#going to lay face first in mud and get run over by a truck

[onepiexe]

day 3 of migrainr. loopt doopy

[aller-geez]

Alright so this fic definitely didn’t take me an entire month to write a little more than 4k words…….. hopefully it’s good, if it’s not……………. I’m very sorry 😂😂😂 I maybe got a lil indulgent with Remi’s cat allergies….. 😚 I know it’s Christmas Eve and I should have written a Christmas Fic, but here we are 🙃

You’ve Cat To Be Kitten Me Right Meow…

“God damn, I haven’t had food like that in a minute,” Remi grunted happily from the behind the wheel of his truck as he drove the two home from one of Remi’s favorite restaurants, tossing a satisfied smirk to the smaller male that sat beside him with an equally content grin.

“Definitely a good choice! I’m stuffed.” Levi giggled, rubbing his stomach gently with both hands and relaxing back into the large passenger seat. His blue eyes scanned the dark road in front of their vehicle as Remi drove, the scenery still unfamiliar as they both tried to get used to the new house they had just moved into.

The wolf slowly opened his mouth to release a deafening yawn that even vibrated the rear view mirror, followed by a breathy chuckle.

“Stuffed and ready for bed.” Remi agreed, his toxic green eyes locked on the poorly lit pavement.

“In 500 feet, turn left on Springer Street,” his gps’ voice chimed loudly, making them both cringe a little at the volume. Silently, he slowed the vehicle down and turned down another slightly unfamiliar road that brought them just a little closer to their home, and therefore, their bed.

“You aren’t going to pass out as soon as we get home, are you?” The feline crossed his thin freckled arms over his chest, his bottom lip jutting out slightly with a disappointed pout.

The wolf gasped dramatically, an incredulous expression taking over his features at such accusations, before twisting into his trademark smirk. “No promises, but I guess I’ll try to stay up for a little bit.” The light from his irises momentarily decorated Levi’s face in the dark cab before he returned his gaze to the road.

Admittedly slightly annoyed, the leopard shook his head, pointing his knees towards the door and forcing his focus to the near pitch black surroundings that flew by the trucks window, the road framed by trees that seemed to whisper secrets through their rustling leaves. The two remained silent, although after a few seconds, an object in the distance caught Levi’s attention. He had much better night vision than Remi due to obvious reasons, but due to their speed, it was still only a few seconds of observation he was allowed before it finally came into view.

At first glance, it looked like an average, run of the mill cardboard box that had been soaked by the unforgiving elements, laying haphazardly on the side of the road. But as the truck began to get closer, the cat was able to slightly make out some sort of movement that wasn’t simply buffeting by the wind.

“What the hell is that?” Levi squinted as he sat up straighter in his seat, peering out the expansive windshield to try and get a better look.

Confused, the canine raised an eyebrow, brushing off his mate’s curiosity. “It looks like a cardboard box..”

The leopard furrowed his eyebrows in frustration at the other’s nonchalance, but continued to study the fast approaching box.

Suddenly, a small kitten stumbled from the cardboard refuge, clearly shivering and covered in mud and other debris, and began to wobble into the road in front of them. Levi couldn’t hold back the shocked gasp that made him shoot up from his seat.

“REMI! STOP!!” He shrieked, clapping one of his hands over his mouth with a horrified expression as the truck came barreling down the road, headed right for the helpless creature.

Startled by the sudden outburst, Remi slammed his foot on the brake with all of his strength, causing the truck to fishtail slightly on the otherwise empty road and begin to slide diagonally. After what felt like a lifetime, he was finally able to regain control of the vehicle and it lurched to a complete stop.

“Levi! What the fuck!?” Remi growled deeply as his heart still thumped wildly in his throat, his breathing loud and jagged from fear. However, the feline ignored his panicked questions, and as soon as the truck stopped moving he threw the door open and leapt from his seat, slamming the heavy truck door behind him.

“Hey!” The wolf shouted in frustration after him.

Once on the pavement, Levi quickly scooped up the equally as traumatized kitten from only a few feet in front of their vehicle, and the animal began to mewl frantically as it tried to bury itself in the leopard’s warm neck.

“You could have been killed little one! You have to stay out of the road! You’re lucky my mate has good reflexes or you’d be smooshed on the street!” He cried, kissing the top of its head before holding it out in front of him to give the creature a good look. “Are you all alone out here?”

With all of the commotion, the box that the kitten had wobbled from began to shuffle again, and suddenly two more tiny kittens that were more mud than fur scrambled from the shadows and made a bee line towards Levi ankles.

