#found it in an old journal in my car

[karda]

idk if i ever posted this rarity doodle but . here ya go .

[itsalwaysdark]

aww its kinda cute finding me complaining abt my dads whole lisa thing from 2017. honestly so overshadowed by everything else and also i was so annoying when i was 12 aw .

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series. 

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host. 

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night. 

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

Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions. 

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it. 

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now. 

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job. 

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely. 

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks. 

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley." 

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt. 

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

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

Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too. 

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction. 

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer. 

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink. 

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool. 

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip. 

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer. 

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested. 

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

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

Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again. 

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning." 

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time." 

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned. 

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer. 

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold. 

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it. 

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked. 

"Immediately," he promised. 

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will." 

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute. 

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article. 

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here." 

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him. 

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink." 

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead. 

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk. 

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed. 

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?" 

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

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

The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him. 

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him. 

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed. 

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too. 

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room. 

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him. 

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them. 

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off. 

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time. 

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort. 

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight. 

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper. 

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off. 

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you. 

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders. 

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself. 

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more. 

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back. 

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic. 

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair. 

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good. 

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly. 

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly. 

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing." 

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered. 

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again. 

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

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

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[chibifox2002]

Does Jaybird have a set schedule for Doey when he splits into the three boys. Is there somewhere she gets frustrated with Kevin.

Each of the boys actually have their own pre-planned days to spend with Janet! So that way they have their own time to spend with mom whenever they're separated!

Also that second part inspired me to write a fic so hope you don't mind that!

====================================

The autumn sun shone brightly as Janet drove down an old trail just a bit down the road from her house. It was a slightly bumpy ride, with the trail being slightly deformed by the numerous storms that had passed by since she last drove down it, sticks and twigs littering the path.

Normally, she would be picking up the mess so the next trip wouldn't be as bumpy, but she didn't want to take too long with this drive. Not with her current passenger, who was seated on the right side of the back seat of her old mustang, looking out the window with a sour expression on his face.

Doey- no, Kevin, had a bit of an outburst a couple days prior, and separated himself from the others since then.

Literally. He had removed himself from Doey and locked himself in the basement storage room. It had surely shocked Janet when the situation was explained to her after returning home from work. She had no idea that the boys who formed Doey were capable of doing that!

Although she was able to convince Kevin to come out of the basement, he was still silent and distant from the others. Especially Jack and Matthew, the other two boys of Doey. Refusing to reform with them, and the two were starting to get worried about their friend and brother.

Well, today Janet had decided that enough was enough, and invited Kevin on a drive with her. Telling the red colored doughboy to grab a jacket and that she had a special place that she wanted to show him.

Leaving DogDay in charge, she had set up a movie marathon for the other toys, along with snacks and instructions on how to use the popcorn maker, and set out with her son.

Which led to now, Janet finally pulling up to her destination, an open space next to a decent sized lake surrounded by trees, and stopping the car and walking to the trunk to grab a blanket and a small basket of snacks for the two of them.

Might as well make this a picnic.

After setting everything up, the two sat and chatted about the week while snacking on the sliced fruits and grilled cheese sandwiches that Janet had prepared.

About an hour passed before Janet decided to initiate the plan.

"So... Did you wanna talk about what happened a few days ago while I was out?" Janet asked with a gentle voice. Knowing (and expecting) that the boy may not want to talk about it just yet.

Kevin paused mid-bite of his sandwich, and placed it back into his paper plate. Falling silent once again.

Janet nodded. "That's alright baby, you don't gotta talk about it if ya ain't ready to." Janet reached into the basket and pulled out a water bottle for Kevin, holding it towards him as an offer. To which he accepted.

Janet continued as Kevin opened the bottle to take a sip. "I just want you to know that I know what it's like to lash out like that. To have something eat away at your mind until it drives you mad. Until you feel like you HAVE to get it out SOMEHOW, and how violence seems like an easy way to do so..." Janet paused, sighing. Kevin paying full attention to his mother.

"But that's not the best way to go about it... It can hurt you, as well as those you care about..." Janet looked up towards the tops of the trees.

"Back when I was in therapy, my physiatrist suggested finding a better outlet for my anger. She suggested practicing breathing techniques, hobbies to get my mind off of it, and even to try writing it down in a journal." Janet shifted, suddenly moving to stand up.

"But, I found that the best way to deal with my issues for me, was to come here and release it!"

"Either by just screaming my heart out here-" Janet bent down and picked up a rock. "Or by throwing rocks into the lake." She reeled back her arm and threw the rock as hard as she could into the lake. It splashing close to the center of the lake.

She stared towards the lake for a bit before hearing footsteps approach her, she looked over just in time to see Kevin pick up a rock, look out to the lake, and throw it as hard as he could, shouting as the rock flew from his hand and into the water. Landing just a bit farther from where Janet's had landed.

"Nice throw honey!" Janet applauded as she walked over to him with a slightly bigger rock. Handing it to him. "Wanna throw this one too?" Kevin took the rock and threw it. Landing a bit closer to them from the last rock's landing spot.

Janet then suddenly picked up a pebble, and skipped it across the lake with ease. Which shocked the doughboy.

"How'd you do that?!" Kevin asked, amazement in his voice and on his face.

Janet chuckled.

"Well, first you gotta find a flat pebble or rock-" She held up another one as an example. "You hold it so it's like a tiny frisbee in your fingers. Then you flick your wrist as you throw it like this!-"

She once again skipped the stone as Kevin searches for a suitable stone to skip.

It takes him a few tries, but eventually he's skipping stones with the same amount of grace as the human woman who taught him.

They laugh and continue to skip stones for a couple minutes. Before Kevin speaks up again.

"... I hate that I'm mad all the time..." Janet turns to him. "I hate that I still get nightmares about that place and what happened to me. I just want to TRY and get over it all, and I am! I'm trying so hard to just enjoy the present with everyone and I just- I just can't!" Kevin yells as throws his hands up, before letting them drop to his sides in frustration.

"I just-" Kevin pauses, sighing before finishing his thought. "I'm just so tired..."

Kevin stares out into the lake, watching as a group of three ducks land on the water and begin to swim around.

A hand gently appears on his shoulder. Gently squeezing it as he looks up towards the kind face the hand belongs to.

"Sweetheart... It's completely normal for you to still be affected by your trauma. Heck, I still have moments where I'm reminded of mine and I just completely freeze because of it... Trauma doesn't just disappear overnight, despite how much we all wish that was the case."

Janet slowly wrapped Kevin into a hug as she continued.

"But the fact that you want to do something about it is good!" Janet began to gently sway side to side to help calm her son. "If there's anything I can do to help you with that, just let me know and I'll figure something out for you." Janet stepped back, keeping her hands on Kevin's shoulders.

"Is there anything you want to do about your frustration right now?"

Kevin was silent for a few moments.

"... I wanna scream..."

Janet nodded and took a couple steps away from Kevin. "Alright then, let's just-"

Janet didn't even finish her sentence before being caught off guard as Kevin let out the most blood curdling, soul ripping, rage filled scream she had ever heard in her life. Putting all her previous rage induced screams to shame.

Kevin's face had exaggerated to extreme levels as his red teeth exposed themselves and his angered expression morphed into a more monstrous version of itself as he screamed, small spikes forming on different areas of his body.

The three ducks that were on the lake flying off at the sudden loud noise.

The scream lasted for almost 30 seconds before Kevin stopped, his form reverting back to normal before he began to breathe heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

Janet stared at him for a bit before composing herself and releasing the tension in her body.

"... Ya feeling better sugar?" Janet asked.

"...Y-Yeah... A little bit." Kevin stuttered out, voice cracking a bit.

"...You want another hug?"

"...... Yeah..."

Janet took a step towards Kevin, wrapping him in another hug. Making this one a bit tighter than the previous one. Once again swaying side to side as the quiet sniffles and hiccups of her boy crying could be heard.

Looks like Kevin needed that more than he thought.

....

Two hours later after they finished their picnic, they drove back home and Kevin apologized to the other toys for his outburst. Eventually reforming back into Doey by the end of the night.

And now, whenever Kevin's anger begins to become too much, he simply goes to his mother and she then brings him to their favorite spot at the lake where they skip stones and yell into the sky together.

[yetanotherhiddlestoner]

Summary ~ Daryl finds a journal on a supply run and reads it, what will happen when he sees the world through someone else's perspective?  Set in the commonwealth, straying a little from TWD timeline, but hey that the fun thing about fanfics right?

Daryl X Y/N. Words ~ 2449. Warnings ~ None (Photo found on Pinterest) Also I am trying to update I fell hard, you'll fall harder but it wont let me post it :(

The Entries Chapter 1

Daryl wasn't a man who just picked up a book to read it, not these days at least, if he found books for the kids then he would grab it and give it to them, he tries to recall the last time he actually read a book, but while he was looking for supplies, Daryl found a diary, the front looking worse for wear and covered in pink glittery stickers, something that reminded him of Princess and her style, Daryl's curiosity got the better of him and so and he opened it and read the first page. It read.

Entry one~

"This may very well be the last chance that I have to write, my family told me I should be a writer, I guess this is my last chance to ever get a book out there, but if anyone ever reads it, I hope you find comfort within the pages of this journal. My name is Y/N and this is the story about how I survived the apocalypse, or didn't I might be gone by now, in that case if would be a memoir right?"

Daryl shuts the book, placing it in his bag, he goes around gathering what supplies he can find before finally placing his bag on his back, starting up his bike and speeding back to the Commonwealth. Today was a good day for the supply run, he was able to find some medication for the community, canned food and some clothing for the small kids. That night as he lay in bed, he digs into his bag finding the journal, he starts reading it again.  

Entry two~

"I was born in 1989, 21 when the dead started attacking us, currently 26-27 years old although I have no idea if that is even right, I am just guessing the days and months at this point in this world, and I don't know how much time it has been if someone is reading this anyway back to my life story. My mother and father married at a young age, or at least young for them, they had just turned 20, been high school sweethearts, the whole Prom king and queen story line expect this was real life. It didn't take them long to start a family. My brother aka the eldest was born when my mother was 22, then another 2 years later came my other brother, the annoying middle child and then myself with a nice 5-year gap between myself and my second eldest brother."

Daryl flips the page to a collage of photos, ripped or cut to fit onto the pages. In the middle was one clearly done by a professional photographer, you are all sitting on the ground, smiling while looking at the lens, each person has their name on the photo, he looks at you in the photo. front and center, sighing at how happy you looked. Then in the corner is a photo of your parents on their wedding day, followed by photos of each child not long after they were born

"The day the world fell, I can't even remember the date, I was meant to be going to work, but my mother called me and begged for me to stay home, she begged for all of us to stay in our home, she told us all about the videos of people being shot down and them coming back and attacking people, I heard the terror in her voice, my brothers thought she was worrying for no reason, so they left for work. I tried to stop them, but they just wouldn't listen. I watched them walk out that door, hop in their cars and drive away, fearful that they wouldn't come back. I rang my friends, we chatted for a while, scared. We had planned on hanging at mine in the coming days, thinking this was just a temporary thing and that it would be fine within a week. How naive I was thinking the police and the government were going to be protect us.  I was very wrong. I watched as some of my neighbors left, cars packed up, houses left unlocked, pets left to fend for themselves. The street felt quiet, usually the kids would be playing in their lawns, coming home from school talking to their friends, or riding their bikes, now those things were left discarded. I watched the news, it only made my paranoia worse, watching them shoot down what I thought were innocent people at the time, the screams I could hear outside my door had me on high alert. My father never came home that night. He was away on business, he was meant to be coming home that day, I can only assume he is now dead. When my mother came home, she rushed us to get all the supplies and weapons we had, mostly kitchen knives, loaded them into the car, we waited for my father, constantly calling his cell phone and workmates but no-one answered, the longer we waited, the worse it got. During the night, I heard screams from down the street, saw neighbors running for their lives getting attacked, the screams as their friends chewed into their flesh, and then coming back. That night my family and I hid upstairs in one room, no lights, no noises nothing just praying we would make it through. 

Sunrise came and with it did us leaving our family home, the concrete covered in blood splatters, the groans of the dead coming out of the yards towards us, as I hopped into the car I gave the house one last look the one that I was born and raised in. In that moment the life I had known was gone. I have no idea if my friends were alive and if they are I hope they are well. That night, we tried sleeping in our car, taking turns at driving out of the city and further in land, my mother says we would be safe, away from the ones who can kill us. I doubted it though. We could see the cities being bombed from our car, the flame lighting up the horizon."

Daryl flips the page. His fingers glide over the page of photos once more, he notices that is your style, you write and then you put photos. He likes it, he likes that you are a real person, that had a real life, real friends.  Entry three~ "We drove for what feels like days, we pass the undead, we even ignore the hitchhikers, we can't risk taking on the wrong people my brother says. I've seen children biters, that is what we have come to call them, it breaks my heart. I had always wanted to be a mother but now I don't see kids in my life, not if my life is constantly running from the undead or living in fear."

Daryl keeps reading, finding himself more intrigued with each line. Another page, another photo of you and your friends, of you and a dog, he can assume might be a pet of yours once. You started drawing things you have seen on your travels; he takes in the details of each piece of art. You have a knack for art, a lot better then himself he tells himself. Another glimpse into your life. Another thing her learnt about you.

Entry four~ "The days pass in a blur now, it's been months since shit hit the fan. I think it might be coming up to winter, the air is cooler, a nice bite to it at night. I lost my brother to a biter; he was out trying to find more supplies when the dead came out of nowhere, he tried to fight them off. He managed to get away and spend his last few moments with us, his body bloodied and bitten. I watched as he turned, his eyes glossing over, the snapping of his teeth as he reached out for our mother who was crying for him to stop, I didn't think I just acted, my knife plunging into his skull, he was my first biter I had to put down, we buried him in a field under a tree. Our mother hasn't been the same since, she barely says a word these days. We lost our car, ran outta petrol, lost most of our things, I managed to save the one thing I need in my life, my photos, my memories in the one bag I don't ever want to lose" At the bottom of the page is a Polaroid of yourself."

Daryl notices the tally on the bottom of the page. Later on in the journal he would see the numbers go up each time, you didn't write about them but you kept track.

Biter - 1 Human-0 Animals -2

And then a photo of the makeshift grave you buried your brother in. His date of birth and just the year 2010 at the end.  "I know it may seem silly to whoever is reading this but as long as I got a camera, batteries and film, I'll keep taking photos, documenting what I survive through, until I can no longer find the supplies. I'll keep doing this until I am no longer able to. It is the only thing that makes me sane, it makes this world feel to real"

Entry five~ "I know death comes to all, but I didn't think my own mother would end it herself. I should have seen the signs, she stopped eating, stopped speaking, stopped living, day by day the life drained from her eyes, I think ever since we left, each day has made her realize that things were not going to get better. My brother and I buried her as best we could then we headed back out into the world, on foot for miles, tonight our home is a service station, not really safe, we are holed up in office, being as quiet as possible, we have raided the shelves for food and water, if we lucky we might get another day to rest here and then we will keep moving. I doubt we will make it to the mountains, it is too far to travel by foot."

He sees the cut-out photo of you and your mother, noting how much you look like her, you have her hair and facial features. His fingers move over the photo, he feels sorry for you, he knows how to feel to lose a loved one. You look so happy in this photo, the world can be cruel.

Entry six~ "I tried, I tried so hard to stop him, I screamed at him, begged him. But he didn't listen. Now I am all alone in the world I wasn't born for. My brother, the eldest, always looking out for me, we got stuck in a rundown house, he used himself as a diversion. He screamed at me to run, to get out. I grabbed my bag and ran, the last thing I saw as I turned back was him being over ran by them and screaming for to keep running, don't look back and that he loved me. My brother was a person who rarely said the L word, so hearing his last words as that made me run harder, until my chest burned. I have found a small tree house in the woods, I am guessing it was a child's secret hideaway, built by their parent's or at least that is what I am telling myself while I cry for the lost of my family, for tonight it is my sanctuary.  I have no idea how I am going to live alone; do I find a group? Do I try to live alone? I am scared, I haven't felt like this since day one. I have no idea what tomorrow brings, I have limited water, limited food and a couple weapons." Daryl continues reading the journal well into the night, when he glances at the clock its almost 2am in the morning, he decides to close the journal for the night, placing it on his nightstand. 

When he picks up the journal again, he can't believe how much he has read in a short time.

Entry 17~ "Found a library today, took out the undead inside, found a book on edible foods in the wild and how to survive out here. I am hoping they come in handy as my rations are almost out, also found a book to keep me entertained."

Biter-16 Human -2 Animal-8 Entry 18~ "I miss them." Daryl reads those three little words and feels a pang in his heart.

Entry 19~ "Today I snapped. A biter came out from behind a corner and in a second, I saw my life just die away. I beat that thing into a bloody pulp, smashing its head over and over, while tears formed into my eyes. Am I losing what little humanity I have left? Is being alone making me into an animal?"

Daryl grimaces at the photo of the now dead walker that you took. He wonders why you took that? Why would you want a photo of something that broke you? He has had his fair share of kills, yet he never truly wants to remember them.

Entry 20~ "Found a creek near the road I was walking, I have learnt how to filter dirty water, at least I have something to drink now, I just need to find food and a place to rest for the night. I have no idea really which direction I am going; I have to learn all this now."

Biter-36 Human -2 Animal-14

Entry 21~ "I am nearing the end of the book, the pages filled with the stories I have written, photos I have taken, I have truly lost track of time, the days, the months everything is mashed into one big never-ending nightmare. I fight for my life daily, it is exhausting. I think my next stop for me is the next town 30 miles away. For now I leave this journal here, for anyone, if there is anyone left out there that is. Please take care of my photos, my life story, it may not be anything these days."  The last words written hurts Daryl a little. "I truly don't want to die. But I don't know if I am strong enough to live."

And your signature style is a photo of you, he guessing you took it the day you finished the journal, you look sad, alone. He just wanted to hug you and tell you it's going to be alright.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

Tintin through time! 

Thought it would be fun to have my various designs for Tintin in one post. The canon comics have a floating timeline and Tintin never ages. I think rooting him in a specific time and context makes him feel a little more real (also I am a sucker for historical fiction). Click below for a potted timeline and notes about each design!

Left to right, top to bottom:

Child - in my timeline Tintin was born in 1915, a year into the First World War. He was probably picked on a lot by his peers for being small, ginger and slightly effeminate, and was picked on by adults for being “difficult” and asking too many questions.

Early canon - He leaves school early and becomes a reporter at 14. He’s unhinged, he’s blasé, he dresses like Spongebob. Coming right out of Catholic school he has a lot of unhealthy beliefs he needs to confront and unlearn. I imagine his editor is a pretty shady person as they are willing to send this kid off to dangerous places. His naivety prevents him from spotting any red flags at first.

Late canon - Tintin as we know him! His journalism career is at its peak at the tender age of 17. He’s found a family and stability at Marlinspike. His politics are evolving. He is, however, pretty neglectful of his own personal life, almost fully focusing on his career. He’s starting to grow wary of his editor and they frequently argue, Tintin often winning out as he knows it’s his articles that sell papers.

Young adult - With the Second World War breaking out this is an unstable time in his life. He’s come to terms with being gay but is fired from his paper after being forcibly outed. Tintin and the Marlinspike team take fighting fascism into their own hands. 

For his design here he wears a turtleneck like Captain Haddock, glasses like Professor Calculus (also representing a renewed perspective on things) and his hair is more relaxed like Chang’s! The idea was to show how he has been impacted by the people he cares about. 

