to reach the drawer. When he’s about to pull away, Dean grabs his shoulder. It’s so thick it makes Dean angry.

Cas looks at Dean with surprise but he relaxes when Dean pulls him down for a kiss. The taste is strange, but it’s the idea of where that mouth has been that makes Dean shiver.

"Are you really okay?" Cas asks softly, his lips just a breath away from Deans. "We can stop here for now."

"Don’t you dare," Dean growls. Cas chuckles as he resumes his position between Dean’s legs.

He squeezes out some lube and rubs it between his palms to warm it.

"The angle is different so I’ll be able to push deeper than when you do it yourself."

Dean nods, his abandoned cock twitches at the idea.

"You need to let me know if something feels off. Okay?"

"I will. Just go on before I lose my nerve."

"Okay, try to relax," Cas suggests before brushing his wet fingertips over Dean’s hole. He pushes his index in, just to the first knuckle. Dean focuses on taking deep slow breaths. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself be overtaken by the sensation of Cas’ finger pushing deeper. It’s good, it’s familiar until it’s more than Dean’s used to. He moans and clenches his muscles which enhances the feeling of being filled and makes him moan even more.

"You okay?" Cas asks.

"I’m great."

Cas runs his free hand up Dean’s chest under his shirt and pinches his nipple making Dean hiss before he starts to move his finger inside Dean.

"Fuck yes," Dean sighs. He reaches for his cock, but Cas bats his hand away.

"No. Leave it up to me."

"Okay, okay, fine, oh god!" Dean cries out when Cas touches a spot inside him that makes his whole body clench with a shock of pleasure.

"Dean Winchester, let me introduce you to your prostate."

"Fuck!"

"Amazing, isn’t?"

Instead of a reply, Dean sobs into the back of his hand as Cas brushes over his prostate again and again.

"I’m going to add another finger," Cas informs and takes Dean’s incoherent sound as an affirmative.

Dean bites his lip and groans at the stretch and burn.

"Relax, babe, I’ve got you."

Dean opens his eyes. The utter focus with which Cas is looking at him is beautiful. His free hand is moving over Dean’s thigh in a soothing gesture. Dean wonders if anyone ever cared for his pleasure and comfort this much. He feels his body opening for Cas, letting him in and he’s rewarded by a feeling of fullness.

"God, Dean, you’re so beautiful," Cas says as he fucks Dean steadily. "I wish you could see yourself as I do right now. Loving my fingers up your ass. Your hole stretched around them, your cock leaking, your face... fuck Dean, it’s better than I imagined."

"You...you did?"

"Yeah. This and much more. You on your knees sucking my cock, you bend over the kitchen table, you in my lap."

Dean’s trembling, his body feels like a livewire, his climax is closing in.

"Cas, please," he moans.

Moving his hand faster, pushing it deeper and harder, Cas leans down and wraps his lips around Dean’s cock.

And Dean loses it. He thinks he might have shouted a somewhat coherent warning before his vision blacks out and he’s coming harder than ever. His body spasms so hard hi arches his back off the bad and kicks his legs out.

He opens his eyes, gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his breastbone.

Cas is grinning down at him. He has his boxers down to his knees and his hard cock in his hand.

It seems he didn’t pull back fast enough because there’s a speck of come on his chin.

Without thinking, Dean grabs the back of his head and pulls him down. Cas collapses on top of him with a huff and freezes a little when Dean licks his own jizz off his face.

Then they are kissing. Dirty and wet. Dean grabs Cas’ ass when he starts to rock his hips dragging his cock through the hot sticky mess on Dean’s stomach.

It feels so amazing Dean would come again if it was physically possible.

Cas moans Dean’s name when his orgasm hits and Dean holds him tight against his chest as Cas rides it.

They take a few long minutes to just bask in the afterglow. Then Cas pushes himself up and uses the kleenex on Dean’s nightstand to clean them up.

Cas suddenly seems very silent, the confidence with which he took Dean apart is gone. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed. Dean reaches for his arm.

"Are you gonna stay?"

Cas actually flinches at Dean’s words sending a pang of panic through Dean’s chest.

"I don’t think it’s a good idea," he says not looking Dean in the face.

It takes Dean a moment to find his breath. "Why?"

Cas finally turns to him. There’s a deep crease between his brows, his eyes sre sad. "Because there’s a good chance you’ll wake up in the morning and regret what we’ve done."

Dean mirrors his frown. "I don’t think so. And even if, we’re friends, we can figure it out."

Cas’ lips curl up but it lacks mirth. "Friends with benefits?"

"I don’t know. Maybe. If that’s what you want. Maybe something else."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"Like boyfriends maybe?"

A sharp feeling like a bolt of lightning runs down Dean’s spine. He realizes it’s equal parts anxiety and excitement.

"You’d want that?" his voice sounds weak to his own ears.

"It’s what I dreamed of the most."

Dean huffs out the breath that he was holding. He tugs at Cas’ arm and Cas lies down next to him.

"Truth or dare?" Dean asks.

Cas’ eyes darken. "Dare."

"Be my boyfriend."

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel ficlet #college!au #friends to lovers #first time #mine

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timeoutforthee · 6 years ago

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Like it or Not-Chapter 23

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay, @neonbluetiefling, @comicsimpson, @a-little-bit-of-ace

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: Remus, referenced fictional murder, referenced bingeing/purging, therapy session

Read it on AO3!

Roman had marched into class earlier, fully prepared to demand a new partner as soon as Remus started speaking. Now, he was staring at his rival with an open mouth. This is not how he was planning for this to go, at all.

“Run that by me,” Roman finally says, “One more time.”

“I want to write a play,” Remus says, drawing out his words obnoxiously slow, “About a man interviewing several monsters to find out which one killed him. Each monster will be a representation of a mental illness.”

“That…” Roman stares at him, still shocked, “....that’s okay?”

“Oh my God, has it happened?” Remus asks a fake audience, “Has Roman Prince gotten the stick out of his ass?”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Roman hurries to amend, “I mean, we’re dealing with representation and we don’t want to offend anyone, but it’s doable.”

“Nope!” Remus says, “It is still jammed up there.”

“Do you want us to do your idea or not?” Roman counters.

Remus laughs. “If I recall correctly, we don’t have a choice about that.”

“Anyway,” Roman says, glossing over that particular detail, “What are your ideas? Who is this man? Who are the monsters?”

“Oh!” Remus says, immediately lighting up, and pulling a sketchbook from his backpack, “I have sketches! Monsters with two faces for bipolar disorder, a monster covered in cuts-”

“See, that’s an example of what we’re not going to do,” Roman interrupts.

“Roman,” Remus says, huffing, “Don’t you want to explore something deeper than your usual fairytales?”

“Don’t you want to come up with something a bit more original?”

That catches Remus off guard, and his face falls, He looks down at his sketchbook.