“Oh my god, you poor babies!” The cat whimpered as he scooped up the other two kittens with the first and cradled them in his arms. His heart melted at the sight of them, so fragile and vulnerable. There was no question that the loving and empathetic leopard wasn’t going to be able to just leave such innocent, defenseless creatures out here to die. But he had to clench his teeth tightly as he tried to prepare for Remi’s reaction, as he KNEW his mate would definitely have some choice words.

With a determined breath, Levi finally made his way back to the vehicle and the already fuming wolf inside, and carefully popped the door open.

“Oh hell no..” Remi snarled before the other was even able to slide into his seat.

“I can’t just leave them here Rem, you know that…”

“I definitely can. They aren’t my problem.”

Levi shot a glare at his mate, his icy blue eyes like daggers. “No, Remington. You absolutely don’t get to be an asshole this time. They’re coming home with us tonight, and tomorrow morning I’ll find a rescue for them to go to. But they will not become stains on the road if I have any say in it!” Levi hissed, his words pointed and seemly laced with venom; something that was only used against Remi if he was really serious.

“What the fuck ever..” the wolf reluctantly admitted defeat, cursing under his breath and not make eye contact with the white haired man as he slid into his previous seat, cooing and reassuring the kittens that mewled loudly in his lap.

When the truck’s door slammed forcefully after the leopard, Remi snorted, however his nose already began to prickle. The canine tried to ignore it, quickly flicking off the rhythmic clicking of the hazard lights and slamming the gearshift into Drive. The truck’s tires crunched against the gravel that decorated the wide shoulder that the vehicle had partly slid into. In record time, his emerald eyes began to well up with tears as the tickle within his nose grew substantially, and soon his breath began to catch. The wolf tried desperately to scrub at his overly sensitive nostrils, and the pace of his driving suddenly decreased in order to account for his blurry vision. God, he fucking hated cats. “Hhh—“

Levi definitely noticed Remi’s behavior, and silently fought with the guilt that came from forcing the man he loved to endure being miserable on his account. “I promise,” he squeaked out, “it’ll just be tonight, and I’ll find somewhere for them in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. W-what— whateve—HHhh! Hiihhh—!! Hh'IISHH! —hd’ISCHhh!! —h’dtTISHh! Hahh— hhh’ISCHih!“ Remi sneezed in rapid succession, the air between them decorated in a fine mist that lingered for a second before dispersing. With a thick sniffle, the wolf drug the back of his wrist against his septum, wiping at his already leaking nose before sighing loudly and quickly looking back up at the road.

“In 500 feet, turn right onto Brookstone Way, and you will arrive at your destination,” the monotonous, robotic voice spoke clearly through his phone.

“Thadnk fuck.” Remi rumbled in annoyance as he slowed down to take the turn, although he was quickly cut short by another onslaught that snapped his eyes closed again. “hdt’ishhhh! Hihh’ISSHh! ihH’ktdSHhh!!! FUCK!” He hissed, barely able to correct the truck in time to turn onto their street.

Gripping the handle on the inside of the door to brace himself, Levi tried to keep his cool while their large vehicle fumbled down the road, but his anxiety was starting to get the better of him. He clasped his bottom lip between two rows of teeth as he glanced at his mate nervously. Just as he was about to intervene, the silhouette of their home began to materialize a short ways in front of them. After a few short moments, the truck’s tires came to a stop on the smooth pavement of their driveway and Levi felt finally able to fully exhale.

With a small, sheepish smile, Levi reached out to run one of his hands tenderly over the irate wolf’s forearm. “Thanks for dinner and driving home, Rem, I really—“

“No problebm.” Remi grumbled quickly, cutting him off as he stuffed the keys into his pocket and threw the trucks door open, angrily exiting the cab and slamming it intentionally behind him as he continued to grumble obscenities under his breath.

The leopard was left in his seat, stunned and speechless as he watched his mate fume up the few stairs to the porch, and jam the key into the front door to unlock it, only to be stopped in his tracks by another fit. This time, the sneezes were more harsh and louder than usual, forcing him to double over towards the bricks below his feet.

“hh—hEhTXSSHhh’ih! Hd’IZTSsHHhhh’ih! Jesus fuck why did it have to be CATS!?”

Remi’s following frustrated sigh and slamming of their front door must have been loud enough to hear from the next block over, making Levi shrink into his seat, his grip tightening slightly around the kittens who were sleeping silently on his lap. The leopard honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his mate so angry at him. Sighing quietly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and shuffled the kittens in his grasp to press gentle kisses against their foreheads, one by one.