After the war ends he struggles with unemployment and burnout, insecure that he might have peaked as a teenager.

Middle aged - It’s the late 50s - early 60s, Tintin is jaded and cynical but still kind and willing to help others. He is absolutely horrified by the events of WW2 and carries an enormous sense of guilt, feeling he didn’t do enough. His faith in journalism has also been thoroughly shaken, witnessing the spectacular failing of the system himself, and realising there are people who genuinely do not care for the truth, and are only concerned with power. 

Elderly - if he somehow makes it to old age he’d be a chaotic little old man who doesn’t give a Single Shit. It’s the late 80s and early 90s, at this point he has retired from journalism and has published his own books, and has taken to becoming a full time political activist (here he’s wearing an AIDS awareness ribbon from 1991, in the 70s Herge had Tintin wear a helmet displaying a symbol for nuclear disarmament). Kids adore him, cops hate him! 

He has taken to technology, being an early adopter of the Internet and desktop computers. He and Chang have since been able to reunite with Chang’s family and they often spend time with Didi’s grandkids!

I don’t know what would kill him. Old age? A car bomb? Maybe he falls over badly and bangs his head one last time. I don’t think it’s my place to decide.

[illiterateaffairs]

anything can happen | stiles x reader the holiday au

pairing: stiles stilinski x female!reader

word count: 13,365

warnings: language, smooching, parenental death mentioned, the reader being british but just for the sake of the plot,

summary: inspired by the nancy meyers film "the holiday", you swap homes with someone in beacon hills for the christmas season where you get to know your neighbor the sheriff, and his very cute son.

author's note: happy new year my friends!! this is my little gift for everyone, an idea i've wanted to do in some way for so many years based on the what i think is the best holiday film ever made. as mentioned, the reader is british for the plot because iykyk. this is also a "companion" fic with a jamie x reader story i'm working on thats the reverse. so you don't have to read that if you're just more of a stiles fan BUT it is meant to overlap slightly like the movie. so the reader may or may not know the richmond greyhounds ;) PLS LIKE REBLOG AND COMMENT YOUR THOUGHTS <3

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ low point ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You weren’t one for spontaneity or going outside your comfort zone.

No. You stuck to what you knew. 

The same town. The same job. The same wardrobe. 

The same guy.

That one was your biggest problem. Despite nearly a decade of back and forth with the boy you’ve loved since high school, and the fact he cheated on you not once, but twice, you couldn’t shake him.

Hell, you even stayed friends with him for some reason you chalked up to nostalgia and for old time’s sake. 

All that did was just lead you into a false sense of security and worse…hope. 

Hope that was once again dashed merely a week before Christmas when you found out he was engaged - to the second girl he cheated on you with less than two years ago. 

You were letting yourself wallow in self pity for the weekend when you got a message on the home exchange website you put your modern Richmond townhome up on after a tipsy dare from your friend (sometimes with benefits when you were at your lowest). It was a woman inquiring if your home would be available for the next 2 weeks over the holidays. 

You glanced around. Your job in journalism allowed you to work from anywhere. You were on your own since you lost your father in college. You definitely had no romantic prospects keeping you here. So, what the hell?

After taking one large sip of Vino, you were agreeing to the exchange without even comprehending where you would be going. 

Lucky for you, when you came to, you were delighted at the prospect of spending the holidays in California, USA. And also terrified at being on your own in a foreign country for the first time in your lonely, sheltered, horrible life. Well…when in Rome, or…Beacon Hills?

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ not the leading lady ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Less than two days later, given the nearly 12 hour flight to San Francisco, you were arriving in California dressed far too warm for December on the American West Coast. Donned in your wool coat and scarf, the Uber driver chuckled at you as you slid in the the back of his car, but you didn’t take it offensively. She even went ahead and lowered the windows for you so you could take in the California air and sights as she drove you out of the city into the quaint and admittedly mysterious town of Beacon Hills. 

Upon your research the night before leaving, Beacon Hills wasn’t known for being the safest town in California. A few years back there were an abundance of articles detailing several animal attacks and other…unexplained deaths. Every journalistic bone in her body shivered at the stories that just didn’t add up. But misfortune seemed to thin out in recent years, so you managed to not talk yourself out of the trip in fear. 

What had made you hesitate was when you told every necessary person about your departure. Given the last minute nature of your holiday trip, you left a handful of messages on your friends voicemails letting them know to not expect you at holiday parties or secret santa or Christmas dinner. However you did have to talk to your boss and get explicit permission to work remotely over the next few weeks. And then, despite every bone in your body telling you not to, you called him. Joel. The boy you couldn’t get over now matter how hard you tried. 

When he answered you managed to give him a forced congratulations on his engagement, which he accepted without missing a beat like it was normal for her to be happy for him despite everything he has put her through over the years. And then he suggested they get together soon, which gave her exactly the opportunity she was looking for, letting him know she wouldn’t be around for the holidays. That was the first time he faltered in their conversation, surprised by the out of character move.

You’ve never left this town let alone the country. Even when I suggested a weekend trip to Scotland you refused.

You rolled her eyes when he threw that in your face. Not only was he referencing their past romantic relationship, which he always seemed to do as if it was no big deal. That very weekend you refused to go away with him back in University was the first time he cheated on you. Which you thought about plenty on your own without a reminder, thank you very much.

You hung up not too long after that. And the next thing you knew you were on a flight across the world. And if you took a Xanax to get on the plane, well that was nobody’s business.

Now here you were, on winding back roads through thick green forests before arriving in front of a quaint, cabin-like cottage in a small neighborhood. You smiled to yourself. It was quieter out here than the bustling football town of Richmond. And not too far from the city if you wanted to experience more touristy things. 

You knew there was still a big chance of you having a mental breakdown if you got too lonely and overwhelmed out here, but at least it was peaceful and safe. After exiting the Uber and collecting your things, you immediately clocked the police car that seemed to belong to the town’s sheriff next door and that gave you a shred of reassurance in your latter assumption. 

You take in the inside of the house. It was just as cozy as it looked from the outside. Wood paneling. An actual fireplace. Warm quilts lining every piece of furniture. The woman you exchanged with told you it was formally her aunt’s home that she inherited and had moved into recently, and you admittedly loved the old fashioned tastes. It felt like being in the home of one of your own long since passed relatives. And honestly, that was exactly what you needed right now. 

You find your way to the master bedroom and make yourself at home, unpacking and storing what you can in the empty drawers, before taking stock of the kitchen. Keys to the cream colored volkswagen bug in the driveway were on display on the breakfast bar, along with a handwritten note explaining the locks, security system, and the wifi. Overly awake from your xanax-induced snooze on the plane ride, you decide to take a small adventure. (Once you figure out how to drive on the other side of the road).

With google maps as your co-pilot, you take the bug, apparently named Betty, into town to raid the supermarket and craft store. You needed something aside from binge watching television to keep you busy all on your own the next couple weeks. You buy ingredients for baking as well as supplies for painting - two of your favorite past times. 

But of course, also shopping on an empty stomach leads to less than strategic choices and you wind up with way more groceries than you would certainly need the next couple weeks. 

You’re doing your best to unload said grocery bags from the trunk and backseat of Betty when you hear a hoarse voice coming from the mailbox next door. 

“Looks like someone’s having a party.” 

You turn, too many bags around your wrists, and see a man, probably about 60 years old, regarding you in amusement while going through his mail. 

You chuckle in spite of yourself, “Oh, yeah I’m planning a real rager featuring mostly various flavors of Pringles.” 

His lips quirk up when he picks up on the slight accent, “Guessing you don’t have those wherever you’re from?”

“Not in so many options.”

He takes a few steps closer, “Would you like any help?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” But he’s already at the trunk reaching for some bags.

“It’s no problem I don’t have any plans,” he assures as he follows her up the driveway. “You’re not one of Diane’s nieces too, are you?”

You shake your head, assuming that was the name of said Aunt who used to inhabit this place. “Nah, I’m actually sort of renting it for the holidays.”

He nods, though you suspect he’s probably confused about the arrangement, but he doesn’t press, “I figured with the accent.”

You guide him to set down the bags on the countertop before you both grab the remaining bags and lock up the car.

“Thank you again. Definitely cut that time in half,” You smile at him as you start unpacking the bags in the kitchen, and even though you want to protest the extra help, he begins unbagging as well. 

“No problem at all. I live right next door, so anything you need in the next couple of weeks let me know. A lot of people in this neighborhood keep to themselves but don’t be afraid to holler my way.”

You nod with a smile, sticking your hand out to formally introduce yourself. 

He smiles back as he shakes your hand, “Noah Stilinski.”

“I assume you’re the sheriff?” 

He nods with a huff, “That would be me. But if my son had anything to say about it, I’d be retiring as soon as yesterday.”

You quirk your lips up as you start to put some items in the fridge. “Oh yeah, you seem like you’ve still got a few good years left in you.”

He snorts, and you’re glad he took it as a friendly joke. “That’s what I tell him. He’s become a bit less persistent this last year since I agreed to downsize our house and move next door, but he still makes comments about taking a step back at the station.”

“What does your son do?”

“He’s a detective, working towards joining the FBI.”

You can’t help but laugh, “So, sounds like he has no room to talk.”

“Yeah but then he brings up my age and my health and the stress of it all,” he sighs, shaking his head, “In a way he’s probably right, but I’m not quite ready to give it up yet.”

“I think that's fair,” you smile softly, “Everyone should be in charge of their own destiny. Your son should leave you alone.”

Noah chuckles, “I’m gonna tell him you said that. Do you give your parents a hard time?”

Your smile falters as you focus on the last remaining grocery items. “Not really. Uh, it was just me and my dad most of my life until he passed away a couple years ago.”

He lets out a long breath, “I’m sorry, kid…must be hard during the holidays.”

You shrug, “One of the reasons why I came here.”

“I get it. I lost my wife…well I guess it's been over 15 years now but every Christmas it's still hard. And now with Stiles in DC it's hard to say when he gets time off to visit. Spending it alone makes it worse.”

You nod, “Yeah, every place you go and every TV channel loves to make it their mission to remind you of families and friends that actually get to be together.”

He chuckles dryly, “Right. Well, I don’t want to impose on you too much longer as you get settled in. But like I said, I’m just right next door if you ever need anything.”

I nod and give him an appreciative smile, “Thank you, Noah.”

He gives you a nod and smile of his own before he ducks out of the kitchen and sees himself out the front. 

You take him up on his offer to pop next door almost immediately - though you weren’t going over for help, not consciously at least. 

After organizing the rest of your groceries and putting away your art supplies, you make a quick and easy dinner before focusing on baking the rest of the evening. You start with brownies before making both chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies. After taste testing all three, you decide they’re all too delicious to choose from and package half of each batch on a platter under plastic wrap to bring over to the sheriff.

You knew he hadn’t meant to upset you by asking about your parents - it was a common thing to happen to you. But it was weirdly comforting connecting with him on his late wife. It was nice to know you had someone close throughout the holiday season you had anticipated spending completely alone, especially one that seemed to understand you to some degree. 

So you thought he might appreciate some baked goods - even if his son wouldn’t love the idea of you bringing him sweets. But he wasn’t here so he can suck it. 

After knocking on his door, it was opening less than sixty seconds later and Noah greeted you with a surprised smile. 

“Hi,” you say softly, holding out the platter, “I baked you a few things. Cookies, brownies.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, but he grins and is already taking the platter out of your hands.

You shrug, “I was baking anyway. I enjoy doing it, but I definitely don’t need 3 dozen of them to myself.”

He studies the tray for a second before looking back up at you, “Do you want to come in and have some with me?”

Your eyes widen a fraction of a centimeter and you start to shake your head, “You don’t have to-”

“No, I insist,” he side steps into the foyer to make room for you, “I have plenty of milk, and if my son asks, its skim. Definitely not whole milk.”

You laugh softly and despite your earlier protest, you find yourself walking in. 

“Are some of these snickerdoodles?” he asks as he leads you through the house, into his kitchen. At your confirmation, “They’re my son’s favorite.”

From there, he grabs two small plates from the cupboard and selects one of each sweet for each of you, and pours you each a full glass of milk.

“You’re not vegan or lactose intolerant are you?” he asks after pouring.

You shake your head, already accepting the glass, “Nope. And thank God. I couldn’t live without ice cream.”

He chuckles in approval.

From there, the two of you spend the next hour or so chatting about random things. He tells you about the life of being a Beacon Hills Sheriff, and you do your best not to pry about the animal attacks from several years back. Instead, you tell him that you’ve been working in journalism for a paper in London but that one day you hope to write fiction. You also share stories about your father, and he of his wife and son. 

After laughing fondly over a childhood Christmas with your father where he totally meant well but bought you a terrifying off brand Barbie doll, Noah studies you curiously. 

“So, you said your family situation was one of the reasons you decided to spend your holidays abroad and alone but…was there another?” he inquired. 

You should have known the sheriff in the room would figure you out. 

“Uh, yeah,” your finger absentmindedly traces the rim of your now empty glass of milk, “Not to sound super cliche and sad, but it may have also been because of a boy.”

And after that, for some unexplained reason, you confide in this man that could have very well been the same age as your dad at this point over your failed love life. And yes, you divulge both cheating incidents and the fact that you still kept contact with him. 

Noah scoffs as you recount the way he reacted to your spur of the moment vacation plans, “And he still had the nerve to comment on your life choices after getting engaged to the other woman?”

“Yup.”

“What a schmuck.”

Your laughter surprises yourself, having rarely found humor in recounting your situation, “Oh yeah. He’s a total schmuck.”

He nods, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely the one at fault and if he ever dared to step foot on American soil I’d have a warrant out for his arrest in an instant. But what I don’t understand is why you still give him even a shred of your time and energy.”

You sigh. That was the age-old question. 

Even you didn’t know how to answer that most of the time. But as you sat here and really thought about it, it was more than just an ounce of hope that maybe one day he’d change his mind. 

“I guess…he’s just comfortable. Familiar. You know…we grew up together and he was my first love…even if he was also my first heartbreak, I know him. My dad knew him. And even when he does things like cheat on me or get engaged, part of me still feels like one day we’ll get our happy ending because that's what's supposed to happen. I was supposed to be a journalist like my mom was and I’m supposed to stay in the town they met and with the boy I’ve always loved. I know it probably doesn’t make sense but-”

Noah shrugs, “I mean it sounds like the plot of a romantic comedy.”

That catches you off guard. “Um…yeah…”

Noah snorts at your confusion, “I’ve been watching a lot of movies since my son left for college, and that was six or seven years ago so I had to start watching something that wasn’t war or action movies. Admittedly most rom-coms aren’t that bad.”

You smile, “No, yeah, they’re pretty good.”

“Amazing even. I mean, When Harry Met Sally?”

“Oh, perfection.”

“And don’t get me started on 13 Going on 30.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Anyway, the vision you're describing is like some fairytale ending from one of those movies.”

“Yeah,” you nod, sinking back into your chair with your arms crossed.

“And you deserve that ending.”

“Oh, thank you-”

“But you’re acting more like the friend that always settles for the bad guy,”

“Oh-”

“Like Kathryn Hahn in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

“Jesus, you really do know your rom-coms.”

“Nobody roots for the leading lady to get with the guy that's always treating her like shit.”

“Thats…fair,” you chew your lip, “But what if I’ve never been the leading lady. I never make bold and interesting main character-esque choices.”

“Well…” he smiles warmly. “You came here didn’t you?”

You squeeze the arms on your chest tighter, “Yeah…”

“Sounds like a leading lady's decision to me.”

You find yourself starting to smile again.

“Like Meg Ryan or Kate Hudson.”

“Okay well now I’m dying to know just how many rom-coms you’ve seen.”

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ don't blow away ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

After readjusting your sleeping schedule and making a conscious choice to stop thinking about Joel and his engagement for the remainder of your trip, you feel a lot lighter and a lot more confident in your decision to get away for the holidays. 

You spend your mornings and afternoons cooking or baking, as well as painting while you get yourself invested in a handful of miniseries you’ve been meaning to binge over the years that you never got around to. And pending his schedule at the station, you find yourself cooking lunch or dinner for Sheriff Stilinski. You indulge him in meals he told you he’s liked, all the well attempting to turn down your offer to do so, but you also make conscious choices to sub in low-cal ingredients when you can, knowing his son probably wouldn’t appreciate you over-feeding his father, even if he wouldn’t be here to witness it. 

When you’re there for dinner, Noah has even convinced you to hang out for a movie. Always a rom-com. The first time, you suggest a modern movie he hadn’t seen yet (Set It Up), and the second night, he shockingly suggests one you’d never seen (While You Were Sleeping). Apparently he was obsessed with Sandra Bullock, and he was right to be. The movie, also starring a young and gorgeous Bill Pullman was in fact a banger. His words.

After getting to know each other that first night over dessert, he had given you his phone number for ease of communication during your stay. And by the second rom-com movie night, he’d given you his extra house key for emergencies. You knew he was being nice and fatherly - you could always sense sympathy for your situation even when he did his best to hide it, which you appreciated. But you also suspected he liked the company and the caretaking you offered, even if he wouldn’t admit it. No one liked to be alone during the holidays, no matter how often they said they were okay with it. 

Having noticed the clutter in his study the previous night, you decide to let yourself in the following afternoon while he’s at the station. Maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but you hoped he’d take it as a gesture that you wanted to help out and tidy up the place. You knew how hard it was to take care of simple things like straightening up around the house when you were dealing with lonely holidays or seasonal depression. And to be frank, you liked taking care of someone. So that’s why after straightening up the study, you also organized the medicine cabinet in the bathroom as well as refrigerator. And while you were in the kitchen, you figured you could meal prep some lunches to take to the office. 

Even though it was California, it was still soup season in your heart so you decided to make a batch of baked potato soup - minus bacon, you’re welcome Stiles - and put on music to make the time go by.

That must be why you didn’t hear the sound of the front door open. Or the call of an unfamiliar voice looking for his father. 

It wasn’t until the owner of the voice was almost right behind you, scaring the living daylights out of you. 

“Who the hell are you?”

You jump, the ladle in your hand flying up causing hot soup to splash on your skin, “Ah, shit!”

As you quickly wipe the warm liquid off your skin with a towel, you glance over and recognize the brown-eyed brunette man from the pictures around the house as Noah’s son. 

“Oh, my God, you scared me.”

“Uh, yeah. You scared me, too. Who are you and where is my dad?” he asks, looking you up and down suspiciously, but also mildly concerned for the potential of third degree burns on your skin. 

“Oh, sorry.” You laugh softly, putting the towel down on the counter and going back to stirring the soup intermittently. “Your dad probably didn’t tell you about me - but to be fair he didn’t tell me you’d be here so...”

“Um,” Stiles frowns, putting his hands on his hips, “Should my dad have told me about you?”

You laugh softly to yourself, “I mean we’ve only been spending time together a few days so not-”

“Aren’t you a little young to be dating my dad?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the accusation, “I’m sorry? What gave you the impression I’m dating your dad?”

Stiles sputters, his face flushing a bit. “I mean, I didn’t- you..but he-” Stiles shakes his head and points a finger at you, “Hey, I’m not the one under interrogation here. You’re still the one trespassing in my house!”

You laugh in disbelief at the entire situation, rubbing your face, “Okay, now Mr. Prospective FBI Agent is interrogating me.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, “Okay, who are you?”