“You’re the best costume designer the Theater department has,” Roman says. It kills him to admit, but even he knows it’s true, “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Remus says, sighing. “Now, this guy…” ^

“How’d your meeting go today, Roman?” Patton says, trying to sound like his normal, bubbly self. But there’s a rock in his stomach as the end of the school day is approaching, and group is quickly coming up.

“...well?” Roman says, unsure.

“It either went well or it didn’t, Roman, it isn’t a hard question,” Logan says.

“I know, I’m just...surprised,” Roman continues, “Remus actually had a good idea? And I’m...excited to elaborate on it?”

“What was it?” Virgil asks.

“A man is interviewing a group of monsters, all representative of mental illnesses, to see which one killed him.”

“That’s dark, I like it,” Virgil responds.

“Not surprised by that,” Roman says. “We’ll need to tread carefully, to make sure we don’t misrepresent anything or offend anyone, but it’s doable, right?”

“Right!” Patton says, even though he’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of monsters. Darkness wasn’t really his thing.

“Virgil and I need to start making some creative decisions as well,” Logan says, “We’ve started the creative writing chapter of the class.”

“Aren’t you guys excited?” Mrs. Spencer asks, “I always love hearing all the stories coming from my students every year!”

Virgil looks like he would have a lot to say if the teacher of the class wasn’t in the same room.

“Maybe Virgil will let us read some of his writing!” Patton says, still trying to keep his head up, “Since you want to be a novelist and everything?”

“Oh, Virgil, I didn’t know you were interested in writing!” Mrs. Spencer says.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Virgil says, brushing it off, “I’m not very good.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, but if it is, we can always work on it,” she says before shifting focus on to her lunch.

“How’d you guys’ goals go?” Roman asks.

“Satisfactory,” Logan says, “Dr. Sanders said he wants me to start tackling the emotional side of disorder soon, but for now I accomplished my goal of eating different foods.”

“I’ve talked to my aunt more,” Virgil says, “I told her what Picani and I’ve been talking about, but not much else. I guess it’s something.” He takes a bite of his lunch. “What about-”

“Patton!” Roman says, a bit louder than necessary, “How’d yours go, Patton?”

“Oh-uh-well,” Patton thinks back to last session. With everything going on, he has completely forgotten about his original goal, “Dr. Sanders and I kinda...forgot about that part?”

“How?” Roman says.

“We were discussing...other...things,” Patton says. Oh God, everyone is starting to look at him. “I-I’ll-” he sighs. “I have something to tell you guys. Later. In group.”

They stare a little longer before Logan finally says, quietly, “Okay.”

Just then, the bell rings.

As everyone starts packing up, Patton feels a rock in his stomach. He looks around at everyone and gives them a smile. He’s going to miss them when they go.

“Welcome back, guys!” Dr. Sanders greets them, walking in. “How is everyone? I think Dr. Picani said something about you guys setting some goals last week, how’d those go?”

“Uh, great!” Roman says, “But Patton said he had something to tell us before we get started.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t want to derail the session,” Patton says, desperately clinging to the hope that he can get out of it.

“Don’t be silly!” Dr. Sanders said, “This is your session, you guys control what we talk about.”

“Oh...goooood…,” Patton says.

“So what is it, Pat?” Virgil asks after they’ve been sitting in silence for a while.

“You know, maybe this was silly, I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of this, it’s not really that important-”

“If it was unimportant, it’d be much easier to say,” Logan says.

“Heh, you got me there,” Patton says. He tries to bring it up in his brain, to bring the words to his mouth, but it’s getting stuck and the room is falling silent again and everyone is looking at him and thinking about how disgusting he looks and-

“Patton,” Thomas says. Patton tears his eyes away from the floor and looks up at his therapist. “Take a deep breath.” Patton does, although it’s shaky. “One more.” This one is much more steady. “Now, opposite action. Exposing the action in front of others who won’t reject you. This is a safe space.”

“Yeah, Patton, whatever it is, we won’t be, like, mad at you,” Virgil says.

“So you say,” Patton snorts, even though there’s no humor in it. He immediately regrets it when Virgil pulls back a bit, surprised and hurt. “I didn’t mean that,” he automatically says. “I just…” he takes a deep breath. “Guys, I haven’t been honest. I’ve been lying about getting better. I never stopped purging.”

The room falls silent, and a few tears escape from Patton’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” Virgil asks, quietly.

“I mean every night, I sneak down to my kitchen, I binge, then I purge. I can’t stop. I didn’t try to stop.”

“Did you think we would be mad at you for that?” Virgil asks.

“You should be mad at me for that, I’m a liar,” Patton says, “You’ve all worked so hard and come so far, and I was just...sitting here.”

“Yes,” Logan speaks up, “Sitting here in group therapy. Sitting there in individual therapy. You’re trying just as hard as we are, Patton.”

“But I can’t stop purging, that is the one thing I have to do!”

“That’s like saying the one thing I have to do is eat,” Virgil says.

“Or stop exercising,” Roman adds on.

“And we haven’t been able to do that, not quickly, not easily,” Logan says, “Of course we don’t expect you to stop just like that.”

“Generally speaking, you guys haven’t been working on this that long, and you’ve covered a lot of ground already,” Thomas says, “And your purging or bingeing is a maladaptive coping mechanism you use to deal with your emotions. You can’t just stop these behaviors, you must learn to better cope with the emotions, or else you’ll just replace them with other maladaptive coping mechanisms, such as self harm.”

Virgil’s face pales at that, but no one notices.

“You also have to stop looking at it like absolutes. ‘I haven’t stopped purging yet, so I never will.’ That’s not fair to you or the therapeutic process. You don’t have all the skills required to get to the point where you can cope.”

“I shouldn’t even need these skills,” Patton says, “I don’t…”

They all wait patiently for him to continue, and Dr. Sanders prompts him. “Patton?”

“I don’t have anything to be upset about,” Patton says. “So I don’t know why I have all these negative coping skills.”

“People don’t need a reason to be upset, necessarily,” Logan says.

“Well, yeah, if you have depression or something, but I don’t,” Patton doesn’t notice Thomas write something down in his notebook, “I just have a loving family and a good life and no reason to complain and I’m just being ungrateful.”

“What do you think qualifies a “good life,” Patton?”

“I don’t know, friends, family, love, something!”

“So you have a lot of friends?”

Patton’s stomach drops at the reminder of what school was like last year. “Well, I have friends now.”

“And didn’t you say one of your moms died?”

Patton feels like ice water has been poured over him. “I-I don’t want to talk about that.”

“That’s fine, we don’t have to,” Thomas rushes to say, “I’m just saying, if you look at things objectively, you have a few things to be upset about. That’s fair, and you don’t need to deny those feelings.”

“O-okay.”

“Plus, you seem to talk to yourself in a very negative way, but that’s something we need to explore next time,” Dr. Sanders says, looking at his watch. “Until next time, guys.”

The four boys stand up and make their way out of the room.

“Patton, I am...proud of you,” Logan tells him. Patton has been keeping his eyes on the ground, but now he looks up and over at his friend.