“Don’t worry about the big bad wolf, you guys. I’ll make sure you’re safe and comfortable tonight. No more sleeping in the mud and cold~” he reassured the felines with a nervous smile, finally exiting the vehicle and making his way towards the front door with the kittens pressed tightly to his chest to keep them warm.

Slowly as to not make too much noise, the leopard turned the door handle and pulled it towards him to open their heavy door just enough to slip through and gently close it behind him.

Once inside, he could still hear Remi’s deep voice grumbling loudly to himself as he stomped through the house, clearly slamming every door possible as he went. Levi frowned at the childishness of his mate, slinking back into the spare bedroom they had near the back of the house. Once inside, he sat all three kittens gently onto the hardwood floor, and they took no time in stumbling over each other to explore the new space they were in.

The leopard grinned, chuckling softly to himself at such a simple existence. “Okay babies, you guys stay here and I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get you guys everything you’ll need for the night so you don’t even have to worry!” He reassured the kittens who paid him no mind, continuing to pad around the room curiously. Shaking his head and laughing to himself again, he quickly closed the bedroom door behind him and began racing through the house to collect items to use. In his excitement, he didn’t even hear Remi aggressively rip the back door open and go outside for a cigarette on their porch.

Quietly slipping into their shared office, Levi emptied out a plastic tub by tossing the contents on the top of the desk in the corner, and filled it with paper shavings that he fished out of their shredder. See? He knew making Remi buy a shredder would pay off eventually.

Next, he made his way into the kitchen, pulling a few small bowls from the cabinets.

He had almost completely forgotten about Remi’s temper tantrum until their back door slid open, and the wolf loudly made his entrance back into the house, the blinds clattering together as his large body forced its way through. He roughly closed it behind him, and stood just within the doorway, now shirtless with the same slacks he had worn to dinner still perched on his hips. He gripped a bottle of beer that was nearly empty in one of his large hands, and a pack of Camel wides in the other.

Levi managed a glance up to his mate from the dishes he had in his freckled hands. Remi bright green irises no longer glowed as brightly as they had in the car, and they were framed with bloodshot scleras, as well as a slight puffiness to the flesh around them. His nose had a similar pink hue to it, and his jaw hung open just slightly as he was forced to mouth breathe.

He seemed worse for wear, but no longer in a blind rage, which made Levi exhale a sigh of relief. Although, he couldn’t help but wonder when the wolf stood silently for a second, clearly fighting with himself over something. The feline tilted his head in confusion, but just as he was going to open his mouth to ask, Remi’s once stern expression twisted into something else.

His eyebrows shot up just as his reddened nostrils began to twitch, while his lower jaw fell even more slacked than it had earlier. Easily recognizing the expression, the leopard internally braced himself.

Remi’s chest quickly hiked up three times, and any thought that he was previously fighting with seemed to completely leave his mind as the feeling overwhelmed him, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“hdt’ishhhh! Hihh’ISSHh! ihH’ktdSHhh!!!” The wolf’s torso snapped downward towards the floor as every muscle in his abdomen tightened simultaneously, his eyes squeezing shut and saliva misting the floor below him. Immediately after he had managed to regain control of his body, a frustrated growl rumbled from his throat.

“Fuck it, dnevermbind. It doesdnt fuckigg bmatter.” He snarled, running a wrist under his septum and leaving a wet trail against his forearm. He still didn’t make eye contact with Levi as he crossed the kitchen in three strides, storming off into their shared bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

“Oh—kay?” The leopard mumbled to himself under his breath before turning the faucet on and filling one of the bowls he had pulled out. Once it was filled with water, he carefully set it down on the counter, and turned on his heels to rifle through their fridge for anything he could offer the kittens. After a second, he finally settled on a bit of left over chicken that he had baked just the night before and began shredding it into tiny pieces that were distributed among the remaining three bowls.

Once he had finished, Levi clapped his hands together with pride, congratulating himself internally before scooping them up and lining them up carefully on top of the paper shavings within the tub he had prepared. With the tub in one hand, and the bowl of water held firmly in the other, the cat slowly made his way down the hallway again and into the spare bedroom.

All three kittens came running from different corners of the room, mewling happily at the leopard’s return and snaking between his legs.

“Awh, babies!” Levi cooed happily between giggles. “I have things for you!”

Gently slipping between the happy felines, he set the tub on the bed and the bowl of water on the floor in the corner behind him. The kittens all followed his hands, and after a second, all three began to lap loudly in unison at the water they were given.

The leopard giggled again, shaking his head. “If some simple water makes you guys that happy, you’re gonna flip over this!”