“I’m your neighbor,” You let out a deep breath, telling him your name finally, “At least for the next week or so. I’m staying next door for the holidays.”

“Oh,” Stiles juts his bottom lip out, taking in the information while staring at seemingly nothing.

“And because I’m alone and he was alone for the time being, we’ve just been keeping each other company. And I’ve been trying to help him out with stuff around the house while he’s working. You know, home cooked meals are always nice this time of year.”

“Oh,” Stiles voice and expression softens this time, as he looks back at you stirring the soup. 

You glance over at him, taking him in completely for the first time since he walked into the kitchen. He was just in sweats and a hoodie, but it looked…exceptionally good on him. 

“Well, I’m sorry for getting so…defensive. Seeing a stranger making soup in your kitchen is sort of alarming, especially with all the shit that's happened in this town.”

He says that last part off hand, as if not thinking about it. You just raise an eyebrow, a part of you secretly curious if it has to do with the past mysterious attacks and disappearances. 

Stiles must realize what he said and that it sounded ominous, so he plastered an awkward smile on his face, “I just mean…my dads the sheriff, and now I’m a detective in DC so…always on edge about something, you know?”

You nod, accepting his answer. “Well, I’m sorry for scaring you, truly. Like I said, I knew your dad wouldn’t be home for another couple hours and he had said you likely weren’t making it for the holidays this year.”

Stiles' lips quirk up, “Yeah, I managed to get the time off and I wanted to surprise him.” 

You find yourself smiling at him, too. “I’m sure he’ll be very excited.”

Stiles' grin grows for reasons unbeknownst to him, so he quickly finds a reason to keep talking. “So, uh…soup?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Wanted something easy your dad could bring to work for a few days.”

“What kind?”

“Baked potato.”

“A nice choice.”

“Yeah,” you shrug one shoulder, “I’ve recently been favoring lasagna soup since it's everywhere on TikTok, but I thought that might be a little too intense. Not that baked potato is any healthier, but I’m forgoing the bacon and I figured if I tried to force feed your dad chicken noodle he’d put me behind bars.”

Stiles snorts, finding himself smiling again at your understanding of his dad and that he must have spoken about his concerns for him…as well as your thoughtfulness. “Yeah, well, thanks for that. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” 

You smile and hold his gaze too long again. But instead of pulling yourself out of it, a hot splattering of potato soup catches you off guard, with one drop landing right in your eye. “Shit.” You curse under your breath, rubbing your eye.

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters, heading for the paper towels, “Let the record show that time it wasn’t my fault.”

You chuckle despite the irritation in your eye, “No, it was mine. Probably had the burner on too high.” You reach out to turn it off, “It’s probably done anyhow at this point.”

Just as you turn to find something to wipe your eye, Stiles is turning away from the sink with a damp paper towel and stepping closer to you. 

“Here let me see,” he whispers. You obey instantly, moving your hand away so he can see your eye and gently dab the paper towel against it, “Yeah, a little red but you should be fine.”

You watch him study you intently, and carefully wipe at your face. As soon as his eyes drift from your eyes to your lips he clears his throat and steps back, placing the paper towel in your hand, “Or, uh, I guess you could do that.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his awkwardness. Despite knowing him for all of five minutes, he feels familiar and very in character to what his dad had told you about him. “Thanks.” You say softly, dabbing your own eye. “Well, I just wanted to prep this for your dad. I can get it into some tupperware and be on my way. I’m sure you just want to rest and wait for your dad to get here.”

“You’re not gonna eat any of it?” he asks without thinking as you find two tall tupperware cups to fill up.

You shake your head, starting to ladle the soup into one. “Nah, I already ate lunch.” You glance up at him as he watches the soup pour into the plastic tub. “But if you want some…?”

Stiles shakes his head quickly, “No, you made that for my dad, I wouldn’t want to-”

“Psh, it's fine. I can always make more if it's such a hit. And it's your house, help yourself.”

You can tell Stiles thinks about protesting for about three seconds, before he gives in and goes for a bowl from the cupboards. You laugh softly to yourself as he pours himself a portion and then you proceed to put the rest away in the fridge for whoever wants it later. 

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Stiles murmurs, his mouth already full as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, before you even have a chance to announce your departure. 

You also briefly think about protesting, but you can’t deny the part of you that wants to stay. And not because you think he’s cute. No, that would be inappropriate. But it would be nice to talk to someone your own age.

You help yourself to a glass of water and join Stiles at the table who is already done with half of his soup. 

“So, you said you live next door?” 

“Sort of,” you decide he’d understand the situation better than his father, “About a year ago I drunkenly listed my home in London on this home exchange website. Where you and whoever in the world trade houses, cars, et cetera for however long…”

Stiles nods, “I’ve heard of that.”

“And a few nights ago, I got my first ever request. So I’m here for about two weeks while your dad’s actual neighbor is in Richmond.”

“Why would anyone want to do that alone this time of year?” He murmurs.

“Well, I think she made an impulsive decision to get out of the country. She seemed very impatient over our messages.”

“And what about you?” 

You study him. He seemed genuinely interested. But you also made that promise not to bring up Joel- he who shall not be named. 

So instead, you shrug, and lean back in your chair. “I don’t really have any family. And a holiday get away sounded new and intriguing. So I thought, why not?”

Stiles instantly understands and gives you a sympathetic but not at all pitying smile. “I’m sorry. About your family.”

You nod, “Thank you.”

“I don’t know if my dad mentioned but-”

You nod again with your own comforting smile, “I know. I get it.”

Stiles nods too. It feels good to be understood. 

Knowing neither of you want to linger in these feelings though, you change the subject with a deep breath. 

“So your dad mentioned you have a girlfriend.” A pretty one too, from the pictures you’ve seen of him and the redhead on the mantle, “Did she travel here with you?”

Stiles sits up straighter and smiles softly, “Lydia. Yeah. Well, no. She actually lives in Massachusetts. She went to MIT so we’ve been long distance since college. But she grew up here, too, she just couldn’t get away from her job long enough for the trip this year.”

You hum, “High school sweethearts?”

Stiles snorts, scraping the last remnants of soup before giving it up and bringing it to his lips to sip. “Yeah, is that dumb?”

You shake your head quickly, “No not all. That’s…romantic. I’m sure a lot of people long for a relationship that clicks so early. You’re lucky.”

Stiles licks his lips and stares at his now empty bowl. “Yeah. That’s us.” 

After a few beats of silence, you glance between him and the bowl. “Do you want me to take that for you?”

Stiles looks up at you quickly, before shuffling to his feet, “Uh, no! No, you've done enough. I mean- sorry, that sounded dismissive. I just meant-”

You cut him off with your laugh, “I know what you meant Stiles.” You follow his lead and stand. “I think I’m gonna head back next door.”

“You don’t have-”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. You should rest from your trip and have some time with your dad when he gets home.”

“I don’t mind that you’re here,” he states earnestly. “I know he wouldn’t mind either.”

You give him a warm smile, “I know. I’m sure I’ll find my way back over soon.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.��� He says before overthinking how that could be taken again, “I just meant, it's always been just me and my dad for the holidays. That is, when I make it home. It's nice having more company.” 

You nod, “I agree. I’ll see you soon, Stiles.” 

You turn before he can sense the eagerness you feel to do so.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ square peg round hole ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You do see Stiles, quite often in fact. Over the next few days leading up to Christmas, you continue visiting the Stilinski household, making meals and watching movies. But when you do, Stiles offers what he can do to help in the kitchen, which is more often than not cleaning up after you're done with certain items. But you do manage to teach him a few things. 

The first movie night, you and your dad double team him and convince him to watch Miss Congeniality with them. Apparently something Noah’s been trying to get him to watch the last few years. A comment which he makes, after murmuring something about Stiles giving in so quickly this time to which Stiles protests without making eye contact with either of you. You try not to read into it. 

When his dad’s busy being sheriff, Stiles also pops over and hangs out with you. Even if you’re just working on a writing assignment he keeps you company. He also assists you in baking when you tell him you want to bring some goods to the local shelter. After trying some of your both equally tasty and adorable gingerbread cookies, he insists on helping you make another batch to bring to his friend Scott’s house. 

You off hand make a comment about dying to meet his friend Scott, after his dad’s repeated stories that co-star the two of them. And Stiles finds it pertinent that you know that Scott has a girlfriend. Which is great for him, but you’re not sure why Stiles needed you to be aware of it. Again, you try not to read into it. 

Maybe it's not exactly the perfect, rom-com scenario since Stiles lived a world away and had a girlfriend himself, but you enjoyed spending time with him and the way he made you feel while you did. It was just a hopeful reminder you had the ability to feel this way about someone other than you-know-who.

Which speaking of. 

It was as if Joel had a censor for when you were spending time with another guy. For the past few days, he’d been texting you or calling you throughout the day. The calls you did your best to ignore, and you placated his texts that were “just checking in” or “this meme reminded me of you” with half hearted responses. You were too nice to cut him off cold turkey, but every day you had half a mind to block his number. 

You can tell Stiles wants to ask who you’re ignoring when you hit the decline call button for the third time in his vicinity, but he respects your privacy. Even though every time your phone lights up, you can tell he’s dying to say something. 

With all the time you’ve been spending with the Stilinskis, they invite you to spend Christmas day with them. And at that point you didn’t even bother to protest. You’re looking forward to eating Christmas ham with them (which Noah had to fight for) and end the night watching Love Actually. And the two of them assure you they’ll have enough father-son time on Christmas Eve. 

Which gives you the perfect time to do the lastest-last minute Christmas shopping for them on that very Eve.

You’re at the Beacon Hills mall and by the grace of God, you find a white cable knit sweater in a department store reminiscent of Billy Crystal’s in When Harry Met Sally you Noah would love and laugh over. 

You found it harder to shop for Stiles. You think it's just because you’ve known him for a few days less, but really you felt more pressured to impress him. You couldn’t imagine why. 

Speak of the devil. 

Just as you were hopelessly pursuing a rack of flannels you’re sure he already had, the man himself was calling you. 

“Hey-”

“Oh, my God you have to help me.”

Your heart rate picks up at his panicked tone, “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Is your dad-?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. He’s fine, I promise. He just got called into work.”

“Oh.” You let out a relieved breath but still frown, “On Christmas Eve? That sucks.”

“I know. Especially for me.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, being the amazing son I am, I told him I’d have dinner ready for him when he got home.”

“That’s nice.”

“But I have no idea what to make him.”

“Ah.”

“That’s where you come in.” 

“I figured.”

“I thought I could literally just make pasta, but believe it or not we’re out. And now I’m at the grocery store and everything is like sold out.”

“Well you are shopping on Christmas Eve.”

“I didn’t see your car next door. What are you doing?”

“...Shopping.”

“Nice.”

“Would you be up for taking a trip to the city? I’m sure they’ve got at least one supermarket that hasn’t been picked over. I can meet you there and help you throw something together.”

“Really? I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“As previously mentioned, I’m already out. It's not a problem.”

“Okay…if you’re sure.”

“I am one hundred percent sure.”

And that’s how you end up participating in a supermarket scavenger hunt in San Francisco for the afternoon. You split up at the first two grocery stores, and with your head start you have an epiphany that your Christmas gift to Stiles could be snickerdoodles, as his dad said those were his favorite. So you grab some extra ingredients before heading to a very barren pasta aisle. Damn what was everyone in California making?

You meet Stiles, after he had similar luck, at a third grocery store. This time you get lucky and find a box of fettuccine which had been your goal.

“Okay so you’re envisioning alfredo? Nice. I can grab a jar-”

“No, no, no.” You literally force stop him in his tracks, “Everyone knows premade alfredo sauce is never good.”

“Yeah, I agree with you. But you expect me to make it from scratch?”

“I can help you.”

“I don’t want to keep putting you out on Christmas Eve.”

“Stiles, it's literally fine. Who else am I gonna hang out with?” You say with a smirk so he knows you’re teasing.

He still feels a pit in his stomach as he follows you to the refrigerated section where your sights are set on heavy cream and cheese. 

“I guess I’ve just been curious…you didn’t have any friends to spend the holidays with?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “I have great friends. But honestly, a lot of them have families or significant others and it's not always fun being around that this time of year.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I get that. I hate when I get stuck in DC by myself and I get a pity invite to something from one of my friends.”

“Yeah, it's nice but it's also tortuous.”

“Exactly,” He chuckles softly, but still feels something nagging at him, “I’m just surprised that you’re single…”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably but you don’t let it show, as you lead him determinedly to pick up an extra pack of butter. “Guess I haven’t found ‘the one’ yet.”

Stiles once again scoffs and mutters to himself, “How does one even know when they’ve found that.” 

You try not to read into that and focus on making sure you get unsalted butter over salted, “I guess I’ll let you know when I find him.” Satisfied with your selection, you turn to him and stand up straight. “Do you guys have garlic powder?”

Stiles scrunches his face to think briefly and then shrugs, “No clue.”

You chuckle softly, turning to lead him toward the spice aisle, “Follow me.”

Wordlessly he trails behind you, and you’re thankful he’s dropped the topic of romance. For your sake and his, he’s the last person you should be talking to about relationships and dating when, fine, you’ll admit it, you’ve developed a very tiny and innocent crush on him. It was harmless but should he even get a single hint you had any sliver of feelings for him while he had a very long-term and serious girlfriend, then you’d lose his friendship. And worse. Your friendship with his dad. And you didn’t want to lose either. 

“Can you explain to me the difference between garlic salt and garlic powder?” he asks inquisitively as you pick up the former. 

You give him an amused look, “Uhhh, just general vibes I guess?”

Stiles nods and glances back at the array of spices, “And can you explain to me why nutmeg isn’t a nut?”

“Well, I’m not-”

“Or what the hell cardamom even is?” He asks with an incredulous look on his face as he takes a step back and takes in the whole aisle. “But seriously I’ve never heard of half of these spices.”

“Well that's because you don’t cook or bake.” You scoff.

“Hey, I thought I’ve been an excellent sous chef. Your words, not mine.” he crosses his arms, giving you a faux offended look.

“Yeah, thanks to my guidance.” You shrug, crossing your own arms.

“Okay then explain cumin to me.” He takes a step closer. 

“Hey, I don’t question the ingredients, I just use them.” You hold your hands up in surrender. 

Stiles scoffs, “Sounds like negligence in the kitchen to me.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, officer, suspend me from my post? In your hour of need?” You tease back, taking a challenging step closer. 

A smirk starts to creep up on Stiles face, liking you in this close proximity to him. “Well, I think…”

Just as he’s forming a witty retort, his eyes drift just past your head to further down the aisle where a familiar strawberry blonde is standing. He almost calls out to her…until he processes the fact that she is not alone. Technically he isn’t either. But Lydia’s hand is intertwined with her counterpart, and said man is leaning down to kiss her. Right there in the spice aisle. 

You squint at Stiles curiously just as the color drains from his face. You anxiously turn around in the direction he’s staring at and you instantly understand his expression. In fact, your heart breaks for him. You turn back to him quickly, his name escaping your lips in a quiet whisper. But before you can find any other words to console him, he’s side stepping around you and approaching his should-be girlfriend. You can barely stomach watching the scene unfold. In fact, you last the fraction of a second it takes for Lydia to realize she’d been caught red-haired and handed before you turn right around to give them privacy and vacate the aisle altogether. 

You make yourself busy by checking out the items you’ve gathered and waiting in the parking lot where the bug is parked next to his blue jeep. Lydia and her companion exit the store first, and you avert your eyes as if she’d know who you were at all. Then two minutes later, Stiles exits and walks slowly over to you. 

You’re once again at loss for words as he pulls his keys from his pocket and fumbles with them for a second. 

“Can we talk at the house?” he mutters softly, his wounded eyes flashing to yours briefly before turning back to his keys.

You nod, hoping the drive back to Beacon Hills would help relax him as much as was even possible. You don’t say a word. You just squeeze his arm before getting into your own car to follow him out of the parking lot. 

After a half hour, you’re both pulling into your respective driveways before you jog over to his front door. He waits on the porch for you before leading you both into the house you’ve become oh so comfortable in. 

The air feels different though, a sense of tension looming. You take it upon yourself to unpack the groceries, getting the necessary items in the fridge while he flops on the couch with a loud breath you can hear from the kitchen. You also take it upon yourself to pour some alcohol. You decide on one glass of wine and one glass of whiskey. When you sit beside Stiles on the couch, he chooses the whiskey. And then you wait for him to talk. 

“Is it bad that I’m not…surprised?” Is what he finally says.

You turn to him with narrowed eyes, “What?”

He groans and rubs his temple, “I just mean…I’ve had this feeling in my gut for a long time that the other shoe was going to drop for us at some point.”

“Why would you think that? I thought you two were…inseparable?” 

He nods, “We were. When we…got together in high school…it's a long story but we went through a lot together that sort of…bonded us. And I’d had a crush on her since elementary school, long before she even knew I existed. So when we finally got together, I just thought, wow I can’t believe this is finally happening. Can’t believe a girl like her would even want to be with a guy like me. But even that first summer after high school it felt…forced? Like we were just together because it made sense that we were? And then the distance thing…it was hard but it also…wasn’t? Like I didn’t…miss her as much as I thought I would. Or at least…I didn’t long for her the way you’re supposed to. Like…aren’t you supposed to ache when you’re away from the person you love?”

He turns to you after that, and it catches her off guard, as you’d been studying his face as he tried to explain his complicated feelings. 

Your voice is hoarse when you finally swallow and respond, “Yeah, I suppose…I mean, I guess I’ve never felt that either.”

Stiles nods slightly and studies her this time, “I guess what I’m trying to say is it felt like we were going through the motions for a while now and it was just a matter of time before one of us said it out loud.”

You frown, ��But Stiles…even if it wasn’t working out or if she was unhappy, she shouldn’t have cheated on you. Or lied to you.”

Stiles closes his eyes and groans, “That's what pisses me off. All the times we’ve texted this week, which admittedly wasn’t much, she kept talking about the weather in fucking Massachusettes, when she’s been in San Francisco the whole time. Hell, I sent her Christmas present there last week!”

You close your own eyes at this. You had never been more sure someone deserves something less than the way Stiles deserved this. On Christmas Eve nonetheless.

He lets out another long breath and shakes his head, “But honestly it's still my fault.”

You make a face, “How in the world is it your fault?”

“For letting it get this far,” He shrugs, “I’ve known for years that our relationship was…off. And I never said anything. Or at the very least tried to do something to make it better. She probably felt me pulling away and jumped at the chance with someone else that actually gave her something. I think I just…held onto the idea of us. Or the idea I had of us when I was a teenager, pining over the popular girl in school. Like a part of me thought it had to work out and that whatever emptiness I felt was just how relationships were supposed to be because…what I always thought I wanted was her. And I had it.”

After a few beats of silence, Stiles glances at you again, “Did any part of that make any sense to you?”

You swallow thickly again and nod, “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same way about my high school boyfriend, too.”

His eyebrows raise, shocked to be getting a nugget of information regarding your romantic life. 

You take a deep breath and turn away from him, figuring it would be easier to say this way. 

“I’ve stuck by him longer than I should have too, because I always figured we’d end up together. Except…I’ve made the stupid decision to stick by him after he cheated on me. Twice.” You can sense Stiles eyes widen and shoulders tense beside you at this admission, but you force yourself to keep going, “And even after the second time, I’m still fucking friends with him. In fact, I called him before I came here. And he still reaches out to me almost daily even though he just got engaged to the girl he left me for. All because some twisted part of me thinks our stories still intertwine at the end.”