“What? Why?”

“For the same reason you were proud of me for eating a grape. Because you made a step in your recovery, and you should be proud.”

“Yeah, Patton, you should be proud,” Roman adds. Virgil nods.

They reach the front of the building and Roman and Logan break off, waving goodbye. Patton and Virgil wave back.

“Oh! I see my mom!” Patton says, spotting her car.

“Wait, Pat.”

“Yeah?”

Virgil hesitates only a second, before he grabs Patton and wraps his arms around him. Patton is caught off guard but quickly hugs him back. They stand there for a moment, before they both pull away.

“Thanks, Virge.”

“Anytime,” Virgil says, watching him walk away. When he sees all his friends get into their cars, he sighs and makes his way to his aunt’s car.

He sighs, thinking about how his friends are starting to open up to each other. How much it seems to help. Maybe...maybe it’s time he considered telling them why he moved to town.

#like it or not #sanders sides fic #patton sanders

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sad-trash-writing · 7 years ago

Text

You Want Me To Annoy Your Family Again?!

Part 2 of the Want to Annoy Your Family This Thanksgiving? Call Skye! AU

Part 1: Here

Back by popular demand (and only 2 years late) is this lovely Thanksgiving AU! So many people requested a Christmas follow-up that I had to do some kind of sequel to the first one, but I could not make a Christmas one work, so here this is! Hopefully, you all enjoy it as much as the original!

Jemma prodded the the chicken she was cooking up on the stove absentmindedly. She stared in the direction of the clock on the microwave without really seeing the numbers. She just knew it was about five minutes until Skye was supposed to be home from work. She hadn’t settled on how she was going to broach the subject to her.

Skye had been dodging family holidays with Jemma for a full year now. After that (intentionally) disastrous Thanksgiving, Jemma’s parents invited Skye and Jemma to nearly every event, mostly at the request of Jemma’s grandmother (who had also coerced Jemma into setting up an internet router at her house because she wanted to 'read up on the lesbians.' Jemma rolled her eyes at nearly everything Helen said, but at least she was trying to understand).

Despite her family’s effort at hospitality, Skye found a way to dodge every invite. She frequently used work as an excuse. Skye being a freelancer meant she did have an unpredictable schedule most days, so Jemma couldn’t call her out for it. If that didn’t work, she claimed she was deathly ill or found a dog on the way home from the grocery store and had to return it home, which would somehow take seven hours.

Inevitably, Jemma ended up going to family events alone, when she couldn't weasel out of them herself, and it always led to the same conversation.

“Where’s Skye today?” Evelyn would ask with forced politeness.

“She’s insert this week’s excuse here,” Jemma would mutter.

Henry would grunt something along the lines of 'good' or 'don’t need that rabble ruining X holiday.'

“Henry!” Evelyn would scold, sounding scandalized, but secretly agreeing.

Lance would mutter some agreement, since he was still bitter that Bobbi brought Skye up rather frequently.

“I just read a story from the internet on the Stonewall Riot. Have you heard of that, Jemma?” Helen would pipe up.

Shortly after everyone would roll their eyes, down their wine, and move into the living room to sit in front of the TV in silence while Helen tried to teach them about gay rights.

Jemma sighed and jabbed the chicken again. There was probably too many greens in this recipe for Skye’s liking, but she knew she would grin and bear it. Finally, the door swung open and Skye clattered her way inside. Jemma heard Skye sigh heavily, kick off her shoes, and toss her bag on the sofa. Normally, Jemma would remind her to put it away, but she figured she could let it slide this time.

“Jemma?”

“In the kitchen,” she replied.

The shuffle of Skye’s feet on the tile floor of their apartment announced Skye’s presence before the lips on Jemma’s cheek did.

“I thought it was my night to cook dinner,” Skye muttered as she wrapped her arms around Jemma’s waist.

Jemma smiled. “It was, but I got off early and thought I’d make something a bit special.”

Skye’s attention turned to the simmering pan in front of Jemma. “Looks…great.”

“You won’t even be able to taste the brussel sprouts,” Jemma responded with an eye roll.

Skye groaned and buried her face in the back of Jemma’s shoulder. “You’re killing me, woman.”

Jemma sighed and bit back the 'I’m actually extending your life' argument that usually followed and just enjoyed Skye’s closeness for a moment. She knew Skye would not be very happy after this conversation.

Jemma clicked off the heat and moved the pan to one of the cool burners to set for a few minutes and spun in Skye’s arms to face her.

“You know what I was thinking?” Jemma began.

“Hm?”

“Are you busy this Thursday night?”

Skye scrunched up her face and thought for a second. “No, I think the office is actually closed that day, for some reason.”

Jemma mentally breathed out a sigh of relief. It was a pretty safe gamble that Skye wouldn’t keep track of the date, but it was still a gamble.

“Great,” Jemma replied with a wide, forced smile. “I was thinking we should have a nice, big, fancy dinner that night.”

“Oh?”

Jemma nodded and snaked her arms around Skye’s neck to gently pull her closer. “Yes, we can cook up a big main course, lots of sides and desserts. Then, once we’ve stuffed ourselves, we can just sit and drink a bunch of wine and relax.”

Skye was close enough that their lips were nearly brushing and Jemma had lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. Skye at least had the forethought to shift Jemma a few inches to the right of the hot burner before pressing her up against the counter.

“Sounds fantastic,” Skye muttered. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Great, because my family’s coming over for Thanksgiving,” Jemma blurted.

“What?!”

Skye’s hands on her waist stiffened and the heated look in her eyes was instantly replaced by abject horror.

“It’s been a full year since you’ve seen my family and they’ve been asking about you at every event,” Jemma said.

“Yeah, because they want to know if you’ve broken up with me yet,” Skye retorted. She disentangled herself from Jemma and leaned on the opposite counter, taking deep calming breaths.

“That’s…probably true, but the longer you keep skipping out on holidays, the weirder it’s going to look,” Jemma said.

“Yeah, but I…I can’t—I don’t wa—I mean, the last holiday that I went to wasn’t exactly a Hallmark movie waiting to happen.”

“Yes, well I didn’t originally bring you to make it a Hallmark movie,” Jemma replied. She crossed the kitchen and took Skye’s face in her hands.

“Why did I originally call you?” Jemma prompted.

“To annoy your family,” Skye replied sullenly.

“Yes, which you excelled at and—”

“But, I don’t want to always annoy your family,” Skye cut in.

Jemma paused and waited for Skye to elaborate. Skye took Jemma’s hands off her face and held them in her own.

“I was fine being obnoxious to your family, because I wasn’t planning on sticking around. I didn’t know you and I didn’t know them and the odds that I was ever going to see any of you again after that night were slim,” Skye explained. “But then, I actually met you. And you were really cute and for some reason actually liked me, even when I was purposely destroying a family dinner and, now…”

Skye trailed off and took a deep breath. Jemma noticed there were the beginnings of tears in Skye’s eyes.