With expert dexterity, he maneuvered all three bowls of chicken out of the tub, and spread them out in front of the kittens. They didn’t even need any coaxing to leave the large bowl of water and scramble towards their meals, quickly burying their muzzles into what must have been their first real food in days. After a few seconds, the only sounds that echoed in the quiet room were the furious smacking of the kittens lips, and the almost roar of their combined elated purrs.

Levi watched in wondrous fascination as the three kittens tucked into their meal with fervor, their little pink tongues flicking in and out of their mouths in rapid succession, pulling chunks of chicken into their mouths and chewing eagerly. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of their contentment, his heart melting at the joy on their little faces as they savored the taste of real food for the first time in who knows how long. The aroma of cooked chicken filled the room small bedroom, mixing with the faint scent of cinnamon essential oils from Levi's earlier cleaning efforts, creating a heady blend that made his stomach growl softly.

As they finished up, one by one, each kitten curled up around its bowl, licking any remaining juices and looking up at him with trusting eyes. They were so tiny and helpless…

How could Remi really expect him to just leave them there on the side of the road? The thought in itself made the leopard shutter with disgust.

Levi settled into the corner of the bed, smiling fondly at the adorable kittens as they finished up their meal. He carefully picked up the first one and held it close to his chest, its long whiskers and soft fur tickling his chin.

"You guys are just so precious," he whispered, gently stroking the tiny creature's head. "I can't believe anybody could ever abandon you." He watched as they all began to drift off to sleep, every now and then twitching their little whiskers in their dreams.

As the leopard watched them snooze, his icy blue eyes began to grow heavy too. His mind wandered back to the gruff yet gentle figure of his mate, wondering what could have made him act so coldly earlier.

After a few moments, Levi found himself softly singing a lullaby under his breath; one he hadn't sung in years. It was one his mother used to sing to him when he was their age, and it seemed fitting now. The kittens curled tighter into their respective corners of the guest bed as they fell asleep, exhausted from their meal and from the newfound safety they'd found. They were so small and defenseless that it warmed his heart just watching them sleep.

Just as he absentmindedly let his own vision glaze over while watching over his defenseless house guests, the fattest of the three kittens opened its small, green eyes and stood up slowly before toddling towards the leopard. Levi chuckled breathily, scooping the kitten up in his arms and pressing a kiss to its forehead.

“What’s wrong? Did you just need a cuddle buddy? Don’t worry, you’re safe here with me~” he reassured the small feline, stroking the soft fur between its ears, to which a loud, happy purr suddenly echoed through the otherwise quiet guest room. Leaning back against the headboard, his thoughts began to race around in his head. Even with such healing sounds vibrating against him from all angles, Levi he couldn’t help but think of his mate, and how much he wanted to be buried under the blankets with him right now.

He knew Remi was an ass sometimes, there was no denying that, but Levi knew that deep down he had a good heart. He just kept it hidden most of the time. Most people didn’t get to see the fun, loving, and compassionate Remington that he got to see, so the fact that his actions had caused the wolf to explode like he did really dug at him..

Plus, it’s not like Levi made a habit of picking up strays and bringing them home.. But these little nuggets were different; they needed him. At least for tonight. Then tomorrow, he knew Meeko and Connie could point him in the right direction to find a shelter to take them to. One that would ensure they found the best homes with the most amazing people to spend their life with.

With a saddened sigh, Levi slowly peeled the comforter out from under him, tucking his feet into the warmth of its folds very quietly as to not disturb the sleeping kittens scattered around him. The kitten that had made it a point to come keep him company still purred loudly, kneeling its tiny paws into the blanket around them.

As if the kitten could understand him, Levi smiled brightly, before continuing his thought out loud.

“You know, I bet if he wasn’t allergic to you, Remi would really like you guys.” The leopard stated matter of factly with an equally sure nod. “He might be a little rough around the edges sometimes, but he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met once you get him to lower his walls..” Levi’s soft voice took on a sad undertone as he continued to pet the kitten between its ears. It felt wrong to him to be sleeping in the guest room while his mate was probably already asleep in their bed down the hall.

Suddenly, from behind the closed door of the spare room, Levi’s sharp ears caught what sounded like a quick gasp, which was instantly followed by an almost strangled, “Hnkt'KNXTuhh! Huh'GDTS'ue!” And then silence again.

Was that… Remi?

Levi stopped for another second to listen again, and when he was only met with silence, he nimbly leapt from the depths of the comforter around him, and within seconds was already at the bedroom door, flinging it open.

Sitting on the floor on the other side of the bedroom door, Remi sucked in a surprised gasp when he was suddenly face to face with his mate who stood in the doorway with a hand on his hip and a small smirk.