“He’s the guy that's been calling and texting you all week?” Stiles murmurs, almost not as a question. “Joel.”

The name sounds bitter coming out of Stiles mouth. You almost laugh as you nod. “Yeah. A huge reason I came on this trip was to forget about him, but it's like he knows and he doesn’t want me to.”

“No, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Stringing along while he gets to do whatever and whoever he wants. He’s an asshole.”

You snort, “Your dad called him a schmuck.”

“God, the biggest fucking schmuck.” 

You smile to yourself, “You already seem so much more self aware of your situation than me. Maybe you can avoid my fate and not be destined to love someone who’d hurt you like that.”

“I don’t think you’re destined for that…” Stiles whispers, “I think you were right earlier. You just haven’t found ‘the one’ yet.”

You manage a tiny smile as you and Stiles stare at one another with your heads leaning against the couch cushions. Instead of getting lost in his eyes while he looks at you like that, you lift up your wine glass in a silent request to clink it against his. “To both of us finding the one.”

The corners of Stiles' mouth twitch as he clinks. After another beat, Stiles forces himself off the couch with a surprising spring in his step. He turns to you and offers you a hand, “Okay no more wallowing. It's the holidays. We’re festive. We’re merry. We’re bright. Now let's go make some Christmas fettuccine.” 

Your smile grows and you take his hand, and you don’t miss the squeeze he gives you and the way he doesn’t let your hand drop until you’re well into the kitchen.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ only the good notes ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Your Christmas Eve took a sharp turn in a positive direction that night. The alcohol kept flowing, and maybe it was your brain under the influence of it, but you’re pretty sure the homemade alfredo you taught Stiles how to make was better than anything you’ve ever made in your whole life.

By the time Stiles’ dad arrives home that evening, he finds you both on your second bottle of wine, sprawled out in the living room, playing a very serious game of battleship. Noah doesn’t question it, and just heats up a plate of fettuccine and joins you when you switch to Clue. 

Of course you finish out the night with a movie, and Stiles lobbies for sci-fi this time, and you allow it - definitely because of the alcohol. 

However, you also definitely pass out within thirty minutes. But somehow, you still awake in your bed next door on Christmas morning. But you don’t dwell on it. 

You take a shower - after you’ve popped three advil and down a glass of water - and make the snickerdoodles for Stiles. Once they’re done you put them in a festive tupperware container and a gift bag, before wrapping the sweater for Noah in a gift box. 

After doing yourself up a little nicer than you normally would for a drop in at the Stilinskis, you head next door midafternoon, more excited for Christmas than you had been in recent years. Noah greets you at the door with a Merry Christmas and sweet kiss on the cheek before taking your bags and putting them by the tree in the living room. Stiles is already pouring you a glass of wine when you both meet him in the kitchen to get started on your grand meal for the evening. 

The sheriff took charge of the ham while you and Stiles were responsible for sides. Meaning, you made the mac and cheese while Stiles prepared the salad and rolls. 

You eat at the table and as always, enjoy lively conversation with the men who are quickly becoming two of your favorite people on the planet for welcoming you into their home for the holiday you otherwise would have spent alone. Your heart nearly grows three sizes when they announce they found Christmas Crackers to order online - a British holiday tradition - because they thought it would make you feel more at home. You really have to hold back from tearing up. 

The three of you tag team cleaning up the meal before retiring to the living room for the night, where you exchange presents. Just as you predicted, Noah loves the sweater and you equally love the vinyl record of the original soundtrack for 13 Going on 30. Stiles chastises you both for being too obsessed with rom-coms but there’s a fond smile on his face as he does it. 

That’s when you give Stiles his present and he’s both touched and confused that you were aware of his affinity for snickerdoodles. As he thanks you, he shares a wistful look with his dad. At your questioning stare, he smiles at you softly and explains, “My mom used to make these all the time.”

Your heart aches briefly, glancing at Noah who had left that detail out he told you that information. The man just shrugs, “Well, hers came out burnt half the time.”

Stiles and you both laugh, you in shock at the fond critique. 

“They were still incredible,” Stiles insists.

Still laughing, you look back at Stiles, “Alright, noted, I’ll bake them a tad longer next time.” 

Stiles’ stomach flips. Next time. 

Finally, since Stiles and his dad exchanged their gifts in the morning, the last gift of the evening was Stiles’ gift to you. He handed you a haphazardly wrapped rectangle you pretended to shake to hear something as if it were hollow, but you were already pretty sure it was a book. 

Stiles shrugs as you eye him while tearing the paper off, “It’s nothing really. You probably already have it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Stop it, you didn’t have it get me anything at all. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

You stare down at the book in your hands as you finally get the paper off. It’s one of those special edition books, with the shiny colored pages and gorgeously redesigned covers. The ones you always see in bookstores but never end up buying because you can never settle with picking just one. 

“Emma by Jane Austen?”

“Yeah, it's your favorite isn’t it?”

“Did I tell you that?”

Stiles nods, his fingers intertwined together, one of his nervous ticks you’ve picked up on. “Yeah, when we were watching Clueless. You said it's the book the movie’s based off of.”

You stare at the book in awe, before transferring that look to him, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

He shrugs again, “Of course. Well. Sort of ordered the book on the spot. Amazon. Capitalism. The true meaning of Christmas.”

You huff a soft laugh, still shaking your head at his thoughtfulness despite playing it off. “Thank you. I love it.”

His lips curve up, “Good. I’m glad.” 

For his part, Noah watches the scene unfold hiding a smile behind his whiskey glass. As far as he knew, Stiles was still hanging onto his relationship with Lydia by a thread. But he had a feeling that thread was about to snap if it hadn’t already. 

At that moment, you seem to remember that the two of you weren’t the only people in the room and you clear your throat. “Well, speaking of rom-coms, is it time for Love, Actually?”

Stiles snaps out of it himself and jumps up, picking up discarded pieces of wrapping paper on the way. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

Two days after Christmas you find yourself alone with Stiles for the first time since the supermarket incident turned one of your favorite Christmas Eve-Christmas’s of your life. On the 26th Stiles went to Scott’s for their friend group Secret Santa. He had mentioned being stressed about it, having had picked Isaac who he for some reason had a love-beef relationship with. But during one of his pop ups at your place, you helped him order something simple for the other guy. 

You were excited to hear how it all went down the next day. On the morning of the 27th, Stiles texted you to inform you his dad was working all day and he’d order Chinese for them tonight if she was up for it. And she definitely was. He comes over around five, and they call the restaurant together, ordering way too much food for either of them to consume. 

As you sip wine in the living room and wait for your dinner, you ask about Secret Santa. Isaac, unsurprisingly, loved his gift. And then Stiles received his from his other friend Liam who got him a Batman crewneck. You quip it would have been better if it was a Ten Things I Hate About You crewneck, Heath Ledger’s finer work, and he rolls his eyes. Affectionately. 

Stiles also admits he had to tell his friends about him and Lydia. They were both shocked and appalled and glad she didn’t RSVP for the party this year. 

“It must be hard…sharing a friend group with her. I’d imagine they’re not just going to cast her out.” You comment softly. 

Stiles nods, “Yeah. And I wouldn’t want them to. It’ll just take some…adjusting.” 

You hum, “Take it from me…it's hard staying in close proximity. I mean, I know you’ve been long distance anyway but even mutual friends' instagram stories are a hard place to run into them.”

Stiles cringes, “Yeah like I said…an adjustment.”

You hesitate before asking one question lingering on your mind, “Do you think..there’s a part of you considering taking her back?”

His eyebrows raise in surprise but he doesn’t immediately deny it. “I mean…it's definitely crossed my mind. Like I said, I always just assumed we’d stay together but…at the end of the day I think both of us deserve better than a relationship we’re only in half way.” 

You nod, “Even if one day you both find yourself in the same place, or city?”

Stiles sighs, “I guess you can’t really plan for that.”

Still not a firm denial. You couldn’t really fault him for that. The breakup was still fresh. 

Once your Chinese food arrives, you set everything out on your coffee table and you dig in, while throwing a sitcom on the TV you’ve both seen a dozen times so you can talk over it. Ten minutes into your feast, Stiles glances at the vacant arm chair across the room, that wasn’t really vacant, because your stack of art supplies filled it.

“Wait, do you paint? Or draw?” Stiles asks, squinting at the items across from him.

You flush slightly, but it wasn’t like it was a secret. “Uh, yeah. A little bit of both.” 

Stiles sputters, “You’ve been here a week and I didn’t know that?”

“You say that like it's been a lifetime.”

As he stands he mutters, “That's what it feels like.” 

You choose not to linger on whatever that means.

Stiles hovers over the chair and then turns to you. “Oh, um..may I?”

Your stomach flips anxiously but you find yourself nodding. “Sure.”

Stiles smiles gleefully and picks up your sketchbook before plopping back down on the couch beside you. You watch anxiously as he starts flipping through. Like you had said, it contained sketches and some of which you painted. 

He gives you a sideways glance after he looks at a few, “You seriously drew these? Free hand?”

You laugh softly, shifting into a semi-fetal position. You can count on one hand the number of people that have seen your drawings, outside of classes you took at university. “Yup.”

“They’re incredible,” he murmurs, continuing to flip through. Then he lingers on one and you figure he’d found the drawing you’d been anxiously anticipating his reaction to. You lean over slightly to confirm your theory and you were correct. It was a detailed drawing of the exterior of Stiles and his dad’s home, complete with the patrol car and blue jeep in the driveway. You’d gone over it with watercolors, feeling particularly inspired that day. For some reason. 

He glances at you for a split second before reverting back to the painting. “That’s Roscoe.” 

“I’m sorry, who?” 

“Oh right. That's my Jeep’s name.”

“Does everyone name their cars?”

“What you don’t?”

“I don’t have a car right now. I live in a very walkable city.” 

“Don’t rub it in,” Stiles snorts, and doesn’t even take his eyes off of the painting. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

You feel your cheeks warm, “It's okay if you think it's dumb.” 

Stiles vehemently shakes his head. “Not dumb at all. You’re so talented. And this one’s my favorite, not even a little biased.” 

You smile as he grins back at you teasingly. 

“Seriously, would you ever consider doing something with this?” he inquires.

You shrug, “I don’t know. I think my real passion is writing. But I kind of want to get out of journalism and do more with fiction. I’ve sometimes thought it could be cool to write a children’s book and illustrate it myself.”

“That would be so cool,” Stiles says all soft and earnestly. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, glancing back down at the page again, “Would it be too much if I asked to keep this?”

Your cheeks warm again, “You want to?”

“Yeah, I told you it's my favorite. And then I’d be the first person to have one of your originals.” He glances at you, “Unless you give these out willy nilly.”

You laugh, “Nope. You’d be the first.”

He grins again, “Thank you.” After a beat, another thought crosses his mind, “Could you draw me?”

“Are you asking me if I can? Or if I will?”

He shrugs, “Can you? Would you?”

You scoff, “Are you asking me to draw you like one of my French girls?”

“Depends. Would I have to be topless?”

“If you want it to be authentic.”

“Well, fine if it's for the sanctity of art, I shall.”

As you both laugh together, you finally register how close you’ve been next to him. In fact, you lean closer as you laugh. And for the first time, you don’t feel the urge to cut the moment short or pull away. Stiles seems to register the same thing as his laughter dies down. His eyes linger on your eyes for one, two, three more seconds…before they venture to your lips. 

As if by gravitational pull, you both lean closer until your lips brush against one anothers. Stiles reaches out and tenderly cups your face, pulling you closer to fully commit to the kiss, which you eagerly reciprocate. 

You’d admittedly thought about what this would feel like since pretty much every day since you met him. But you never seriously considered it actually happening. Not with the limited time you were spending here. Not with his dad is such close proximity at all times. Not with-

The girl he had broken up with merely 48 hours ago. 

Despite the kiss being better than your fantasies could have conjured up, you jerk back once you regain awareness of the situation. 

Stiles’ eyes shoot open as you sink back into the couch, away from his touch. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, as worry and guilt build in his chest.

“Shit, was that not okay?”

You move your head somewhere between a nod and shake back and forth. “It was okay, I just think…you’re fresh off of a breakup with your long-term girlfriend and I don’t want to take advantage of all the things you're feeling right now.”

Stiles nods but the frown stays on his face, “Admittedly yes there are a lot of feelings swirling through me right now, but most if not all are for you.” 

You swallow and close your eyes tightly, because if you keep looking at him you won’t have the strength to say or do the right thing. “I know what you mean but…I also think you’ve had a lot to think about in so little time and I don’t want to factor in and affect anything.”

“But-”

“And I won’t be here for very much longer and if anything, that should be what factors in the most.”

Anything Stiles was going to stay dies on his tongue in that moment, feeling the wind get knocked out of him. Yes, subconsciously he’d always been aware your time in Beacon Hills was limited. But after the last couple of days, after that kiss, the reality hit him twice as hard. Despite having known you for just about a week, he’d still had some of the most incredible days of his life getting to know you, cooking with you, laughing with you, watching you bond and look after his father in ways he hadn’t been able to do in recent years. He couldn’t stomach the idea of all of that coming to an end, before they could even start…something. Anything. 

“It doesn’t have to be…” Stiles manages to whisper, but it's a weak argument without anything to back it up. 

You give him a watery smile, “I’ve had a really amazing holiday with you. And your dad. But…I think for now you should just…sit with your breakup and think about what you really want. Hell, I’ve been sitting with mine for years and I still have yet to figure that out.”

Stiles’ face contorts at the mention of your ex, “But this is different.” 

“This is…fleeting.” You sigh with a tired shrug, “And not worth more than what you have here.”

Stiles wants to argue, say that what he’s had here for years pales in comparison to what he’s had the past few days with you. But he knows how crazy it sounds. And he knows his relationship with Lydia meant enough to him to at least think about for a little longer. 

He takes a deep breath and finally nods. But he can’t leave it like this. “I don’t want this to be our goodbye.”

You force a smile again, “It’s not. I’m still here for a little while longer. I’ll see you before I go. Just take a couple days.”

He nods again, comforted by the idea of seeing you again and that's enough to propel him to his feet and walk towards the door. 

“You’ll still come by if you need anything right? And I mean anything?”

You nod as you open the front door for him slowly. “Of course. I know where to find you guys.”

He nods, grinding his teeth. He brushes his lips against your forehead briefly, before ducking outside without another word.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ gumption ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Admittedly cutting Stiles and subsequently his dad out of your life for even one day was harder than you thought, especially considering they’ve been your only form of real life human connection the past week or so. 

Sure, you’ve spoken to your friends over the phone and FaceTime but when you’ve truly felt whole this holiday season, it's been with one or both of the Stilinskis. Even in such a short amount of time, they’ve become almost sort of…family.

And maybe that's your problem overall. Even without romance complicating your relationship with Stiles, you were still becoming overly attached to these two men who you would likely never see again in just a few days. Gaining and losing two more people in your life was not the goal of this getaway.

So for that whole day without them, you focus on yourself. You take yourself shopping and take advantage of those post-Christmas sales, but most things were well picked over. You treat yourself to a mani-pedi but of course you regret the color choice an hour later. Instead of cooking dinner, you order takeout but they forget two of the things you wanted. Even baking and drawing don’t bring you peace. 

Sighing against the couch, with a heavy poured glass of wine, you rub your head and wonder what else you could possibly be doing to take your mind off of the boy next door.

As if by clockwork, your phone buzzes from where you discarded it on the coffee table. You sit up a little faster than you should have when you consider it could be Stiles who is reaching out. But you face disappointment when you see that it's Joel. 

And for some reason…you pick it up this time.

“Hey,” you breathe out, unsure of your game plane here.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Joel’s thick posh accent glides through the phone. “Wanted to see how your holidays were. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

You sigh, feeling yourself slipping back into the comfort of his familiar voice. He always claimed terms of endearments were how he spoke to everyone. But you’ve never heard him use them for anyone other than his significant other, or you even if you weren’t his. It had begun to bug you over the last couple months, but tonight, you’re falling for it. 

“They were really good. Sorry I’ve been missing your calls, I’ve been pretty busy,” You find yourself apologizing for some reason. 

“That's alright, love. I’m glad to hear you found things to do over there.” He muses and you almost hear the smile on his face over the phone. “You know…I’ve really missed you. Christmas in Richmond isn’t the same without you here.”

For once in your life, you find yourself saying what you’re thinking to him, “I’m sure you’ve got your fiance to keep you company though, right? First Christmas as an engaged couple?”

There’s silence on the other end, briefly. “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot lately. I’m not quite sure that’s going to work out.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “What? Your engagement?”

“The whole relationship,” he admits softly, “Look, darling I’ve been thinking about you a lot the last couple weeks. Pretty much non-stop since you left. And I realized…maybe I made a mistake.”

Your heart just about stops. This is what you always thought would happen. He’d come to his senses and come back to you. 

But it doesn’t feel the way you thought it would. 

“What do you mean, Joel?” You ask and you hate how shaky your voice sounds.

“I mean…I fucked up when I let you go-”

“Yeah. Twice.”

“I know, darling,” he sighs, “And you know how sorry I was. And I think this time away from you made me really think about everything. And think about what I really want.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, “And you want…me?”

He chuckles, “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say, love.”

You’re at loss for words as your brain tries to make sense of this information. Everything in you is screaming not to give into this, but there is still a small piece of you that reminds you how much simpler it would be. He was familiar. He lived in your town. He was a safer choice than a man thousands of miles away. 

Just as you feel your resolve melting, before you have a chance to respond you hear Joel’s voice again, but this time it's distant, accompanied by muffled noises. As if he was talking to someone else. 

“Give me one second, doll…” are the only works you make out…followed by footsteps and a door closing. 

“Darling-”

“I’m sorry,” you scoff, “Are you with her right now?”

“Sweetheart, I’m-”

“Oh, my God you are actually unbelievable,” You shake your head despite him not being there, “You call me to tell me you want me back from the house you still share with your fiance you are still very much with!”

You hear him let out a long, tired breath, “Darling, I wish you could understand how confused all of these feelings have made me.”

“You may be confused, but I’m not anymore. I am so done with this.”

He stutters, “Darling, what do you mean? You can’t be saying-”

“I’m saying I’m done with you, Joel. In every possible way. I’m done waiting around for you. I’m done allowing you into my life even when you don’t deserve to be in any capacity. And I am sure as hell done thinking I’m in love with you.”

“Darling-”

“Goodbye, Joel.” And without another thought, you hang up. And not a part of you feels guilty that that might very well be the last time you ever speak to him.

You start pacing the living room. You could not believe you almost fell for it again, even though he was doing the exact thing he always does. And that’s when you realize, he wasn’t the safe choice because he was a good choice. He was safe because deep down you know what you were getting yourself into with him. There was always a chance he could hurt you but you could prepare for it. With someone else, someone knew, it was unpredictable and that's what made things scary.

But you were tired of that fear holding you back. 

Suddenly coming to your own senses, you realize there’s someone you desperately need to talk to. And soon, while your adrenaline is still pumping.

You glance out of your front window. The patrol car next door was missing from the driveway. But the blue jeep was there. Suddenly remembering something, you grab your sketchbook and dash outside, straight to the neighboring front door, knocking quickly. Nervously, you hug the sketchbook to your chest as you wait.

Moments later, the door swings open and you’re greeted by those warm brown eyes you’ve grown so fond of the last couple weeks. 

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, like you’d been holding your breath since you knocked. Which you had been,

“Hi,” he says, sounding very similar. 

“Can I come in?” You ask quickly before you lose the nerve.