“I just want to show them that I’m a person who deserves you and isn’t just a screw up.”

Jemma pulled her in for a tight hug. “You’ve never been a screw up, Skye. You’ve always been a survivor. I have some bad news for you, though: You’re never not going to annoy my family.”

“Thanks for the pep talk. I feel much better now,” Skye grumbled into Jemma’s shoulder.

Jemma chuckled. “No one is ever going to be good enough in my parent’s eyes.”

“What about Bobbi? They love her,” Skye countered.

“Bobbi’s a master manipulator. She can make anyone like her,” Jemma replied. “She also with Lance and is better than anything they could have hoped for with him. For me, they won’t be happy unless I bring home a neurosurgeon who graduated from Harvard and comes from old money. And even, then, only if they’re a man.”

“Which I’m sure you could find,” Skye retorted.

“Possibly. But I don’t want that and I didn’t call one of them last year to impress my family. I called you.”

“Weirdo,” Skye teased.

Jemma shrugged. “You never had to impress my family. You impressed me. And I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side to annoy my family. But I do want you by my side.”

Skye pulled back to look at her, as if trying to find some way to get out of it. When she found only resolve in Jemma’s face, she sighed heavily.

“Fine. I’ll go to Thanksgiving.”

Jemma smiled and kissed her firmly on the lips. “Thank you. Now, let’s eat.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Skye muttered so quietly Jemma barely heard. They had been together for a full year and Jemma had never once heard Skye say those words out loud. She turned to respond, but Skye had already shuffled off to the bedroom.

Jemma let it slide and distributed dinner onto two plates while finishing up her mental preparations for later this week.

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

“Skye, are you sure you don’t—”

“I said I got this!” Skye shouted irritably up the stairs. Of all days for the elevator to break in their apartment building.

Jemma trudged up the last few stairs with her bags and down the hall to unlock the door.

Skye stomped slowly up the stairs a few paces behind, arms laden with groceries. Each arm had several bulging bags filled with their Thanksgiving fixings slung over them and balanced between them was a massive turkey. Skye was wheezing as she mounted the last steps, but Jemma wasn’t going to make the mistake of offering to help again.

Skye waddled through the door that Jemma held open for her and unceremoniously dumped everything on the counter. Jemma shuffled around her and started lining things up on the counter.

“So did you volunteer to host Thanksgiving?” Skye asked grumpily, half-laying on the pile of groceries. “Because this seems like an insane amount of work to do voluntarily.”

“I volunteered. It was supposed to be Bobbi and Hunter’s year but they asked if I could take over since they just eloped to Las Vegas and didn't think they would have time to prepare,” Jemma replied.

“Huh.” Skye looked impressed. “I can see Hunter doing that, but Bobbi doesn't seem the type to elope.”

“You'd be surprised,” Jemma muttered. “Anyway, ready to start cooking?” Skye looked at her like she had grown a second head. “I’m ready to go back to sleep, if that’s what you meant. It’s barely seven in the morning.”

“Not an option! We need to get the turkey cleaned, seasoned, and in the oven within the next—” Jemma checked the clock, “—twenty-three minutes if it’s going to be anywhere near done when everyone arrives. Not to mention we have to squeeze in the sweet potatoes, the stuffing, the pecan pie—”

Skye’s loud groan cut her off. “Fine, let’s get to it. I’ll start mashing the potatoes.”

The three days between Jemma breaking the news to Skye and the morning of Thanksgiving passed way too quickly. Skye was a constant ball of nerves, pacing and fretting over every detail out loud.

Jemma was more quietly panicking. This was the first year she had hosted Thanksgiving and she had no idea what she was doing. She read thousands of cooking tips online, organized their apartment and rearranged the dining area at least a dozen times, and spent that last 48 hours assuring her mother that yes, everything was going to be fine and no, she didn’t need any help.

Skye quietly mashed the potatoes in the corner of the kitchen with a bit more force than Jemma thought was strictly necessary, while Jemma got to work on the turkey and gradually crossed off each task according to Jemma’s strict schedule that she had mapped out.

Eventually, they fell into a rhythm like they always did when they cooked together. They moved around the small kitchen with ease, deftly sliding past each other with mixing bowls or trays held over their heads to not jostle the other’s work. Full sentences didn’t needed to be spoken to pass knives and spices back and forth.

Once everything was in the oven that needed to be, Jemma grabbed dirty dishes to throw in the sink. She turned back toward the sink with a pile of dishes in her arms to find Skye planted in front of her holding two pies.

“Pies are done,” she announced proudly. One was pecan and the other pumpkin and, though they wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests anytime soon, they looked edible and that’s what mattered. “Why do we need two pies, though? Aren’t there like six of us?”

“Eleven, actually. The kids can't eat pecan and the adult can’t stand pumpkin.” Jemma sidled around Skye and dumped everything in the sink and started running the water.

“That’s fa—wait, kids?” Skye squeaked.

“Yes, my cousin is bringing her triplets. I told you this.”

“Triplets?!”

“Yes, they just turned five.”

“Five?!”

Jemma turned toward Skye. “Why are you panicking? You’re great with kids.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Skye, it will be fine. They’re only children,” Jemma consoled. “And they’re going to be here in an hour, so you may want to start getting ready.”

“Shit,” Skye hissed. She set the pies down and darted into the bedroom.

Jemma finished drying the dishes and tidied up the dining room again. Everything was set out already, from the wine glasses and utensils to the few matching plates that they had. A smaller table was set up just beside the main dining table that the triplets would sit at, since there was barely enough room at the table for all the adults. Jemma smoothed out the tablecloth one last time and she decided to go get changed as well.

Skye was in the bathroom, very gingerly putting on makeup and cursing to herself. Jemma let her be and rummaged through her closet to find the outfit she had picked out.

“Damnit. Jemma, is my eyeliner too thick?” Skye asked.

“Given that the last time you saw them, you had used up an entire eyeliner pencil, I wouldn’t….what on earth are you wearing?”

Skye stood in front of her wearing a button up shirt and a cardigan that she had definitely stolen from Jemma’s closet and her hair was done up in a loose bun. Her makeup was extremely conservative, but she had just enough on to look like she made an effort.

Skye looked herself up and down. “Does it look bad?”

“No! No, it just doesn't look…like you.”

“Well, 'me' is black leather jackets and torn jeans, and we already tried that one,” Skye replied with a shrug.

“Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Skye fidgeted with the end of her cardigan while Jemma located the shirt she was going to wear. Jemma tugged off her gravy stained T-shirt and tossed it into hamper across the room. Then she noticed Skye’s eyes fixed on her.

“What?”

Skye sidled up to her. “You know, we have some time to kill. Maybe we could do something to take the edge off a bit.”

“Anything to make you unwind,” Jemma responded. She slipped an arm around Skye’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

In the millisecond before their lips met, the doorbell rang and they both froze.

“Shit.”

“I’m not ready,” Jemma said

“But—”

“You have to go let them in. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“But—”

“Go!”

Jemma shoved Skye towards the door and scrambled to pull on her clothes. Skye shot her one last look that read more like 'I’m marching to the guillotine' than 'I’m answering the door.'

Jemma tugged off her dirty jeans and fished around for her nice dress pants while listening to who was at the door. Once she was dressed, she ran a brush through her hair and then hovered at the closed bedroom door a minute.

It was her cousin, Stacy, at the door with her kids. Jemma could hear Skye introducing herself with a tone that sounded, to Jemma, very forced. It seemed to mirror Stacy’s tone perfectly though, so Skye was doing well so far. Stacy introduced herself in return and the triplets, Sara, Terra, and Bradley, and they mumbled their quiet hello’s.

“Would you like some wine?” Skye asked Stacy.

“Yes, please. Do you have any Chardonnay?”

“Of course. How about you guys, do you want some wine?”

“…They’re children,” Stacy deadpanned.

“R-Right, duh. Of course. Would you kids like some….uh….non-alcoholic wine?” Skye stammered.

Well, that didn’t last long. Time to go save her.

Jemma bolted out of the bedroom into the kitchen. “The word you’re looking for is 'grape juice,' Skye.”

Jemma shifted some things around in the fridge and dug out a large bottle of grape juice, which she passed to Stacy who was digging plastic cups with lids out of her bag.

“So good to see you, Stacy. I see you’ve met my girlfriend, Skye,” Jemma greeted.

“I’ve heard so much about her. It’s nice to put a face with the stories,” Stacy replied.

“Great,” Skye muttered, once Stacy turned her attention to her kids.

The ding of the oven timer saved them from any more awkward small talk.

“Oh! Turkey’s done. Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable while we finish up dinner,” Jemma said.

As soon as Stacy left the kitchen, Skye groaned and flopped against the counter.

“You’re doing fine, Skye. Relax,” Jemma soothed.

“I offered her children wine,” Skye hissed.

“Honest mistake. But I believe you also offered Stacy wine and never opened the bottle.” Jemma handed Skye the bottle of Chardonnay.

Skye's eyes went wide. “Don’t make me go out there alone again.”

“Would you rather baste the turkey?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means deliver a glass of wine and come right back,” Jemma whispered.

Skye grumbled the whole time she was uncorking the wine and took out two wine glasses. One she filled up to the brim and took a long drink of before she filled the other a normal amount and took it into the living room.

While she was gone, the doorbell rang.

“Shit,” Jemma muttered. Daisy was going to have a heart attack. Jemma made sure nothing was going to overcook and called, “I’ve got it” into the living room.

She swung open the front door to find Lance and Bobbi and ushered them inside.

She led them into the living room where Stacy seemed to be regaling Skye with a graphic account of the triplets’ birth and Skye was looking rather pale.

“Stacy just got here and you both remember Skye,” Jemma said loudly.

Bobbi smiled brightly. “Skye, good to see you again.”

“What a pleasant surprise,” Lance grumbled stepping a bit closer to Bobbi.

“Skye, can you help me with the—”

A knock at the door interrupted Jemma’s attempt to extract Skye. Jemma stared at her, trying to gage whether Skye would prefer to stay hear the rest of the birthing story or answer the door. Skye looked too shell-shocked to decide, so Jemma just headed for the door.

Her parents gave her a quick hug each when Jemma opened the door. Jemma noticed a bulging bag on her mother’s shoulder.

“What is all that?”Jemma asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Evelyn waved her off. “Just a few little things in case you needed some back ups—”

“Your mother cooked a whole Thanksgiving dinner in case you messed something up,” Henry deadpanned.

“Mother!”

“Henry!”

Henry just shrugged.

“Mother, I have two doctorate degrees. I think I’m capable of not messing up a turkey,” Jemma snapped.

At that exact moment, the smoke detector in the kitchen went off. Jemma darted into the kitchen and pulled the turkey out of the oven. It only got a little bit extra browned on the top, no major harm done. Jemma would have never heard the end of it. She already needed a drink.

Jemma pulled everything else that was out of the oven and set it on the stove. She poured herself a glass of wine and brought the rest of Skye’s out to her in the living room. Thankfully, the conversation had switched to something less gruesome, but Skye still looked extremely relieved when Jemma sidled up next to her with a glass of wine.

The conversation stayed miraculously away from Jemma or Skye for a while as everyone got reacquainted. Jemma tried to hold Skye’s hand at one point to give it a reassuring squeeze, but Skye slyly shifted her grip on her wine glass. Jemma frowned a bit, before she noticed that Skye was standing quite a bit further away than she usually did. And that she was strategically avoiding any kind of display of affection, when usually she was extremely handsy.

Jemma was only vaguely paying attention to Stacy telling everyone about the triplets’ expensive school, when she heard Skye’s name.

“Skye, where did you go to pre-kindergarten?” Evelyn asked.

Skye tensed. “I…um. I didn't?”

Evelyn looked only mildly surprised. “Oh.”

“I had an...unconventional childhood,” Skye admitted.

“Oh,” Evelyn said again. “I understand. Jemma took two years off in middle school to work on her first biology degree at Oxford.”

“Yeah, mine wasn't quite like that. I just went to the public school near St. Agnes’ from first grade to high school,” Skye responded.

“Oh, my hairdresser’s daughter went there and I think she's about your age. What year did you graduate?” Evelyn asked.

Great, Jemma thought. Leave it to her mother to bring up all the sensitive subjects off the bat.

Skye fidgeted under everyone's intense gaze. “I...I didn't.”

Evelyn, Stacy, and Henry looked visibly affronted.

“Well, when you're about to age out of the foster system and your only possession is an broken-down van, you have slightly different priorities,” Skye said bitterly. She instantly seemed to regret her tone. “Does anybody else need more wine? I need more wine.”

Everyone was silent as Skye stalked out of the living room. Luckily, they only had to sit in awkward silence for a few seconds until the doorbell rang.

“I got it!” Daisy called, grumpily, from the kitchen.

“Must be your grandmother,” Evelyn muttered.

Sure enough, Helen’s voice filtered through the apartment following the creak of the front door.

“There she is! My second favorite lesbian!”

Oh my god. Jemma fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and had another sip of wine instead.

“Um. Hi, Helen,” Skye muttered sheepishly. Skye and Helen appeared in the living room moments later and two of the triplets ran up and gave her a hug. Terra held back and tugged on her mother’s shirt. “Mama, what’s a lesbian?” she asked loudly.

Every adult in the room froze.

“Um...it’s where...I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Stacy replied.

“Why can’t she know now? It’s not inappropriate,” Helen defended. “It’s when girls like other girls, honey. Like your cousin Jemma and her girlfriend.”

“Cool! Can I be a lesbian?” Sara asked.

“No,” Stacy deadpanned.

“I wanna be a lesbian, too!” Bradley announced.