Startled by your assertiveness, he nods quickly and steps out of the way. You hurry inside and into the living room, Stiles following close behind.

“First of all, I realized you forgot this.” You shakily flip through your book before you get to the page with the same blue jeep that was parked outside. And inspite of your shakiness, you carefully tear out the page, thankful for the perforated lines. 

“Oh,” Stiles is surprised when you hand him your artwork, “You’re still okay with me having this?”

You shrug, “You’re the only one who should.”

He blinks at you before allowing a small smile to creep on his face. 

“I forgot something last night, too.” You continue softly. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, still feeling like you were short on breath. “I know I said me and you are fleeting, and that it was complicated with the timing of your breakup but I never told you that…I have feelings for you too. Lots and lots of feelings.”

Stiles’ smile wobbles, “You do?”

“Yes. And the truth was I was afraid of them. Not because of you. You’re probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met. But because the circumstances are hard and you’d have the incredibly anxiety-inducing ability to break my heart if I let you in the way I want to.”

His name escapes your lips breathlessly, taking a step closer as he prepares to deny your fear.

You step in the opposite direction, wanting to finish your thoughts, “No, no, it's true and that’s okay. Because neither of us can promise that everything will go perfectly. That's life. My dad promised he’d always be around and then he got sick, that wasn’t his fault. Things just happen. But I’ve spent the last however many years trying to prevent things from happening, that I’ve also stopped living my life to the fullest. Stop going after things I want. And right now, I really, really want you.” 

Stiles watches you intently, and you let out a deep breath to let him know you’re done. 

“I just wanted you to know that,” you finish quietly. 

Stiles nods and takes a deep breath of his own. “I talked to Lydia today.”

You breath hitches. “Oh? You did?”

He nods again, “Yeah. And we’re officially over.”

Your eyes widen, “You…are?”

Stiles walks closer to you again and this time you don’t move back. His lips start to curve up again. “I want you, too. And I know there’s a lot of variables, and we can’t predict the future, but here today, right here right now, I know that I haven’t felt this way about anyone, especially in such a short amount of time, and I’ll do whatever I can to make this work.”

Your lip quivers as he further invades your space, his forehead pressing against yours. He gently grips your chin.

“Does that sound okay to you?” He whispers.

You nod, swallowing a disbelieving laugh. “That sounds perfect.”

Stiles grins and finally presses his lips to yours, and not a bone in your body ever wants to pull away. In fact, you chase his mouth when he pulls away, and he fights a laugh of his own. 

“Hey,” he whispers, holding your face gently between his hands and looking at you amusedly, “Quick question. Do you want to go out with me on New Year’s Eve?”

Just as you start to beam at him, your smile falters. “I’ll be back in England by New Years Eve.”

He frowns briefly too before fixing a determined look on his face, not breaking eye contact with you. “You know I’ve never been to England. I’ve never even been to another continent.”

You squint, your heart racing as you chuckle softly, “Oh yeah? You sound like me.”

He starts to grin again, “If I come over there…then will you go out with me?”

This time you fully beam, “I’d love to.” 

Stiles kisses you again, more hungrily this time. And you count yourself lucky his dad walked in the house at that point, and not five minutes later when god knows what position you would have been in.

Instead you just pull apart slightly, to laugh after he exclaims, “I knew it!” 

Stiles holds you tightly in his arms, not wanting to let you go for even a second as his dad begins teasing them. You’re pretty sure you’ve never felt happier. Or safer. And even though you still had so much to figure out, you weren’t going to overthink it. You were content living in the moment, as long as many of those moments were spent in Stiles arms as possible.

author's note: can't wait to hear what everyone thinks!! and hope everyone has a wonderful start to 2025 <3

[bitingdrivers]

new bones au fic time!! - maxiel, 1.7k -> read on ao3

Daniel knocks on the door three times and waits. 

It's early, 6:30 am, but he had gotten up even earlier – a call that Daniel had been contemplating letting ring through to  voicemail, but had ultimately decided to pick up. 

Now Daniel thinks he should have ignored it – a body was found in a sinkhole during construction work and now he has to go to the crime scene at the crack of dawn. Because it's his job or something. 

There's one positive though – he gets to pick up Max from his apartment. There's something exciting about seeing Max like this, in comfortable cozy clothes, early in the morning. It’s like getting a new piece of the puzzle that is Max Verstappen. 

During the  handful of times Daniel has gotten to do this, Max had been wearing different, new, clothes that he’d never seen before – a nice soft baby blue sweater, a pair of pajama pants with little race cars on it, warm fluffy socks, a big black hoodie, old and loved, from the looks of it. 

And now, as Daniel hears footsteps on the other side of the door, he wonders what Max will wear today. 

The lock clicks and the door opens. Max looks through the crack, his brows furrowed and hair ruffled from sleep. 

“Daniel?” Max croaks. He cracks the door a little more and Daniel uses the moment to slip past him into the flat. 

“Good morning, Bones!” Daniel grins and looks at Max.

As soon as his eyes land on Max, Daniel's brain short-circuits. 

Max is naked. Almost.

He is dressed in only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Daniel has never seen him this undressed. He can't tear his eyes away from the way Max's black boxers contrast with his pale thighs. Daniel feels his hands itch as he looks at the light fuzzy hair covering Max’s thighs. 

He has to carefully shift his eyes upwards, looking at Max’s t-shirt now. It's white, one of the basic ones he wears to work, but this one is crinkled, like Max left it on the floor and put it on in a rush. 

“What are you doing here so early?” Max asks and Daniel remembers that he's in Max's flat at six in the morning. 

“Uh-Didn't you get a call?” He asks, trying to keep looking into Max’s eyes. 

Max raises a brow.

“A body was found in a sinkhole in Dupont Circle. I'm here to drive you to the crime scene,” Daniel elaborates. 

Max is about to reply when an unfamiliar voice interrupts him. 

“Hey, what's going on?” 

Daniel’s hand jerks to his gun as he looks to the source of the sound. 

There's a guy standing in the doorframe of Max’s bedroom. 

He's also mostly naked, except for the navy boxers on his hips. He's tall, taller than Max, with dark hair and slightly tanned skin. 

Daniel doesn't like him – the guy is too smug and proprietary, he looks at both of them with a smirk, and it makes Daniel want to punch him. 

“Colin,” Max says, turning around. “This is my partner, Daniel. We are needed at a crime scene.”

Daniel tries really hard to stop looking at Colin, instead looking around him at Max’s flat. It’s spacious, with high ceilings and big windows. You can clearly see a touch of Max here – anthropology journals scattered around, more weird sculptures and trinkets covering shelves and counters. The floor is covered in a plush ornamental rug, a big comfortable couch sits in the middle of the living room. 

Daniel decides that Colin looks wildly out of place here, like his whole being clashes with the gentle softness of Max’s flat.

Then Daniel’s brain catches up with what's going on – the way both Max and Colin are mostly naked, how Max was reluctant to let Daniel in. The realization violently clicks into place and he immediately feels the need to leave. 

“Y-yeah. I-We need to go,” Daniel stammers, moving towards the door. “Bones, how about I wait in the car?”

Max tracks his movement. “Sure, I will be ready in…10-15 minutes?” he asks. 

“Yeah, yeah. No problem,” Daniel splutters, already half out the door. He is about to leave when he remembers his manners, even though he doesn't want to be nice to Colin. 

“And uh. It was nice meeting you, Colin.” Daniel tries to smile. He hopes it doesn't look like a snarl. 

“Sure man, you too,” Collin replies, the same smirk playing on his lips. Daniel  still wants to punch him. 

“Okay, 15 minutes, Bones,” Daniel throws behind his shoulder and closes the door after himself. 

***

“You are being weird,” Max says, looking at Daniel's side profile. 

“I'm not being weird,” Daniel tenses and grips the wheel even tighter. 

He is definitely being weird. As soon as Max got into the car, Daniel handed him a can of Redbull without saying anything and started driving. 

Max is not the best at “reading the room”, but even he can tell the atmosphere in the car is awkward – they usually talk on their way to the crime scene, but this time they sat in silence, even the radio is off, only the sounds of the road around them keeping the silence from being unbearable. 

“You are. Is it because of me being gay?” Max asks, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible. 

That's the only explanation to Daniel's behavior, albeit not a reasonable one. Max knows Daniel is not homophobic, they've had cases that involved talking to gay people and Daniel never showed any kind of sigh of disgust or protest. 

But maybe, it was because Daniel didn't know any of those people personally. Maybe he has a problem with Max being gay. Maybe Daniel has no problem with gay people as long as he doesn’t have to work with one. 

Max tries to not feel hurt. This wouldn't be the first time he met a homophobe of course, but years of being in a field full of scientists made him forget not all people are normal about homosexuality. And Daniel really didn’t seem like he would have a problem with this.

“What?” Daniel splutters, glancing at Max with his eyebrows raised. “No, it's not because of you… of that!” He suddenly looks angry, shoulders tense.

“Well, what's wrong then? Why are you being weird and silent?” Max feels annoyance rising in himself. He hates feeling this – like he's done something wrong. Even though he knows he didn't. 

“Bones, stop. I'm not being weird!” Daniel exclaims and takes a breath. “I just didn't expect…seeing a guy in your flat.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Max snaps. He hits his hand on the window as he throws his arms into the air. It makes him even more annoyed. 

“Maybe I should warn you everytime I'm planning on having sex with a man inside my own house?” Max snarks. 

“I'm not trying to pick a fight, Max!” Daniel explodes, slicing his hand through the air. Then he returns to gripping the wheel. His knuckles are white. 

“Let's just get to the crime scene and do our jobs, okay?” Daniel says through his teeth, glaring at Max. 

“Fine!” Max throws, crossing his arms and looking out the window. 

They have to drive for another 20 minutes.

***

Max knocks on Daniel’s door and waits. 

This whole day was stupid – their argument in the car ruined the mood and they had kept arguing and jabbing at each other all day. 

At one point Daniel brought up Colin, said something about him being a jerk. It made Max even more mad – it's not like Daniel has any say in his personal life. 

And he wasn't planning on meeting with Colin again anyway, the man wasn't intellectually satisfying, despite being good in bed. Max tried explaining this to Daniel, but that spurred even more arguments about love and other stupid irrational things.

They've never argued this much. Small arguments and spats here and there, but not like this. At the end of the day the others had to do an intervention. 

Charles gathered all of them in the lounge and told them to make up or he would ask Oscar to play their therapist. 

The possibility of having to talk with  Oscar about their argument sounded horrifying to all three of them so Daniel immediately invited Max to his place after work so they could talk it out.

The door swings open and Max is brought back out of his thoughts by Daniel, who's dressed in a big FBI branded t-shirt and a pair of joggers. 

“Hey, come in,” Daniel says and moves to let Max in. 

Max sits at the small kitchen table as Daniel brings them both a bottle of beer. When they've taken a few sips, Daniel speaks up. 

“Listen…Max, I'm sorry for acting like a dick today,” he says, not looking up, scraping off the label from the bottle. 

“It's oka–” Max starts, but Daniel interrupts him. 

“Let me just say what I want to say, yeah?” Daniel says, keeping his eyes trained on the bottle. He takes a breath. 

“I wasn't mad at you, okay? And I don't have anything against gay people either,” he finally looks up at Max. “I-Uh. Been with men myself.”

Max feels relief washing over him. He won’t admit it, but he was really worried. He doesn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if Daniel didn’t want to work with him anymore.

“You're gay too?” Max asks, raising his brows.

Daniel chuckles. “Uh-No. At least I don't call myself one.”

Max nods. 

“I guess I just got surprised today, when I saw Colin at your house. I really didn't expect it,” Daniel admits, rubbing his neck. 

“The recent study showed that up to 10% of the world's population doesn't identify as heterosexual, you shouldn't have been so surprised, Daniel,” Max explains, shaking his head a little. 

Daniel chuckles again, but this time it feels real. 

“So, we're good?” he asks, raising his bottle. 

“Yes, of course,” Max raises his own bottle and clinks it with Daniel’s. 

“And… thank you, Daniel,” Max says before taking a sip. “For telling me.”

Daniel smiles. Max smiles back.

[bcacstuff]

Don't you think Sam should defend her

Well, I can imagine people would think as a first reaction he should, or should say something about it. But then again, if he does, I'm sure the fans who do these stupid things, would immediately see it as him confirming some sort of relationship or something. You know how this fandom, or better said the deranged ones in it are.

He can't do right in this case, he's between a rock and a hard place. We're talking about 2 women, should he address the entire fandom for this? And with that give it perhaps unwanted and more attention then it deserves? What will be the result of that, you might ask yourself. Of course we know there's much more going on in this fandom, but it isn't reserved solely for this fandom:

I've received a link a while back, and still have this article open on one of my tabs in the browser. I had the intention to answer the Anon that sent it to me a few weeks ago, but as there were so many things going on, I didn't want it to get buried by the many other posts.

It's this article:

There are some really good parts in it that can be translated one on one for this fandom, even though the artists in this article are musicians. Already in the first paragraphs you can read:

This summer, norms of pop flipped when musicians started telling off their fans. Leading the pack was Chappell Roan, the 26-year-old breakout star of 2024. In a statement on Instagram, she outlined the “too many nonconsensual physical and social interactions” she had had with fans, including people hassling her family and friends.

An expert view on it:

“The relationship between fans and artists is a power balance,” says Dr Lucy Bennett, a lecturer in journalism, media and culture at Cardiff University. “Sometimes the power can tip back and forth.” Fandom, she explains, is a deeply emotional thing where people can feel a sense of home and belonging. It can lead to an intense connection to the music, something only heightened by the access to artists provided by social media. “But the problem that we have is how fans can forge a direct connection when they’re one among potentially millions that follow the artist. Those artists can’t reach out to every fan online. But to those who aren’t noticed, how does this make them feel? And what lengths may some fans go to get noticed?”

A former deranged fan's experience

Someone who has grappled with this themselves is Emily, a 26-year-old Taylor Swift fan from Idaho. Emily, who asked to be referred to under a pseudonym for fear of being doxed, was once a dedicated Swiftie, spending thousands of dollars on merchandise and concert tickets. During the Lover era of 2019, however, she began to see contradictions in Swift’s image and found her sudden embrace of politics inauthentic and calculated. “I was upset because it seemed the person I thought she was wasn’t real,” she says. She was also put off by the growing toxicity among a fandom that no longer felt like a community. Prior to Swift’s hit album 1989, “Taylor had said that she wasn’t going to interact with fans on social media because one fan might feel more important than the other,” she says. But Swift began doing secret live sessions for fans, found via fan accounts online. “It did exactly what she thought that might,” Emily says. “Fans were suddenly fighting with each other saying, ‘You’re not good enough because you don’t obsess with her on the level I do, or ‘You don’t have as much merch as I do and you don’t know every song like I do.’ It was kind of gross.” Emily became so distraught that she would vent to her friends about her disappointment. “When I look back it now,” she says, “it’s like, wow. I was really deranged. Taylor Swift doesn’t know who the hell I am. She doesn’t care what I think. This is actually a me problem. I needed to step back and realise that.” She cites social media and the 24/7 access to information about Swift as one reason why she became so obsessed with the singer’s life. “I had to get some hobbies outside of discussing Taylor Alison Swift.”

And again the expert's view as an end conclusion

To realign the relationship between fans and artists, Bennett believes that musicians may need to step away from sharing so much of their lives on social media. “But it’s really important that they speak up if they feel that they’re experiencing unacceptable behaviour from the fans,” she adds.

It's a really good read, so if you're interested and have a bit of time, I'd recommend reading the whole article. There is no easy answer to this phenomena or to your question Anon.

PS. To Anon sending me the link a few weeks ago, thank you 🧡. You were right, I found this interesting. I'm sorry it took so long to post it, but it deserves all the attention.

[waywardxrhea]

My Consequence - a Sam Winchester one shot

pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!hunter!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 5.7k

"when you spill your guts they don't go back in...if I bleed too much it's my consequence..." - hey violet, my consequence

One thing leads to another after a hunt and you end up spilling your guts to the man you've been pining after for years.

content: 18+ minors DNI! sleep deprivation, show accurate violence on a hunt, blood, language, humor, fluff, light angst, smut (PWP but it's a lot more plot whoops, making out, grinding, unprotected sex)

(not my gif)

You sat at the desk in the Men of Letters bunker one morning, your tired eyes trying to focus on the board that could show a litany of cases that need to be worked, and boy had you and the boys been working on them. You had barely gotten but four hours of sleep over the past week, maybe, because you couldn’t sleep at night knowing how many people out there could be suffering without your help. Sam and Dean didn’t know it, but you had been sneaking out at night to work the nearby cases by yourself and then getting a nap in before getting woken up to do it all over again. Needless to say, you were exhausted. 

“You find anything?” Sam asked as he made his way into the room, a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“Hey you didn’t get me any?” you asked teasingly when you saw the cup in his hand. Sam was about to offer to go make you a cup when your eyes flickered to a part of the screen as you found a case about an hour away. “Hey I found something.”

“What is it?” he asked, wandering over in your direction. 

“It’s sounding like a ghoul. There’s a report of this family seeing someone who looks uncannily like their long time neighbor who passed away a few weeks ago. I’m not seeing any suspicious activity in the town so far but I think it’s worth looking into.” 

“Good eye, I’ll get Dean,” he told you. 

While he said this, Dean came into the room and said, “No can do, I’ve been asked to get rid of a vengeful ghost for a friend of a friend. I’m about to head out. You kids are on your own.” 

“Okay, yeah, it’s nothing we can’t handle,” Sam said with a nod, sure of your abilities as a team, not knowing that you were operating on maybe a ten minute nap this morning. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, getting up from your chair and starting to make your way to your room to get changed and gather some supplies you had stored away there. 

After an hour's drive consisting of you consulting your parents’ old hunting journal for tips of how to take down ghouls, the pair of you arrived in the small neighborhood that had popped up on the map in the bunker. You straightened out your blouse as you got out of the car, trying to make it look perfect before the pair of you walked up to the reporting neighbor’s door. Sam noticed and chuckled as he told you, “You look great, don’t worry about it.” 

This compliment ignited a slight blush on your cheeks that you hid as you leaned down into the trunk to grab your FBI badges. When you regained your composure you stood up straight and told him, “Thank you, you look great too. Very professional.” 

Sam smiled at the compliment before straightening his tie and heading up the sidewalk in front of you. When you reached the front door, Sam knocked gently and waited for an answer. After a few seconds the inner door swung open to reveal a disheveled middle aged woman with a child on her hip. The two of you flashed your badges before Sam started with, “Ma’am, we’re with the FBI and heard about some strange occurrences going on around here. I was just wondering if we could come in.” 

A sense of relief seemed to flood the woman’s body and she quickly ushered the two of you in, checking the coast behind you before closing the door. When you all sat down in the kitchen, the child playing quietly on the floor, the woman paced as she said, “Oh thank God you two are here. I’ve been telling the sheriffs office about Dan for a few days but they keep calling me crazy! They’re telling me that I’m just so used to seeing him that my brain is playing tricks on me, but I know that I’ve seen him!” 

“Can you tell me more about this Dan person?” you asked. 

“What do you want to know? I’ve known the man almost my whole life. He’s been my neighbor since my family moved here when I was five. A bit reclusive, but sweet nonetheless. He collected old war regalia, I swear his house was like a museum, it was so fun to explore growing up. He died about a month back, but I swear I saw him coming in and out of the back woods last weekend. I think I saw him again last night but… I haven’t been sleeping ever since that first time I saw him so maybe my mind is playing tricks on me…” 

“I see,” you said while writing the details down in your own notebook. “Do you mind if I ask what kind of burial Dan had?” 