“That’s not how—”

“Now that everyone’s here, shall we start dinner?” Jemma asked loudly.

Everyone quickly agreed and shuffled into the kitchen. Jemma grabbed Skye and started handing her serving dishes to put out on the table. Once everything was set up, she quickly lit the candles in the centerpiece and directed everyone to sit and start serving themselves. Helen and Bobbi both wanted to sit by Skye and Hunter insisted on sitting on the Bobbi’s other side, so Jemma ended up squished in between her father and Stacy on the opposite side of the round table as Skye, who just stared at her with a panicked look.

The family spent some time complimenting all the food and then conversed about their various jobs. When Stacy started describing the most gory infections she had seen working as a nurse, Evelyn hurriedly shifted the conversation onto Skye, who had been trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Skye, what do you do for a living?”

“I, um. I’m a freelancer for an IT and cyber-security company,” she replied.

“That’s really interesting,” Bobbi piped up. “How did you get into that?”

Jemma noticed Lance’s face shift into a glare when Bobbi’s attention turned towards Skye.

“I’ve just always been interested in computer languages and how security programs work,” Skye said. “Then, earlier this year, I got into tro-- got into contact with some of the higher-ups at SHIELD and they offered me a job.”

Henry made a noise of recognition. “We’ve had some people from SHIELD come work on our systems at the office. Good thing, too, because this past year has not been a great time to be in politics. We’ve had Anonymous and The Rising Tide and all those other rabble knocking around our servers all year, trying to find dirt on everyone in the building. Oh, but I forgot. You’re an anarchist, they’re probably some of your friends,” Henry finished, gruffly.

Skye gulped. Jemma knew for a fact that Skye did know people in the Rising Tide.

“I’m, uh. Well, I do think that there’s a lot that could be changed about our political system,” Skye said, delicately. Jemma tried to stifle a laugh. If she didn’t think about how hard Skye was trying to not make any waves, this was almost as amusing as last year.

Henry huffed. “Kids your age just don’t understand how hard the government works--”

“Henry, no one’s saying you don’t work hard,” Evelyn countered, in attempt to keep the peace.

“No! No, I definitely wasn’t saying that,” Skye agreed.

Henry grumbled something under his breath, but let the subject drop. Luckily, Lance and Bobbi picked up the slack in the conversation.

Jemma didn’t hear what they were talking about. She was just trying to get Skye’s attention. When Skye finally looked up from poking the remaining food on her plate, her eyes were wide. Jemma mimed taking deep breaths to her, hoping she would mirror, and gave her a reassuring thumbs-up.

Skye took a deep breath and smiled in return, looking slightly more calm. A tiny, blonde head popped up between Jemma and Stacy.

“Mama, can we have dessert now?” Sara asked.

“Did you all eat your green beans?”

“Yes,” three voices chanted in unison.

“Okay then, ask Jemma and Skye,” Stacy replied.

A different tiny head popped up next to Skye and she jumped so violently she nearly knocked over her wine glass.

“Miss Skye, can we have dessert please?” Terra asked.

Skye caught her breath before responding. “Yeah, of course. Let me go grab it. Is everybody done?”

The adults assured her that they were and Skye started gathering up plates and utensils. Jemma was impressed. Most of the time when they had guests (usually just their friends), Skye was more the ‘you have legs, don’t you?’ style of hostess.

Jemma stood and helped clear the rest of the plates and followed Skye to the kitchen.

“It’s going well, I promise,” she whispered into Skye’s ear when they were away from the family.

“Why do I still feel like I’m screwing up then?”

Jemma shrugged. “My parents have that effect on people.”

They dumped the dishes in the sink for now and each got to work cutting up a pie. Skye distributed the pumpkin onto three small, plastic plates and then delivered them to the kids, and then circled back to help Jemma bring out the pecan to everyone else.

“This pie tastes funny,” Bradley commented.

Stacy looked aghast. “Don’t be rude.”

Skye just chuckled. “Sorry, kids. It was my first time making a pumpkin pie.”

“That’s okay. I can’t make pie either,” Bradley said.

“That’s...reassuring,” Skye muttered.

The conversation was muted while everyone enjoyed their dessert. Until one of the triplets started wheezing.

“Skye, is there anything with peanuts in the pie?” Jemma asked, slight panic rising in her voice.

“A little bit of peanut butter, why?” Skye replied.

Stacy darted from the table and grabbed her purse. Jemma’s eyes went wide.

“Sara’s allergic to nuts!” Jemma hissed.

Skye’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t. You just said that they wouldn’t eat pecan pie.”

“I said they couldn’t eat pecan pie.”

“That doesn’t translate to ‘deathly allergic to it!’”

“Why did you put peanut butter in a pumpkin pie anyway?”

“We didn’t have enough pumpkin! I thought it was fine to fill it out!” Skye shouted.

Stacy finally returned with an Epipen and jabbed it into Sara’s thigh. In a few moments, her wheezing slowed and her breath returned to normal while Stacy rubbed her back reassuringly.

“Alright, she’s in the clear for now. I’m going to take her to the hospital to be safe,” Stacy announced, scooping Sara up into her arms. “Can you all keep an eye on Terra and Brad until we get back?”

“Of course,” Evelyn replied.

“I. Am so. Sorry,” Skye said to Stacy.

“It’s okay,” Sara chirped brightly, her voice a little raspy.

“It’s fine. Honest mistake,” Stacy replied distantly, grabbing her coat. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

And then she was gone and the apartment was silent. Jemma darted into the kitchen to open another bottle of wine. Skye was definitely going to need it.

When she returned, everyone was muttering vaguely about how they hoped Sara was going to be okay and Skye’s eyes were fixed firmly on her untouched pie. Jemma slid a generous glass of wine in front of Skye before taking her seat again.

“That was nothing,” Bradley announced. “One time, Sara had peanut M&M’s at school and said she saw Jesus.”

“Bradley! Don’t be dramatic,” Evelyn scolded lightly.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Skye,” Bobbi consoled. “Even after I was with Lance for a year, I forgot he was allergic to shellfish and made him take me out to a seafood restaurant for our anniversary.” Bobbi chuckled.

“Hey, that was not funny,” Lance replied, but with a good-natured smile. “My face swelled up so badly I couldn’t drive us home and I had to let you drive my bike.”

“Hm, that was a sweet motorcycle,” Bobbi replied. “I should have poisoned you with crab legs earlier and stolen it.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Evelyn said after the laughter at Lance’s expense died down. “We never did hear how you and Jemma met, Skye.”

Skye blanched and Jemma could feel the color drain from her face as well. They still never worked out their story. At least not one that Jemma’s parents would approve of.

“Oh, well. It’s, um, it’s really not an interesting story,” Skye muttered. Before anyone could press, she turned to Bobbi and Lance. “How was your Vegas trip?”

Uh oh. Now it was Bobbi and Lance’s turn to go white.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Vegas?” she asked. Her voice didn’t change tone much, but it suddenly had a dangerous edge to it. “I thought you went to Denver last weekend.”

Lance and Bobbi both sputtered and looked at each other as they tried desperately to get their stories straight. Skye panickedly looked Jemma. She didn’t realize she should have told Skye that the elopement wasn’t common knowledge yet.

“Did you go get married by one of those tacky Elvis impersonators?” Evelyn accused.

It was dead silent for a moment. No one dared to breath. Terra whispered to Bradley, “What’s Elvis?”

“....it was actually Darth Vader,” Bobbi whispered.

It was like that sentence set off an explosion. Evelyn was yelling about how her only child that’s going to be able to get married eloped to Las Vegas, despite all her Pinterest planning. Helen was yelling that, actually Jemma and Skye can get married now; the Supreme Court said so. Lance was yelling that he was a goddamn adult and could decide how and when he was going to get married. Henry was yelling that Lance shouldn’t speak to his mother that way.

And Jemma and Skye just sat there. Jemma slumped down in her chair and sighed. Skye’s eyes darted between everyone screaming over each other, like she was trying to figure out how to make this better.

Skye eventually jolted to her feet to try to restore some order, but ended up bumping the edge of the centerpiece and knocking over one of the candles. The thin, stick candle bounced once on the table, before igniting the linen tablecloth like it was a dead leaf.

On the upside, it definitely worked as a distraction. All the yelling turned from anger at Bobbi and Lance to oh my god, the table’s on fire.

“Shit!” Skye cursed loudly, forgetting about the small children in the room. She grabbed the nearest glass of wine and dumped it onto the fire.

Luckily, it put out the small blaze. Unluckily, it doused both Jemma and Evelyn in red wine.

Skye gingerly set the empty glass back on the table. “I’ll go get some towels.”

Jemma dabbed her shirt off with her napkin and followed Skye into the kitchen.

Skye was pacing when Jemma found her, mumbling ‘oh my god’ to herself over and over.

“Skye, you need to relax. It’s not that bad,” Jemma tried.

“I nearly killed your cousin’s kid and set everyone on fire. I’d say that’s pretty bad,” Skye countered.

“Well...on the upside it can’t get any worse.”

Skye shot her a glare. “Really reassuring. I feel much better now.”

“I don’t know how to make you feel better. I mean, last year, you threatened to fight my grandmother in the front yard. At least this is all just accidents and accidents happen,” Jemma said.

Skye groaned and leaned up against the counter. She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by a quiet buzzing.

That’s when Jemma noticed Skye had her phone in her hand.

Jemma narrowed her eyes. “Who’s texting you on Thanksgiving?”

Skye flushed. “It’s, uh…it’s work. Coulson needs me for some emergency—”

“No.”

Skye quirked an eyebrow. “'Scuse me?”

“I said no,” Jemma repeated. She leaned in close so she could whisper, “You are not leaving me alone here.”

“But—”

Before Skye could form a full protest, Jemma snatched Skye’s phone out of her hands and stuffed it down her shirt.

Skye gaped. “You think I’m not going to go for it now?”

“You better not,” Jemma replied.

Despite the threat in Jemma’s voice, Skye dove her hands under Jemma’s shirt. Jemma yelped slightly at the coldness of Skye’s fingers on her bare skin. She clamped her arms down to try to stop Skye from finding the phone.

“Stop it,” Jemma snapped.

“Just give it to me.”

“No!”

“Come on, I’m gonna get it anyway. Just make it easier.”

“I said no. Get off.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Skye and Jemma both froze. Lance stood in the doorway with a murderous glare on his face as he took in the situation.

Which was Skye, pressing his baby sister against a counter with her hands up her shirt, apparently against her will.

“This is not—”

Lance crossed the room faster than either of them would have expected, grabbed Skye by the front of her shirt, and pushed her up against the opposite wall.

Before Lance could hiss out any number of the threats that Jemma could see brewing in his head, Skye knocked his hands away and punched him in the face.

“Shit!”

“Motherf—”

“What the hell?”

Now, Jemma’s entire family congregated in the doorway of the kitchen wearing matching expressions of concern. Blood was pouring out of Lance’s nose and he was cursing up a streak. Evelyn frantically tried to cover two pairs of impressionable ears at once.

Jemma’s gaze went to Skye. She looked stunned. Her hands were still halfway raised in a defensive posture, but her eyes were darting between Jemma, her family, and a bloodied Lance.

“I—I’m…I’m sorry,” Skye stammered out. She bolted into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Jemma wanted to run after her immediately, but she had to do some damage control here. Mostly because Lance was bleeding all over her kitchen floor (and blood was impossible to get out of grout).

Jemma grabbed a handful of towels and thrust them into Bobbi’s hands, who was trying to get a better look at Lance’s face. Next, she grabbed a plastic bag and stuffed it with ice from the freezer to pass over to him as well.

“Will someone tell me what the hel-heck just happened?” Evelyn demanded.

“Jemma’s crazy girlfriend punched me in the face,” Lance groaned.

“Why would she do that?” Bobbi asked.

“I was trying to defend my little sister.”

“From Skye?”

“Yes!” Lance shouted and then groaned in pain. “I saw her...assaulting Jemma.”

“You saw nothing of the sort,” Jemma snapped and jammed the bag of ice onto his face, not caring when he whimpered in pain. “What you saw was me trying to keep Skye from leaving because you all were scaring her off!”

No one had anything to say to that. They just shuffled their feet awkwardly.

“Honestly, she’s trying her best to impress you and you all keep acting like absolute assholes!” Jemma continued.

Evelyn gasped and covered the nearest triplet’s ears.

“She wasn’t all that concerned with impressing us a year ago. What changed?” Henry asked.

“I—I…”

Every eye in the room was on her. She couldn't lie her way out of this one. “I found her online,” Jemma mumbled. “We had only met for the second time last Thanksgiving because… I hired her specifically to annoy you all.”

An audible gasp circled the room. Skye would probably be pissed at Jemma for telling her whole family this, but Jemma couldn’t lie about it anymore.

“So has all this been a lie?” Evelyn asked.

Jemma shook her head. “That only part that was a lie was everything that happened last Thanksgiving. After that, well, Skye took me by surprise.”

A small smile pulled at Jemma’s lips as she thought back on all the memories she and Skye had made over the last year. From their casual Christmas (since they had a snowstorm last year, so Jemma got out of her family holiday) where they spent three days in their pajamas watching Christmas-themed slasher movies, to Skye’s manic joy when she got her job and everything in between. Jemma couldn’t believe it had only been a year and Skye was already in integral part of her life. She couldn’t imagine Skye not being with her anymore.

Jemma’s cheeks flushed slightly when she realized her family was still staring at her, waiting for more of an explanation. Well, except for Lance, who was trying to peer around his rapidly swelling face and an ice pack.

Jemma grabbed another bottle of wine from the fridge and smacked it on the counter in front of her family.