The question shocked the woman as well as Sam so he quickly interjected with, “Sometimes reliving the experience can help with unpacking the mind if you’ve been overwhelmed. Maybe we can talk through it so we can address what’s possibly going on mentally.” Sam shot you a confused and concerned look out of the corner of his eye as the woman closed hers and massaged her temples. You were usually so sharp and cunning when it came to questioning witnesses, so with a slip-up like that Sam was starting to wonder what was going on with you…

When the woman finished rubbing her head, she opened her eyes and said, “Oh okay… well he had an open casket funeral in the park where he got married to his wife who passed away a few years ago. Not many people showed up except family and a few of us from the neighborhood.” 

“Have you talked with anyone else in the neighborhood about these sightings? Perhaps anyone else who was at the funeral?” you asked. 

“No, I haven’t left the house and a lot of them I don’t have their numbers to contact,” she replied. “The neighborhood isn’t as close as it used to be back in the day.”

“Do you mind if we talk with them to see if they’ve seen anything?” Sam asked. 

“Be my guest,” she replied with a nod. 

So you and Sam split up to talk with the other neighbors, keeping an eye on your surroundings for the man who was supposed to be dead. After about an hour, you and Sam met back up at the car to go over what you both knew. 

“So two of the neighbors say that they don’t really pay attention to the woods but thought they might have heard something rustling around in them the other night,” you told him. 

Sam rubbed the stubble on his chin as he said, “One I talked with told me that her son swears that he saw Dan heading toward the woods last night but she also said that she smelled weed and liquor on him when he told her so she didn’t believe him.”

“Well all clues say that if this is a ghoul he’s hiding in the woods so I guess we gear up and head into the belly of the beast,” you suggested as you opened the trunk and started grabbing weapons that could be useful: a couple of machetes as well as a shotgun just in case. If it was a ghoul you would need to destroy its head or decapitate it to kill it. Sam debated on asking you if you were feeling okay or if you needed to sit this one out but before he could you were already marching toward the woods, weapon on your hip. 

As you headed into the woods, you lagged behind, your shorter legs unable to keep up with Sam as per usual. “Hold on, I’ve got little legs!” you said with a laugh as you jogged to catch up. 

“Right, right. I forget how vertically challenged you are,” Sam said with a smirk. 

“Or you’re just ridiculously tall,” you teased with a nudge to his ribs. 

Teasing aside, Sam seemed to notice something so he put his hand up to signal for you to be quiet and you obliged, knowing that if Sam noticed something it was serious. As he inspected something hanging from the tree limb above, you heard a crack of branches in the nearby grove. Ready to attack at a moment’s notice, your hand went to the handle of your machete in case you needed to start swinging.

The next few seconds happened in a blur and you acted on instinct alone when you saw a figure barreling toward the pair of you, more specifically toward Sam’s turned back, brandishing an old Civil War type dagger. “Sam!” you shouted before jumping between the two men, swinging your machete at the ghoul, only to miss and drop your weapon as you doubled over onto the ground. 

Sam reacted quickly once he heard you call out his name, grabbing the ghoul’s arm before he could get a hit in on him and quickly swinging his own machete at the monster, decapitating it with ease. When he started to fully take in the scene though, things began to move in slow motion. As he turned around to the last place he heard your voice he saw you clutching your abdomen and falling to the ground. His eyes went wide as he shouted your name in worry. 

Once you hit the ground Sam was right there, holding you in his arms and listening to you say, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” as you attempted to get up. 

Sam went to move the hair out of his eyes when he noticed that his hand that was previously on your abdomen was covered in blood. “I need to get you to the hospital,” he told you, trying to remain calm as he forced his voice to stay steady. 

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine, nothing a few stitches back at the bunker can’t fix,” you said, the adrenaline pumping through your veins not letting you feel the pain fully just yet. You took the moment to try and stand again but couldn’t, so you looked down at your shirt that was starting to slowly soak through with dark red blood. “Oh…” you said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I need to get you outta here…” Sam said again, taking off his jacket and wrapping it tightly around you before picking you up and starting to sprint back toward the car. As he reached the car, he shouted to a neighbor, “Where’s the nearest hospital?!” 

“It’s about half an hour away, head east and you’ll see it as you’re heading into the city,” the man told him. He saw the blood on Sam’s hands and asked with wide eyes, “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” 

Sam didn’t respond as he placed you in the passenger seat before sprinting to his side of the car and speeding off, trying to keep pressure on the wound as he drove. After a few minutes, he looked over and saw your eyes starting to flutter shut so he took his hand off the wound to squeeze your hand and told you, “Stay with me…” 

“I’m here, I’m here,” you replied quietly, your voice starting to get weak as your breathing began to grow shallow. “I’m just really tired…”

“No, no, no, no,” he said quickly, “you stay with me. You stay awake okay? We’re almost there.” he told you while putting more pressure on the gas pedal, hoping to cut the trip in half at least. 

“I’ll try,” you replied weakly. 

“Here, let’s talk. Let’s talk about that band you like, what is it, Party at the Disco?”

You laughed wearily before correcting him, “Panic! At the Disco, Sammy.” 

“And how’s that one song go that you’re always singing? The one about the doors?” 

“I really need you to pay attention to my music from now on because those were horrible guesses,” you told him with a weak laugh once again. You paused for a moment before adding, “Sam?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you for always looking out for me,” you told him. “I know things haven’t always been the best between us but... You make my days brighter.” 

“What- why are you talking like that?” he asked, his eyes momentarily leaving the road to glance at you. 

“I’m losing a lot of blood Sammy, life isn’t guaranteed and you know it. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you,” you told him quietly. He could feel your hands and skin beginning to grow cold against his own as he held your hand. 

“Don’t talk like that, don’t act like you’re saying goodbye. We’re almost to the hospital, you’re gonna make it through this,” he told you, his voice almost breaking at the thought of losing you. He saw the hospital in the distance and sped up impossibly faster, spotting the emergency room and heading in that direction. 

Once he pulled in front of the building, he slammed the brakes of the car and sprinted over to your side, pulling you out of the seat and starting to carry you into the building. As he carried you in, you started to fade in and out of consciousness, whispering weakly, “I’m scared Sammy…” 

“I know, but you’ll make it. I know you will,” he told you as he got you inside. The second you were inside, he shouted, “Help! She needs help!” 

“Oh my God,” the nurse at the desk gasped with wide eyes, seeing the amount of blood that had soaked your shirt and bled onto Sam’s. 

The nurse shouted for help and a group of people came sprinting over with a stretcher to get you back into a room. As Sam placed you on the stretcher, you looked up at him and felt like this could be your last shot to confess your feelings, so you whispered, “Thank you Sam. I love you…” before getting wheeled off to be worked on. 

“Wait…!” he shouted after you as you were taken away. Did you just say what he thought you did? 

He tried to follow the workers, but was held back by a couple of male nurses who told him, “They need room to work, please calm down sir!” 

“But… I just… Shit…” he whispered, his body deflating as your words hitting him right in the heart. 

“Can you tell us what happened?” one of the nurses asked. 

Sam hesitated for a moment, shock taking over his body, but he eventually replied, “Occupational hazard. A perp went after her. Big gash on her abdomen. I got her here as fast as I could…” Did she just say she loved me? he thought to himself as he was escorted to a chair by the nurses. 

“We’re going to do what we can to help her, I’ll keep you updated as we know more,” he told Sam before heading back to the floor to see your status. 

Sam sat for a minute with his head in his hands before going out to move his car and call Dean. “Hey Sammy, what’s up? Did you get that ghoul taken care of?” came Dean’s voice through the phone. Sam couldn’t find the words he wanted to say and the silence bugged Dean so he asked, “Sam are you okay?” 

“She got hurt. Badly, Dean,” he said quietly, his voice shaking. 

“Well how bad is badly?” he asked, concern in his voice. 

“God there was so much blood…” Sam whispered, looking down at one of his blood stained hands while shaking his head. 

“Well, is she alive?! I need something more than things are bad!” Dean nearly shouted into the phone.

“Barely. By the time we got to the hospital she had almost passed out, she was pale, and I think she felt like she was gonna die…”

“Oh wow…” Dean replied quietly. “Where are you?”

“It’s fine Dean, take care of that ghost,” Sam told him, not really wanting company because he was still trying to process everything. 

“The damn ghost can wait, I already trapped it. I can tell them to try and look for his possessions while I’m gone. I’m already getting in Baby,” Dean said and Sam could hear the impala roar to life. Once the noise level was suitable to hear over the phone again, he asked, “Have you tried contacting Cas?” 

“I didn’t think about it,” Sam admitted quietly. 

“Sam, we have an angel at our disposal who can heal with one touch and you didn’t think to call him when there’s a life-threatening injury on our hands?” Dean asked, a bit of frustration seeping into his voice. 

“Everything happened so fast I just didn’t think about it,” Sam replied defensively. He let out a sigh before adding, “I’m at Woodcrest General on the outskirts of Hoover.” 

“I’m on my way. You start praying to Cas and I’ll try his cell. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Sam replied before hanging up the phone and heading back inside. 

When he emerged back into the building, the nurse at the desk told him, “If you want a pair of scrubs and to clean off I can get you access to the shower room, Agent.” 

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Sam told her, really not wanting to be in his blood soaked clothes anymore. As the nurse took him to the shower room, he asked, “Are there any updates on her?“ 

“She was rushed down to the OR just now. The doctor said it doesn’t look like there’s too much internal damage, she just lost a lot of blood. She… she did lose consciousness right as transport was taking her down to the OR though.”

“Damnit…” Sam whispered, closing his eyes and sighing. 

“It’ll be a little while before we have answers, I’m sorry. Maybe the shower will help calm you down a bit,” she told him as she let him into the room and showed him the cabinet with scrubs in it. 

“Thanks,” he told her before she headed back out. Sam took his time with the shower, washing all the blood out from his skin and hair and taking a few minutes to just cry. How could he have let this happen? It’s always been his and Dean’s unspoken job to watch out for you and he failed… He should have stopped you from heading into those damn woods…

After he dried off and put some scrubs from the cabinet on, Sam closed his eyes and folded his hands as he began to pray. “Castiel. I know you’re probably busy, but I really need you." His voice broke as he whispered your name, telling the angel, "We were on a hunt and…and she was hurt badly and I’m not sure if this hospital has the ability to heal her. I know it’s a long shot and we shouldn’t use your grace so willy nilly, but… I can’t lose her… Amen.” 

Freshened up, Sam made his way to the waiting area where he sat alone with his thoughts, occasionally praying to Cas again in hope that he would hear his call. 

The time crawled by and felt like forever even though it was only a few hours before Sam heard, “Agent Williams?” coming from the same nurse from earlier. 

Sam looked up with hope in his eyes and asked, “Yes ma’am?” 

“She’s out of surgery now. I can take you to her room,” she said with a small smile. 

“Thank you,” he told her, relief flooding his body. 

While they walked together to the nearby elevators, she told him, “I don’t want to give you false hope, she isn’t out of the woods yet. The surgeon closed her up, but there may be complications. This hospital doesn’t usually see cases like Agent Hanna’s.”

“Oh…” Sam said, desperately hoping that Cas heard his prayers now. 

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great surgeon, but he just doesn’t deal with severe injuries like hers on the regular. I don’t say that to scare you, but we just have to be realistic here. If she gets any worse we may have to transport her out to a bigger hospital.” 

“Got it,” he replied as they reached the floor that you were on. 

“Here’s her room. She’s still out of it and receiving blood right now,” the nurse told him as she opened the door to let him in. 

“Thank you,” he told her with a nod before heading into the room. He took out his phone and texted Dean the floor and room number before pulling up a chair beside your bed. He took a moment to look at your still pale skin and grabbed your hand as he whispered, “I’m so sorry…” 

After a few minutes, Sam closed his eyes and sent one last prayer Castiel’s way before he jumped when he heard a sharp knock on the door as it opened up. He looked up to see Dean and Cas coming into the room, looks of concern on their faces. “How is she?” Dean asked. 

“I mean she’s alive… The nurse told me that there may be complications though and if she doesn’t get better soon they may have to ship her off to a bigger facility,” Sam replied quietly, looking at the monitor to watch your heart rate. After a few moments of silence, he told them, “She sacrificed herself to save me. That ghoul was coming at us quick and my back was turned so she jumped in. She barely got a swing in on it before it got her with a dagger.” 

“Did you get the ghoul?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah. But then I saw how much she was bleeding… God there was so much blood…” he whispered, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat before adding, “She seemed like she thought she was gonna die because before they took her back she told me that she loved me…” 

Dean scoffed before muttering, “About damn time…” 

“What does that mean?” Sam asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. 

“Sam, you’re about as oblivious as a brick wall. That girl has loved you for years. She never told you because, well, you know how she is. She doesn’t like stepping on toes and would rather others be happy before she is so she let you get into all these relationships and faked being happy for you while she not so secretly drank away her pain.” 

“I… I had no idea…” Sam whispered. All the times you had shown him what he thought was sisterly affection, the moments where you tried to make him laugh in his darkest moments, how you’ve stuck by his side through everything, all came flooding to him and he realized that even if it wasn’t obvious, he had started to develop feelings for you too. 

“Well now you do and once she’s healed up you better make the most of it,” Dean told him. 

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Sam asked, feeling horrible that he’s led you to so much pain throughout the years. 

“It wasn’t my place,” Dean replied simply. 

Interrupting their conversation, Cas cleared his throat and said, “I don’t mean to interrupt this conversation about feelings, but if I could maybe look at her wound to see if I can heal her…”

“Right,” Sam said, standing up and getting out of the way so Cas could lift up your gown to see the damage. 

When the gown was pulled away, it was revealed that the dressing the surgeon had put on was soaked through with blood already. Seeing this, Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as he began to pace the room. “Sam calm down,” Dean told him sternly. 

“She’s still bleeding!” Sam said back sharply. 

“And he’s an angel!” Dean snapped back, not wanting to show that he was worried too. 

“I should be able to heal her,” Cas told Sam reassuringly as he laid his hand over the dressing. He closed his eyes and channeled his grace to heal the wound, sealing it up and repairing the bits of undetected internal damage as well. Once the angel grace’s light left his body, he nodded and said, “She’s healed,” before replacing your gown and covering you back up. 

Sam sighed in relief and smiled before whispering, “Thank you.” 

A few moments later, your eyes began to flutter open and you looked around before weakly whispering, “Sam?”

“Yeah? I’m here, I’m here, you’re safe,” he told you as he made his way back over to your side. He took your hand before nodding to Cas and telling you, “Cas healed you.” 

“Oh, thank you Cas,” you said with a small smile.

“No problem,” he replied with a nod. 

There was a moment of silence while you looked down at your hand that was being held by Sam’s, so Dean said, “I think there’s something you two need to talk about. We’ll be in the waiting area. Come on Cas.”

Once it was just the two of you in the room, Sam cleared his throat before he said, “So about what you said right before you were taken away…”

Remembering that you told him that you loved him, you quickly looked away and said, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to make things weird… I know you want a normal girl with a normal life and I… I can’t give that to you…”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Sam said softly. You shyly turned back toward him and he told you, “I was just shocked. I think I've accepted that normal just isn’t gonna work out for me. Dean told me that you’ve been feeling that way for a while now and… I guess I’m just wondering if you would want to give us a shot?”

A smile made its way onto your face and you nodded, a happy tear slipping from your eye. Sam leaned in to kiss you, but you stopped him, saying with a laugh, “No, no. I don’t want our first kiss to be in this damn hospital room.” 

“Fair enough,” Sam said with a quiet laugh, redirecting and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead instead. After a few seconds, Sam told you, “Thank you. For saving me from that ghoul. I should've been looking out for you though.” 

“Any time,” you replied with a small laugh. 

Later that day when the doctor came to assess your wound, he was a bit taken back by the healing of it, saying, “It’s a miracle…” 

“It really is, isn’t it?” Cas asked, trying to hide his smirk. 

“So when’s she clear to go home, Doc?” Dean asked. 

“I mean we would like to hold her overnight for observation, but if all goes well she should be able to discharge tomorrow,” he replied, still staring at the scar on your abdomen. 

Sam took a step away and bit his knuckle, trying not to laugh as the surgeon stepped out of the room, a flabbergasted look on his face. When he left the room, Dean was the first to speak, saying, “Okay let’s all admit, that man had no confidence in himself.” 

“Nope,” Sam said with a laugh. 

“I’m glad Cas showed up if that’s the dude who operated on me, damn…” you said with a roll of your eyes. 

“I’m glad I could be of service,” Cas told you with a smile. 

“Well if you’re stable now, I think Cas and I can head back to that ghost case I abandoned to come check on you. I’ll see you later kid,” Dean said to you before squeezing your shoulder and heading out of the room with Cas in tow. 

The next morning you were discharged so you and Sam made your way back to the bunker together. The ride back was filled with you playing your favorite songs to educate Sam as well as stopping at a restaurant for your first official date. 

When you got back to the bunker, Sam closed the door to the garage behind you and you wrapped your arms around him before standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. Sam smiled into the kiss and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. This prompted you to deepen the kiss, swiping your tongue on his bottom lip, wanting more. Sam obliged and your kisses quickly turned desperate, wanting something more than a simple kiss now that you were in each other’s arms. 

Before he even thought about it, Sam lifted you into his strong arms and began kissing your neck as he took you to his room, leaving the beginnings of a hickey behind. As he did this, little whimpers began to slip from your lips as pleasure sparked through your body. When he got to his room, Sam pinned you against the door as he began to kiss you once again. Being in such a vulnerable position made you weak in the knees and you moaned Sam’s name as you continued to lose yourselves in one another's lips. 

“Yeah?” he asked as he moved back to your neck, sucking and making the hickey darker, evoking another whimper from your lips that just fueled him more. 

“God I need you so bad,” you whispered, grinding your hips against him in hopes of some sort of relief for the growing tension between your thighs. 

“How about I make that wish come true?” he asked as he took you to his bed, gently putting you down before slipping out of his flannel and undershirt. You followed suit, slipping off your shirt and earning a smile from Sam as he told you, “You’re beautiful.” 

“You’re so sweet,” you said with a giggle as Sam got onto the bed, placing you on his lap as he continued to kiss you. Now it was your turn to tease him. As you kissed, you slowly ground down on Sam’s lap, feeling him grow harder beneath you as you did. 

“Shit,” Sam breathed as he leaned his head back against the wall, bucking his hips up against you. 

You kissed his neck before whispering in his ear, “I want you to rock me Sammy.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a chuckle, unbuckling his belt while you hopped off the bed momentarily. You turned your back to him as you took off your bra and then sweats and panties, teasing him by shaking your ass at him with a laugh. “Oh you’re gonna get it for that,” he said with a laugh as he slipped off his jeans and underwear, standing up to pull you into his arms once more. 

Sam pushed against you, teasing you with the tip of his hard cock, the sparks of pleasure making him desperate for more. He lifted you up once more and placed you on the bed, running his fingers along your thigh and up to your clit, making you gasp in pleasure. “Don’t be a tease,” you whispered. 

“I’m just seeing how wet you are,” he said with a smirk before kissing your neck as he slipped a couple fingers in with ease. 

“God Sam I just want you to fuck me,” you said with desperation in your voice, grinding against his fingers, wanting - no, needing - more. 