“I’m going to go talk to Skye now. The rest of you, have another glass of wine, relax, and maybe try to be a little less overbearing when we come back,” Jemma snapped. It was strange to have all the appalled looks directed at her this time instead of Skye, but she was willing to take it.

Without another word, Jemma turned on her heel and marched towards the bedroom.

The lights were still off when Jemma entered and it took her a few seconds for her eyes to adjust once she closed the door. She couldn’t find Skye at first, but once she fully got used to the darkness, she spotted the top of Skye’s head peeking up from the side of the bed.

“Skye?” Jemma tried softly.

No response.

Jemma rounded the corner of the bed to where Skye was sitting on the floor. Even in the low light, Jemma could tell Skye had tears streaming down her face. Skye kept her eyes fixed to the ground until Jemma sat beside her with her back against the bed.

“I��m sorry,” Skye whispered. “I tried to just not ruin something for one night and I ruined it anyway.”

Jemma sighed. “You didn’t ruin anything, Skye.”

“Your entire family hates me, Jemma. Except maybe your grandmother, for some strange reason.”

“Nobody hates you.”

“What about Lance?” Skye countered.

Jemma sighed. “Well, he’ll probably be unhappy with you for awhile, but this isn’t the first time he’s been punched in the face. Though, you know he’s all talk and wouldn’t have done anything to you so you didn’t have to punch him.”

Skye sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “I know, it was just...instinct, I guess. You forget that I was legally homeless for quite a few years. I got into some hairy situations and had to learn how to get out of them. One of which is to hit before the other guy can.”

Jemma didn’t know what to say to that. She just slipped her hand into Skye’s and squeezed firmly.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jemma muttered, after a few minutes of silence.

Skye scoffed. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do. I forced you into this family dinner thing, even though it made you uncomfortable and everything that’s happened tonight has just been because it stressed you out so much,” Jemma said. “I shouldn’t have pushed it and just accepted that you and my family weren’t going to mix.”

Skye huffed a laugh. “Well, I’m going to apologize again for being such a baby about all of this. Last Thanksgiving really was fun. I don’t know why this was had to be so stressful.”

“Last Thanksgiving, there were no expectations. You knew you were walking into a disaster from the start.” Jemma laughed.

“That’s true. I should have gone in with that mindset again.”

Jemma chuckled to herself and laid her head on Skye’s shoulder.

“You know, we’ll have to go back out there at some point,” Jemma reminded Skye. As much as she didn’t want to move from this position, her family was still waiting in the living room.

Skye groaned and buried her face in Jemma’s shoulder. “I know.”

Jemma handed Skye’s phone back to her. She had seen the message from Coulson that said, “Nothing that we need you for tonight. Happy Thanksgiving!” but she figured she would give Skye an out anyway.

“You can go into work if you need to. I can just tell everyone it’s urgent,” Jemma said.

Skye hesitantly took the phone from her and stared at it, trying to decide what to do next. She tossed the phone up onto the nightstand and shoved herself to her feet. “Let’s go face your family. Maybe you should change clothes first.”

Only then did Jemma remember that she was still covered in wine.

Skye tugged off her cardigan, handed it over to Jemma, and headed to her closet.

“What are you doing?” Jemma asked.

“I’m going to put on something a little more comfortable.”

Jemma changed out of her wine-stained shirt and into the cardigan (that was definitely hers in the first place, but now had the benefit of smelling like Skye) and waited for Skye to be ready.

Skye resurfaced looking much more like herself. She had opted for a simple flannel shirt that was casual, but still looked great on her. She took her hair down and let if fall over her shoulders in loose waves, rather than being tied up so tightly.

Jemma couldn’t help, but smile. She held out a hand and walked with Skye (her Skye) back into the apartment.

The family had adjourned to the living room with the remaining bottle of wine, as Jemma had hoped. She could hear the muted conversations filtering through the kitchen.

Before they headed in, Skye detoured to the fridge, dug into the back, and pulled out one of the nice beers from the package they only broke open on special occasions. Skye grabbed Jemma’s hand and then marched into the belly of the beast.

The already hushed conversation died the minute the pair stepped into the room. Skye took a deep breath and beelined over to the couch that Lance was draped across, moaning about his nose while Bobbi looked on without pity. Skye held the beer in front of his face so he could see it beyond his swollen eyes. Lance eyed the beer, and then Skye, suspiciously, but eventually took it from her hands and sat up.

“I’m—I’m sorry I punched you,” Skye said to Lance. “You startled me and I just kind of reacted, but that’s no excuse. And I want you to know, I would never do anything to hurt Jemma, ‘cause I—I love her and never want anything bad to happen to her, especially not because of me.”

Lance silently stared at her for a few long moments. He seemed to be sizing her up, looking for any trace of dishonesty in her statement. He finally just shrugged and cracked open the beer. “You’ve got a mean right hook, I’ll give you that.”

The entire room, Jemma included, seemed to let out a breath.

“Is it true you met online?” Sara asked.

“My mom says you’re not supposed to talk to people on the internet, ‘cause they’re all crazy,” Bradley followed up.

Evelyn made a quiet noise of agreement with that statement.

Skye spun towards Jemma and shot her an exasperated look. Jemma just shrugged sheepishly.

Skye sighed and turned back to the rest of the family.

“Okay, well. Cat’s out of the bag, then. No need to pretend otherwise,” Skye announced. “Before anyone asks, I’m going to put all my cards on the table. Yes, I put an ad out last year to go annoy someone’s family at Thanksgiving. You guys are the lucky ones who got me. Yes, I was aiming to be as obnoxious as possible in order to piss everyone off.”

Evelyn and Henry huffed and shared a look. Helen looked almost disappointed. “Also, I’m not really an anarchist, but I will fight you politically on everything you believe, Henry. Just be ready for it. No, Jemma and I don’t use gross pet-names. And I’ve never slapped her ass, except that one time to elicit a reaction from you all. Well, actually—”

Skye glanced towards Jemma, whose eyes went and she made a ‘cut it out’ gesture.

“Nope, that was the only time. Any questions?”

The door swung open and Sara trotted in, followed closely by a frazzled-looking Stacy.

“Hello again, everyone. What did we miss?”

No one had the heart to retell every mishap that had happened while they had been gone. Instead, Jemma made some hot cider for everyone and they took turns asking Skye questions, which she answered frankly, even when she knew it wouldn’t go over well.

Jemma had to give her parents credit, because they were trying very hard to police their reactions to not offend and even occasionally asking for details (even when Jemma could tell her mother was horrified by the tales of Skye’s previous living situation.

Still, the rest of the evening went by amicably and without incident. Skye even relaxed enough to pull Jemma in for a chaste kiss when the conversation turned to someone else.

(Eventually, someone told Stacy what all had transpired while she was in the emergency room with Sara. Never had Stacy been more thankful for a peanut-laced pie than she was at that moment.)

#skimmons #bioquake #thanksgiving au #aosficnet2 #want to annoy your family this thanksgiving? craigslist ad #family holiday au

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