“As you wish,” he said, his voice impossibly deep as he pulled his fingers out and rubbed the slick on his cock. “I see patience isn’t your strong suit, huh?” he asked teasingly as he lined up with your entrance. Without much of a warning, he thrusted in with a deep moan. 

“Fuck you’re amazing,” you whispered, your head falling back on the pillow as Sam slowly began to kick up his pace, the pleasure overcoming his body as restraint started to leave his muscles. 

“So are you,” he told you, his face falling into the crook of your neck as he let out a soft groan of pleasure. 

“Can I try something?“ he asked after a few minutes of slow and sweet love-making, feeling his release starting to build and wanting to make this as good as possible for you. 

“Yeah,” you replied with a nod. With your permission, Sam lifted your legs up and hooked them around his broad shoulders, the new angle hitting all the right spots, the pleasure for both of you becoming insurmountable. The moan alone that you let out was almost enough to make Sam come, and your near pornographic whimpering of his name upped the ante even more.

Sam brought one of his hands to your clit and began rubbing, desperate to make you feel as good as possible and it seemed to work because your moans and whimpers just kept coming and it was almost enough to make him burst. “Fuck I’m close,” Sam whispered, speeding up his pace as his thrusts started to become erratic. 

“Me too,” you breathed, your hands grasping at the sheets on either side of you as your eyes rolled into the back of your head momentarily. 

“Fuck…” Sam grunted as he felt his orgasm building impossibly fast, not wanting this feeling to end. 

“Oh my God, Sam, Sam!” you moaned as you felt herself coming undone around him. The pulsing of your sweet cunt around him drove Sam over the edge and he pulled out at the last second, moaning your name in a deep gravelly voice. Before he came, Sam quickly grabbed his shirt off the side of the bed and put it around himself so he wouldn't make a mess as he came undone, his muscles twitching as he did so. 

Out of breath, Sam tossed the shirt aside and laid down beside you on the bed wrapping an arm around you, completely relaxed. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his racing heartbeat begin to slow down as you ran your fingers along his abs. “That was amazing,” Sam whispered, kissing the top of your head. 

“Well worth the wait,” you replied with a giggle. 

Not even a few seconds later you began to drift off to sleep on Sam’s chest which made him smile. Feeling completely relaxed and safe for the first time in a while, you drifted off to sleep and finally got the rest you’d been needing for weeks. 

a/n: and here we are at the end of my second one shot! since i started writing these one shots i've started to feel more confident in writing reader fics so we'll see if i end up getting out more one shots for various fandoms! here is a link to my (minimal at the moment) masterlist where you can find my Steve Rogers long fic as well as a Bucky Barnes one shot. soon to join those will be a Daredevil x OC fic i have written, so be on the lookout for that if that's one of your fandoms! anyways, i hope you all enjoyed this sweet, angsty, fluffy, smutty piece!

[batmansymbol]

can't remember the last time i made a blog post on this blog. i really am becoming the hermit i always aspired to be.

looking for somewhere to put this particular exhaustion though and journaling makes me feel lonely and lately all interpersonal interactions leave me with the feeling of having transgressed in many secret ways unknown to me. so vent follows. although for the record someday when i am a true hermit i will have found inner peace, and i will no longer make posts like this, and i instead will be able to identify a cypress tree on sight.

for now, i've been having this feeling of kneeling in the surf with my mouth open and the ocean trying to force itself down my throat. i'm working four jobs to make ends meet. they are meeting, barely. my 16-year-old car broke down for the last time, and this week i bought a new one from a man at a dealership who lied to me over the phone about hidden fees as though $900 meant nothing. now i have new car payments every month but i no longer hear a steady drip behind me in the car when it rains, can't decide which of the two feelings of dread is more potent. i loved that leaking car into its grave. i often wish i had a soul-crushing 9-to-5 that paid me $75,000 every year like clockwork. i am spreading myself too thin socially. i love everybody in my life. sometimes i receive profound and beautiful reactions to my writing, and also with four clicks i can see criticism of my work online that makes me feel like i should never have been born. i struggle to weight these experiences in a reasonable way in my mind. i have not read a new book since sally rooney's intermezzo. i hate everything i write but luckily the hatred comes in cycles, counterbalanced by defiant love, like my relationship with my forehead. i have to believe everything i write is the one (the one that will financially or artistically save me). i have to tell myself the one doesn't exist so as not to get my hopes up. i have to remind myself my problems are atomically small compared to nearly everything. i have to remind myself of this because sometimes it's the only thing that makes me feel human again. i have dreams about friends i had in high school and the shitty jokes i made to them, how much more sensitive i could have been. in the dreams they hate me, or forgive me, or hit me. last april at age 28 i began to have back pain every single night from a degenerated spinal disc and now at age 30 i have anti-arthritis pills in my toiletries bag. it hurts to lean back in a chair, but i have all my limbs and my mind. i wonder every day why i'm not doing something differently. my inability to do anything meaningful disgusts me. i find meaning whenever i open the blinds. i have forgotten to switch my car insurance to my new vehicle, so after i press Post Now i will go to the website that will ask me for my password and to confirm i am myself.

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 4.5 (Jeongin)

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: Jeongin has only ever wanted one thing. How did Jeongin come to join SKZ?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

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Jeongin:

The day I told my mother that I wanted to go to fashion school was the same day that my braces had been removed. Though I’d had a passion for clothing and having a great appearance my entire life, fashion school was never really in the cards for me. It was something I had been thinking about for a while, but when I talked to my mother in the car on the way home from the orthodontist… 

“Your father and I put down the down-payment for university today,” she said. I remember not wanting to have that conversation, especially then. I was still in pain from the procedure and still in a mood. 

“Okay,” I replied. 

“You need to declare your major by the end of the week. Your father and I think that with your biology grades, you would fare pretty well going the science route.” Anxiety bubbled in my gut and I started speaking before I could stop myself. 

“I don’t want to go the science route, mom,” I told her. She furrowed her brow in confusion and I hated the way her face looked. I could already tell my words were about to disappoint her. “I want… I want to be a fashion designer.” She laughed. She fucking laughed in my face. And as much as I hated being emotional, especially in front of her, tears streamed down my face. She didn’t notice. I wiped them away too fast. 

“You aren’t going to pursue fashion,” she spat. “Don’t tell that to your father. He’s going to think you might be gay or something. He will not be as kind as I am about this.” 

The words struck like a knife to the gut. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t because I knew she was right. My father would never let me pursue fashion, he would sooner disown me. God forbid I do something that could come across as slightly feminine, I would be a disgrace. And so, we never talked about it again. 

I started school that fall, after I walked in my high school graduation. I had been enrolled as a biology major, much to my dismay. The first semester went swimmingly. I excelled in all of my courses, just as my parents had anticipated. But on the side… I tried not to squash my own dreams. I filled up journal after journal with design ideas. I never showed them to anybody, but I took great care in what I wore. People started to notice. People even complimented me on my outfits, and without my parents there it was possible to imagine enrolling in fashion school and becoming successful. 

The first day of my second semester, I switched my major. I didn’t consult my parents about it but I started attending the classes I had always wanted to. I had never been happier in my life, actually. I struggled a little more than I did in my science classes at first, as the other students had a semester’s worth of knowledge above me, but it didn’t take me long to catch up. I excelled, even, and professors told me that I had the capacity to go far. 

One day when I showed up to my course, the door was locked. Rattling the handle, I remember beung confused. Why hadn’t the professor unlocked the door yet? I wasn’t late, was I? 

“Jeongin,” I heard the professor say as he opened the door. “I received word from the dean and I regret to inform you that you aren’t enrolled in this course anymore.” What? He saw my confusion before he continued speaking. “Your tuition payment has been declined. Your parents have contacted the school and have let us know that you are no longer allowed to attend.” 

I knew immediately what had happened. I didn’t even bother to check my phone, as I knew not to expect any messages. My parents, they were just like that. Passive-aggressive, cold and distant whenever they wanted to be. They wouldn’t have returned my calls if I had tried to reach out, so I didn’t even bother. 

A notice was put up on my dorm room that I had 48 hours to vacate from the premises. I said goodbye to my roommates and to my friends. My life as I knew it was over. It was great while it lasted. 

Packing up one suitcase, I found myself couch-hopping for quite some time. As long as they would let me. My parents had cut my funds off completely and I had been left with nothing. My phone bill was no longer being paid, which was to be expected. It was then for the first time in my life that I knew what it was like to lose everything. In fact, I had never not had everything. I grew up pretty wealthy and privileged, knowing my parents would always be there to take care of me and provide for me. 

The only thing able to sacrifice that security was my dream. 

I knew I needed to start making money. Somewhere deep down I had the thought that maybe if I made enough money I could find a way to enroll again on my own. I had a buddy who encouraged me to start selling drugs with him, and while I was hesitant at first I realized just how much money it made. For someone who was without a phone, had no means to get food and had no apartment, it sounded like a pretty good deal. I had already lost everything. What more could have been taken at that point?

I started selling drugs and living on the streets. I was only 18 years old. I had never touched the drugs myself, but did whatever questionable job that I had to do in order to make as much money as I could. The people I ended up surrounding myself with… they were questionable, to say the least. Sometimes I ended up feeling unsafe around them but I put up a fake smile and fought back the voice in my head that told me to run. 

One day I ran into him. The first thing I noticed about him was his outfit. He looked well put together and jealousy had bubbled in my gut ferociously. The man was a few inches shorter than me with long, beautiful blonde hair and feminine features. He walked with confidence and dominance that I had never seen someone possess. He looked border-line angelic but the deep timbre of his voice surprised the crap out of me. 

“You seem like a good kid,” he said. It was the first time since I left school that anybody had tried to look into the deeper qualities of my personality, to see past me for what I am. A drug-dealer. With just one look, the man seemed to have made a decision. 

“Your gang is getting raided tonight,” he said. “My team and I. We’re coming in here and fighting you for all you’re worth. We’re going to win. You know they’re a bunch of good for nothing scum, right?” I nodded my head solemnly. “You should leave,” he advised. 

“I have nowhere else to go,” I told him. “I’ve been disowned. This is all I am. This is all I have now.” 

“Do you really believe that?” he asked. I shrug my shoulders. “If you get the Hell away from here tonight, I will find you again. Me and my team… SKZ. If you want to, you can join us,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to my leader.” 

When he left I was trembling though I didn’t know why. All he left me with was his name, Felix. He seemed good enough, and for some reason I trusted him. I left everything behind, the people that integrated me into their gang, all of my money and all of my drugs. I hauled ass out of there. By the sound of the police sirens, I could tell that Felix was right. I did the right thing by leaving. The next day I heard that some of my gang had ended up dead, others ended up seriously injured and in custody of the police. A thought had flashed over my mind, of me dying there that night with the others. My parents would go to my memorial service and grieve for their dead son and they have no fucking right to do so. That’s not how I wanted it to end. I will end up at the top of the fashion industry and make them feel sorry that they had ever doubted me. 

Felix found me again, just like he promised. He introduced me to his leader, Bang Chan. The guy was intimidating but he extended his trust to me which I appreciated. All I needed to do was show my undying loyalty towards him and he would give me food, money and a place to stay? It seemed too good to be true. 

“Jeongin, I’d like to see you in my office,” he said to me one day. It had been almost a year since I decided to join SKZ. When I joined at first, I didn’t exactly realize what I was getting myself into. The mafia, that is. But the way Felix described it to me… ‘We’re going to make the world a better place.’ It didn’t sound all that bad even if the means were unconventional. 

“Yes?” I asked him, sitting down in the wooden chair facing his desk. 

“What do you desire above all else?” he had asked me. His question had caught me off guard. 

“May I be frank?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what his intentions were when asking me that, but by that point I had started to become comfortable. Felix, Seungmin, Jisung… They’d become my friends. People I could turn to. The first ones to support me and even ask to see my designs, which I showed them willingly. 

“I want nothing more,” he responded. 

“I want to go to fashion school,” I admitted. “I’ve always dreamt of it. I tried to pursue it, but that dream tore me apart from everybody I had ever loved. I need to go now. I need to prove them wrong, but I want to prove myself right.” 

He mulled over my words. “Very well,” he had said. “I would like for you to sign a contract. If you stay here with us for another three years and show your complete honesty and loyalty, at the end of your contract I will pay your tuition in full.” 

My heart skipped a beat at his words. Was this the opportunity that I had been waiting for? “You’re not serious,” I had said. 

“Dead,” he smiled. “I’m an honest man, Jeongin. You prove to me that you’re one of us, I’ll make it worth your while. Do we have a deal?” 

I thought of the things that he had made me do up until now. Murdering, infiltration, arms dealing… even running some of the more sketchier businesses in the area, because if SKZ is the one in charge of them, then we know everyone is safe and protected and there’s no dirty business happening underneath our noses. Everything that we’ve been doing, it’s for the greater good. 

‘Do I really want to be stuck doing this?’ I had thought. Is signing a contract a good idea? I thought of my mother laughing in my face just a few years prior when I had told her about my dream for the first time. That young, bright-eyed boy wanted his mother to support him, to tell him that he was going to do great things and that she would be there for him no matter what. Instead, she had laughed in his face and made sure first-hand that his dreams would crumble and burn before his eyes. My parents had not even contacted me one time since I had left school. 

Instead there was a man right in front of me offering me everything I had ever wanted. I would do it, no matter the cost. 

“Deal.” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

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[meadowtwins]

Tips for broke witches with a budget of 10$/€:

As someone who started with their craft when they were younger, living in a poor household with little to not money for me available, I know how how it is with a budget so low, that being a "true witch" seems impossible.

Well, I just need to remind you all that for practicing witchcraft, you do NOT NEED everything expensive. In fact you only need so little. Sure, the whole witch aesthetic with all the decorations, the cauldrons etc. looks lovely and most of us would really like to achieve that level of perfectionism, but Witchcraft is much more than that. It is a predominately Pagan practice. Nature is one of the biggest, if not the biggest aspect in it. Sometimes you just aren't really knowledgeable about all the options you're available to.

Tip 1: Nature walks:

As mentioned above, Nature is a big aspect. Almost every ingredient and spell componement is seen outside. Take a walk, go into the woods, get off path, you'll find herbs, fruits, flowers, all kinds of decorations. You can find sticks, bind them in any shape and hang them onto your wall. You can cut off (with Natures permission!) Ivy wreaths and hang them up. Pinecones, pineneedles, treebarks, hazelnuts, feathers, wheats all kinds of grass, everything is out there! Take a look on the ground and maybe you'd be lucky to find a few gemstones (yes, they're just out there!) or if animal bones are something for you even that!

Tip 2: Grimoire/Book of Shadows:

Your witchy journal does NOT have to be that expensive leather bound, old journal that the old antique shop sells for 60 dollars because it has a "magical aura". Yes, how can someone pass on that aesthetic, but your book isn't magick by itself. YOU first put the energy into it and make it something magical to you. Without your journaling and time you've spent, it is JUST a book! Therefore a simple notebook that costs like 1.50 max works completely fine! Mine is a notebook if found in my drawer that has a rainbow reflecting surface, trust me, the aesthetic is the thing you should be least concerned about.

Tip 3: Divination Board:

Self-made is always the cheapest option! Again, like your Grimoire, the board isn't the one with with the magical attributes. It's all you! My first divination board was made out of cardboard paper. You have all the options open, it can just be paper or you could even print one out. The material does not devalue the magical properties.

Tip 4: Pendulum:

A pendulum itself is cheaper than you think, look in the right places and you'll see. But if that is too much you can always make one yourself. You have to keep in mind that the item doesn't come with the magic! You're the one making if something magical. Find a pretty stone on the ground (with luck a gemstone!), tie it to a string and wear it as necklace. There you have it!

Tip 5: Cauldron:

A fire bowl, a normal bowl, a plastic bowl etc.! You can use anything. It depends however on what you do with it. Make sure not to use fire irresponsibly if you plan on burning something in it. Keep a window open and don't burn something in a not substitutional material. There's a reason a fire bowl is differencated from a normal bowl.

Tip 6: Gold, Bronze, Silver etc.

This goes for jewelry, tableware, bowls etc. For example in spells/rituals or offerings to a deity. A plate to put your offerings on or to set the spell on. Look into your cupboards! A glass bowl is a popular one to use since it's neutral in it's symbolic and easy to clean. If you'd prefer something golden or any other other material, ask a grandparent or maybe even parent. They usually have some sort of old tableware that is golden or bronze or anything else. If asked (and you're a closet witch!) tell them it's for decoration or putting a candle on it. The same goes for jewerly. Grandparents (or aunts!) usually have old necklaces and earrings they don't need anymore. Or even brooches with imagery you can connect to a deity maybe.

Tip 7: Tarot Cards:

It depends if you believe in the rule that says you cannot buy yourself a tarot deck. I do! Therefore what I did, was make my own one. It took lots of days but in the end I had a full deck! It's lots of work so if you don't want all that from the start, make yourself only the major arcana. Again it can be made out of cardboard, paper etc. The material really doesn't matter. If you're not familiar with the rule, it says your first tarot deck has to be gifted to you, found, or made by yourself. Infact in my case, all three happened to me!

In conclusion, Nature has ALL kinds of componements. You can find so many things all around you if you just look close enough!

But don't forget, cleansing is important! If you take items off the ground out and about, cleanse them off any negative energy before putting them into your household. If anything you need to know I haven't mentioned, just ask.

Happy witching!

[precioustarkey]

journalism at its finest

summary: you have made a career for yourself by interviewing celebrities, but are feeling a little uncomfortable when one hits close to home.

warnings: none

i nervously climbed into my car. the engine only makes my nerves rattle more. growing up, i was infatuated with actors and musicians. i found myself watching movies for the actors instead of the plot. listening to songs for the singers instead of the message. i can't explain my relationship with the media. i guess being online a lot as a teenager is to blame.

regardless, i knew from an early age that i wanted to work in the industry. not as an entertainer, but in the background. i wanted to observe the lifestyle up close. going to college for journalism was the best decision i have made for myself because now i get to live out my fantasy. 

i get paid to interview these people. and though i find a lot of them uptight and spoiled, the nosy side of me loves picking them apart. because of my job, i try my best to stay neutral on these celebrities so that they don't feel uncomfortable. apart from the research i do in order to come up with my questions, of course.

today is different. there is a show called "outer banks" that came around during quarantine, so with my free time, i binge-watched the entire first season. as i mentioned, normally i watch tv shows and movies for the actors, but i hadn't seen anyone in this show. 

however, when i delved deeper into google, i found the name of one of the actors to be familiar. drew starkey. i quickly found out that he grew up in north carolina, as did i. confused, i pulled myself from my cocoon on my couch to find my old high school yearbooks. grabbing one at random, i see him grinning in his senior photo. how could i forget? 

ever since i discovered this, i avoided the show like the plague. even though i had been surrounded by celebrities for years now, i had never known one of them personally. it almost ruined the glamorous aura surrounding them. imagining him as a regular teenage boy in the classes we shared was humbling. he wasn't mean in high school, not at all. if anything, i remember finding it odd that he hung around the theater kids because he was a total jock.

because of quarantine, i knew that press would be difficult for the actors, and because of this, i never anticipated having to interview them. which helped ease my nerves. moving to los angeles meant that i would interview every celebrity on the new up-and-coming shows. part of me hoped the hype surrounding the show would die down before the lockdown did.

the entire ride to the studio, i told myself over and over again that there was no way he would remember me. he was a jock, and i barely spoke. it wasn't the fact that i was shy, high school just wasn't for me. i counted down the days to graduation. i was only there because i had to be. i put more focus on my studies than my social life. 

in the back of my mind, i can't help but fear that seeing him will bring back memories of being the closed-off kid i was back then. as long as no one mentions it, everything will be okay. i repeated that to myself a few times before parking my car in the lot. removing my seatbelt as slowly as possible to buy time.

my hands are shaking as i walk to my studio. i send passing smiles to my coworkers as i make my way to the bathroom. i confirm that my hair, face, and outfit look presentable, and read over my questions one last time. 

the cameraman walks up to me as i take my seat to wait for the cast to arrive. "i just got a call; austin and drew are going to be the only ones you're interviewing today. madelyn, rudy, and  madison will be interviewed tomorrow," he says, looking for any sort of confirmation. "that sounds perfect," i say, smiling, still looking at my cards. 

i hear footsteps coming from the hallway and quickly stand up. austin and drew emerged into the room with their crew. "hello! so nice to meet you, my name is y/n," i say with a grin as i hold out my hand to them. they do the same, introducing themselves as they take turns shaking my hand. 

all three seats are now filled, so we can begin the questions. the first fifteen minutes go perfectly; we're laughing, they're thoroughly interested in the questions, and they're giving great answers. turning my attention to drew, i ask, "has this sudden change in lifestyle been difficult for you at all? to go from putting your all into basketball, to then deciding on theater in college?" 

he looks taken aback by my question. that nervous feeling in my stomach is slowly creeping back. i made sure that his sports background was easy to find online, so i was confident he wouldn't be too surprised. "wait a second. y/n? y/n y/l/n?" i can feel my cheeks flush at his realization. 

"can i be honest? i was hoping you wouldn't notice," i said, covering my face with my note cards. we are now sharing smiles. "oh my god. i sat behind you in algebra, you're the only reason i passed that class," he says in between laughs. seeing him in person has brought all of those little memories flooding back. 

after a minute or so of catching up, their team urges us on. "we've got other interviews, guys," the man says impatiently. we carry on for an additional fifteen minutes or so before i have run out of questions to ask. we said our farewells, and i thanked them for coming.

just as they were leaving, drew turned around, brushing past the guys they had walked in with. "y/n can i get your number? i would love to catch up properly whenever we both have time," he says, pulling out his phone. "yes, of course!" i smile, quickly typing in the numbers before they are once again rushed away. 

it felt like no time before my phone started dinging.

part two is here!

[lanalosty0uu]

⋆.˚ chapter vi: should i stay or should i go? ᝰ.ᐟ

previously on: 🕰️ BACK TO THE FUTURE 🕰️

"I don't understand... what and where is Hawkins Lab, and how is this lab related to my 'time machine'?"

You recalled the movie Back To The Future. Sure, that movie has a scientist in it, Dr. Emmet Brown. But you don't recall anything about a lab or an organization being involved with it. As far as you know, time travel even should be kept as a classified thing, not being exposed to some organization.

Dustin, Steve, and Robin stole glances with each other. "The Upside Down." They said in unison, leaving you confused.

⋆.˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.⊹₊ˎˊ˗

main masterlist!

pairing: steve harrington x fem! reader

warnings: slight cussing

⋆.˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.⊹₊ˎˊ˗ ⋆.˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.⊹₊ˎˊ˗ ⋆.˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊

The drive to the outskirts of Hawkins was eerily quiet, the weight of their discovery hanging between them. The further they went, the more the streetlights became sparse, until they finally reached the edge of town. The factory loomed before them—an industrial skeleton left to rot, its rusted metal siding peeling away, exposing the bones of a forgotten past. The towering smokestacks stretched into the night sky like spires of a ruined kingdom, and the shattered windows stared back at them like vacant eyes.

Dustin was the first to step out, gripping his flashlight with both hands. “Okay, this is... uh- objectively terrifying,” he muttered, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Robin tugged her jacket tighter around herself. “Why do all government-cover-up places have to be so creepy?”

You stepped out of the car last, your fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the pocket watch. The moment you all arrived, you felt it—the same strange pull in yout chest you had felt the night she first touched the watch. A soft hum vibrated against yor palm, so faint that you weren't sure if it was real or just in your head.

Steve glanced over at you, his eyes sharp even in the dim light. “You good?”

You swallowed. “Yeah… I think so.” But you wasn’t sure.

The gang climbed through a gap in the rusted fence, stepping carefully over broken glass and debris. Inside, the air was thick with dust and something else—something metallic, almost electric. The deeper they went, the more suffocating the silence became.

“Alright, let’s split up and-”

“Nope, absolutely not,” Robin interrupted Steve, shaking her head. “I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that’s a terrible idea.”

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. We stick together. Just… keep your eyes open.”

They moved deeper into the factory, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. Old workstations stood frozen in time, rusted machinery covered in layers of dust. In the center of the massive warehouse floor was what looked like a broken-down assembly line. A large, rusted clock was embedded into the wall above it, its hands frozen at 3:12.

Dustin stepped forward, shining his flashlight at a control panel covered in old documents. “This must’ve been where they ran the machines,” he mumbled, flipping through the papers. He paused when he found something, a thick, leather-bound journal. “Guys, I think this belonged to Harold Whitlock.”

The moment you stepped closer, the watch in your hand pulsed. A deep, low hum filled the air, and suddenly, the hands of the clock above them moved.

Robin gasped. “Did- did that just-?”

Before she could finish, the ground beneath them shook. The rattling was faint at first, but then it grew stronger, like a tremor rippling through the factory. You stumbled back, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Steve caught you by the arm. “What the hell was that?!”

Your grip on the watch tightened. “I- I don’t know!”

A deep, guttural sound echoed from somewhere beyond the machinery. It was distant, but it sent an icy chill down your spine. It wasn’t just the factory reacting to the watch. Something else was here.

Dustin flipped through Harold’s journal frantically, scanning the pages. “This isn’t just some old pocket watch,” he muttered, his voice rising in panic. “This thing—it’s connected to the factory. To the experiments. To the Upside Down.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Are you telling me this thing can open a gate?”

“I don’t know! Maybe not a gate but—”

Another low growl rumbled through the factory. This time, it was closer. The air grew frigid, and you swore you could see your breath in the dim light.

“Okay,” Robin whispered, “I officially vote that we leave.”

But you couldn’t move. The watch felt fused to your palm, pulsing like a heartbeat. You were supposed to be here. The watch had brought you here. And whatever was in the factory—it was waiting.

Steve squeezed your arm. “y/n. We need to go.”

You tore your eyes away from the rusted machinery, looking up at him. “What if this is the only way to figure out how to get me back?”

His expression hardened, a flicker of hesitation passing through his eyes. “And what if it gets us all killed?”

The growling stopped. For a moment, the only sound was the distant tick-tick-tick of the broken factory clock.

Then—silence.

You swallowed. The truth was, she didn’t know what they were walking into. But one thing was clear—this factory, the watch, and the Upside Down were all connected. And if they wanted answers, they would have to face whatever was lurking in the shadows.

Because something in this factory was waiting for them to make the next move.

And it wasn’t going to wait forever.

˗ˏˋ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹₊ ⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆.˚ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ˎˊ˗

"Okay, what the fuck was THAT?!" Robin freaked out, just like she always does. "Hello?! Explanation please, genius?!"

"Robin, calm your ass down, damnit!" Steve snapped, running his hands through his hair. Even Steve's getting pretty stressed with all this time travelling that TURNS OUT is connected to the upside down! Now, Robin's panic mode is nearly giving Steve a heart attack.

"I- I don't understand... what's the Upside Down?" You asked. Of course, you're completely clueless about the events that happened in Hawkins for years. Supernatural stuff has happened around here. You aren't aware that you just time travelled to a NOT normal place or time.

What you thought about the 80s, especially in this place now... was all wrong. You never knew that this would be one of the dark ages, especially to Hawkins. There was a gate to another dimension... another version of Hawkins, a supernatural and interdimendional version of it. Not just that. You figured that you could possibly killed by interdimensional creatures that lives in the Upside Down.

That's just what you've just figured out. But, neither any all of you know that the experiments at the factory unknowingly disturbed the natural fabric of time. This weakening of time and space contributed to the creation of the first cracks between Hawkins and the Upside Down... years before Eleven opened the first real gate.

"What did you do when you first find the watch?" Dustin asked carefully.

"I did like what any normal person would do to old stuff! Touch it, play around with it, turn or push any features it has... just that!"

Dustin think for awhile. "Maybe... the pocket watch absorbed some of this energy, making it a key artifact tied to the rift between dimensions and timelines!"

"Hey, toothless! English, please?!" Robin scowled at Dustin's choice of words.

"When y/n touch the watch, well... maybe she unknowingly activated some kind of residual energy, triggering a temporal shift that sent her to 1985."

"But, why 1985? Out of all years?" Steve wondered.

"I think... the watch didn’t just pick a random time, it likely took her to a moment where Hawkins’ time-energy disturbance was at its peak. The watch was 'searching' for a time that resonated with its energy... and 1985 was the strongest match."

"And, uhh... explanation to the wonky stuff happened in the factory, please?" Robin requested.

"The Upside Down is just simply latched onto the watch’s energy... the watch isn’t just a time-travel device anymore, Robin. it’s also a beacon, attracting the influence of the Upside Down, which is why we experienced strange shit after the watch is activated in the factory!"

"But... I never even heard about this factory in 2025! The building's not even there anymore. I barely heard shit about this town!" It is true, you don't see any tracks of the building or anything off in Hawkins in your year. Everything seemed like a peaceful and friendly town.

"Perhaps... it's because in the past, someone has done something to it... finally bringing everything down. And that someone could be-"

"Us." Dustin and Robin finished Steve's sentence.

“Alright, so we just nearly got our asses handed to us by a factory with some time-ripping energy—what now? Do we just go home and pretend we didn’t just find out that y/n is literally a walking paradox?” Robin speaks up after a pretty long silence in the car.

You, who is still gripping the pocket watch, glanced down at it. The once-golden surface now looked duller, like whatever power it held was draining. You exhaled shakily. “I don’t know… I thought all of this was just some crazy, messed-up dream. But now it’s real. And if we’re right—if the factory really was the reason Hawkins became connected to the Upside Down—then maybe… maybe this whole thing was meant to happen?”

Dustin, still deep in thought, finally spoke. “We can’t be sure of that yet. But one thing is clear: we need answers. And if no one in town talks about this place in the future, then that means we don’t have a lot of time before something big happens to erase all of this from history.”

Steve crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, well, I don’t like the sound of that. If history is trying to clean up its own mess, that means we’re standing in the middle of it. And I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather not be erased.”

Silence hung between them for a beat before Robin groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ugh, great! More life-threatening supernatural crap! Can’t we just have, like, one normal summer?”

But you weren't listening anymore. You were staring down at the watch, your fingers running over the engraved patterns along its surface. The gears inside were no longer ticking. The once-faint hum you had felt since arriving in 1985 was gone.

“Guys…” you started, your voice quieter now. “I think the watch is losing power.”

Steve’s head snapped towards you. “What do you mean? Like… it’s broken?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I don’t feel it anymore. Before, it was like—like a part of me knew it was still active. Like it was waiting for me to figure something out. But now… I think the factory might have changed something.”

Dustin’s expression darkened. “If the factory was the source of the disturbance in the first place, maybe us activating it again started a countdown. Maybe the watch wasn’t just a way to travel through time—it was a key to something. And now that we’ve messed with it, it could be closing the door for good.”

Robin let out a frustrated sigh. “So what, you’re saying y/n might be stuck here?”

You swallowed hard. You had dreamed about coming to the 80s, about experiencing everything you had only seen in movies or read about in history books. But being trapped here? That was something else entirely. You looked at Steve, who was already staring at you. His face was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

“We need more information,” Dustin said, shaking his head. “The factory gave us some answers, but not enough. If the watch is tied to Hawkins, then there’s gotta be more clues somewhere. Maybe in town records, or old reports. Something.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh, joy. A research montage. Just what I wanted my summer to be.”

You forced a small, strained laugh. “At least I won’t have to worry about college applications anymore.”

But Steve wasn’t laughing. He was still looking at you, a thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes. If you were stuck here… what then? Would you just try to build a life in a time that wasn’t yours? Would you eventually forget about the future you had left behind? And more than that—would you forget him if you ever found a way back?

“Alright,” he said finally, shaking his head like he was clearing it of all the thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. “We should probably head back to our places and take some rest. It's been draining enough for being around in a possibly haunted time-traveling factory.”

Dustin nodded. “Agreed. Let’s regroup at Family Video tomorrow. I’ll dig around for old newspaper records, maybe find something in the library. Robin, you can help me.”

“Oh, yay,” Robin deadpanned. “More dusty books and creepy government secrets.”

Steve ignored her, turning to you. “You okay?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Just… processing.”

He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push. “C’mon, I’ll drive you to Robin's.”

The four of them tried to lighten up the atmosphere in the car for a bit. As for you, you tried to joined as wel but failed. There's a thought that kept on lingering on yoru head... or at least an image that is stuck in your head. A flicker of movement. A shadow shifting in the broken windows of the factory

You knew you weren’t alone. And something told you that this wasn’t over yet. But for you and your new friend's own safety, you just stayed silent.

note: alright, a new chapter! this one is a serious chapter and im sure all of u are aware of it, haha. slight tmi, i typed half of this in mcdonalds after school ends for the day and i feel like an idiot for sitting all alone, typing roughly on my laptop. but hey, nobody gives a shit! anyways, enjoy this new chapter and sooooo sorry for the really long update :<

hope y'all like it <3

taglist: taglist: @xprloki @pupwrites @gorlillaglue25 @lovestrucklyuniverse @keerysfolklore @www-interludeshadow-com @pleasantsoulcolor @mochminnie @steviespookie @damon-loves-pie @imjustdreamingig @starkleila @2602moon @negomi123 @currentresidentinhell @ucannotcompare @lilgreensunshine @talkativecarnation @bllshtbel

[annisassintchaska]

“Is he mine?” Lewis Hamilton x Black!Reader

The last race of the season, Y/n was anticipating the arrival of the last driver for their post-race interviews. She walked from one end of the booth to the next, memorising the questions she had for him while her one-year-old blabbed in her arms.

Lewis was calming the adrenaline from the race, getting himself ready for his very last interview of the year, knowing that his ex-fiancé, which was an entire secret from everyone, was the person waiting to question him.

Y/n walked with her baby, giving him some gentle kisses before handing him off to her co-worker Jenson who took off with him to God knows where before Lewis arrived. Walking up to the booth, Lewis took his time to give her a short once over and a gentle smile; his face showing emotions of regret.

Going through with the interview, Lewis took his time listening and answering her questions sincerely. Almost finished answering a question, Lewis paused when he felt something or someone was using his legs to stabilise itself, he looks down to notice a baby with surprising features that mirrored his own and wearing his merch, giving him an almost toothless grin.

Smiling at the little one, Lewis picked him up rocking from side to side as he spoke to him. “Hi little guy, where’d you run off from huh? Where’s mommy or daddy?” He asked the toddler that was giggling away from the tickles. The baby slowly calmed down but then started getting fussy when he realised his mommy standing on the other side and so he started whining and wiggling to get free.

“Y/n I can’t find- oh thank God, you found him. Little man you have no idea how much trouble you’d put me in if I didn’t find you.” Jenson said breathlessly as he took the toddler from Lewis’ arms, leaving him puzzled for a moment looking between the two journalists. “You just wanted to see mommy, didn’t you? You can’t just go running off sweet boy, you almost gave uncle a heart attack” Jenson reasoned with the toddler who obviously was not focused on him but was stretching towards his mommy.

A big wail erupted from the now frustrated toddler as tears started pouring from his eyes. “Mama!!” The baby boy cried which knocked Y/n out of her trance as she quickly took him from her co-worker’s hands, thanking him for watching him. Fussing about, the toddler started nestling against her chest which signifies that he was hungry.

“I have one last question for you and then you’re free to go” Y/n said to Lewis as she hushed her baby whose head was now nestled in her neck. “I won’t answer that question unless you answer the one I have for you right now” Lewis countered, which had the on looking fans and co-workers silent as they awaited to hear the question and answer as Y/n nodded in fear, already knowing what the question would be. “Is he mine?” Lewis asked, the entire paddock gasping in shock as no one knew anything about Lewis having any relationships after his famous ex.

Y/n's eyes welled with tears as she nodded her head yes, walking off from the booth not bothering to ask her last question, making her way towards the journalism department. With her baby being breastfed beneath the blanket, Y/n made her way out of the department heading for the car park, when Toto blocked her path. Shifting the blanket, not only Toto but the cameras zoomed in to realise that she was feeding the toddler. “Let’s go to my office for a couple of minutes. I want you to speak with Lewis so that the both of you can have some common ground.” Toto explained as he led the crying young woman to the Mercedes motor home.

Upon entering the office, Lewis immediately rose from his seat to hug Y/n’s shaking form, helping her to sit with the now sleeping toddler. “How did you go through this, and I was unaware of it? Why didn’t you tell me? Is he doing okay health wise? Was there any complications or damage?” Lewis asked in a rush as he took his son from her arms while comforting the emotional woman. “It was fine honestly. I took a year off and asked them to tell you that I transferred to Moto GP and even though I struggled, it wasn’t that bad. The labour pain was brutal, almost broke my pelvis but it was a successful birth” Y/n ranted about her experience. “I never told you because that’s the reason you called it quits. You told me you didn’t want to have children at this time, and you wished that I would take even more of extra precautions, but it was already too late and that’s why I kept fighting to say we should have at least one, yet you broke it off and completely expelled me from anything that wasn't work related. I had no choice because you wouldn’t listen whenever I tried to speak to you before or after work, I had to do what was for me” she furthered, every word planted memories into his head as Lewis started a similar wailing as to the one his son did before, over his mistake.

“I’m sorry Y/n, I’m so sorry! I never meant to hurt you this way. If I had known I would’ve stayed, I would’ve been there helping the entire time, I had no idea what was going on with me back then and I have no excuse so I’m apologising, please let me make it right with you?!” Lewis pleaded as he hugged onto his baby and ex-fiancé. “I’m sorry Lew but I can’t grant you that. I can allow you to be in your son’s life and all, but I can’t date you again. I’m seeing someone who had been there since the beginning after you abandoned me, and I really love him. I can’t just up and leave him now that you’re back” Y/n explained making Lewis even more sad at the thought that another man had been caring for his could have been wife and son if not for his stupid mistake that cost him the woman he always wanted. He understood where she was coming from and accepted his faith.

“Thank you for allowing me to be with my son, I promise you that I’ll always be the best father to him. But can I ask a personal question if you agree?” Lewis timidly said to which Y/n nodded for him to go on with it. “Who is it…The guy you’re dating?” He asked, scared for the answer which knocked the air from his lungs when Y/n answered “Fernando Alonso”.

After the talk and planning for co-parenting, Lewis led Y/n towards the door, phone in hand buzzing off hook as every news outlet had known and started posting articles about the baby by now. Toto stood at the computer with George and Mick as Fernando was allowed in to collect the sleeping toddler. “Nice race Lewis, I know that we’ve always been rivals and all, but I promise you that your son and of course his mother is safe with me. I will never go against any rules that you might have for me regarding your son as long as we both agree to respect each other and our boundaries” Fernando explained reaching out the two men shook hands and hugged before Y/n was led away towards Fernando car. Lewis was now left standing alone as reality hit, noting that he had lost what could have been his family due to his foolish mistakes that he was sure to never make again.