The leopard clicked his tongue a few times, shaking his head. “Remington Connors! Were you spying on us?” Levi couldn’t help but giggle softly as the wolf stumbled over his words trying to defend himself even if he was just caught red handed.

“I- uh—.. I was just.. uhm…” Remi tried, but Levi simply shook his head again with a full laugh this time.

“You should maybe learn to stifle all the way if you’re going to try and be stealthy..” Levi could barely get his full sentence out between his laughter, which only made the corners of Remi’s mouth tug upward into his trademark smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, get your laughs in.” The wolf replied with a chuckle as he slowly made it to his feet next to his mate. Once in a little more light, Levi could easily see that while his emerald irises were still framed with red, bloodshot sclera, they were no longer swollen like they had been, and his consonants no longer sounded rounded out by the congestion packed into his sinuses. Plus, the rage that nearly bubbled out of him earlier was no where to be seen, which made the leopard inwardly sigh with relief.

“You sound a lot better..” Levi offered, reaching out one of his small freckled hands to card it through the other’s thick, raven strands of hair, but the wolf expertly ducked out of the way before he could make contact, which made the leopard visibly pout a little.

Sniffling softly and dragging his nose against his wrist for a brief moment, Remi smirked, although it was much softer this time. “I took a couple allergy meds.. but they aren’t magic, and you have dander all over your hands..” the canine explained as Levi pulled his hand back with an understanding nod of his head.

“I uh.. I couldn’t go to sleep without apologizing to you for my behavior tonight..” Remi stated sheepishly, palming the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that, especially if your actions were saving lives, and I’m truely sorry.” The wolf’s toxic green eyes drifted up to meet Levi’s, an honest expression written all over his features.

The leopard couldn’t help but melt into a puddle on the floor.

His mate was notorious for making apologies like pulling teeth.. Yet, he offered this up so candidly and without trying to justify his actions. He knew he fucked up, and that meant a lot to him.

Levi smiled brightly, and without thinking, threw his thin arms around Remi’s neck with a delighted squeal. “Thank you for apologizing, Rem, it really makes me so happy that you aren’t upset with me. I forgive you, my love~” The leopard beamed, covering his mate’s cheek with kisses.

Remi didn’t even have a chance to protest before his already raw nose twitched to life again, and almost instantly his large chest began to swell as his breath snagged within his throat.

“L-Levi.. I- ihh- ih’TTSSHH! hih’IIISSHHHuue! heh’ITTSHH’IEW!!” The wolf sneezed harshly against his mate’s shoulder, grimacing outwardly at the raw, itchy feeling in his throat and nose again.

Suddenly aware of his actions, Levi quickly released his grasp around his mate’s neck.

“Fuck, Rem, I’m so sorry!” He whimpered, covering his mouth with both hands as if to hide the surprised expression on his face.

After a few seconds of clarity, Remi attempted a forceful sniff, only to find his nose had become completely clogged again. Despite the sigh that escaped him, his mouth was still pulled up into a small smirk.

“It’s fine, Pesi. I’m going to go take a shower and probably head to bed, but tomorrow I’ll help you call around to find somewhere safe for the kittens, okay? Just get all your snuggles in with them tonight, cause tomorrow, I’ll be taking them back.” With a rather congested chuckle, Remi tousled the leopard’s white faux hawk before sauntering back down the hallway towards their bedroom.

Although before he could even shut their door behind him, one final “hh'IETSH’UE!” rumbled down the hallway, making Levi outwardly laugh a full, genuine laugh.

“This guy has cat to be kitten me right meow…”

Thanks so much for reading 😚😚

As always, @thekinkyleopard owns Levi 💚

[mynameistocool]

•AT YOUR AID•

Part 1

•••

Five months you’d been stationed at the camp for five gruelling cold, wet and lonely months. 

You had left determined to show your family that you weren’t just going to sit aside and allow thousands of innocent men to die.

Your mother chastised you for leaving, and your father well your father had no input on the matter finally agreeing with you for once in your life.

The fiery passion you once had for this role began to slowly linger away, especially after the first few weeks, when you spent days throwing up and crying over the sights you saw. The men’s curdling shrieks still ring heavy in your ears when you lay down at night.

Regiment after regiment came through, men piled in the small rooms, legs broken, arms blown off and gunshot wounds littered around their bodies, barely able to speak or move, but they still found a way to make an appeasing smile and wink with whatever women they saw first, desperate for any form of attention.

The grey skies seemed to somehow get greyer and the ground thicker with mud, making it harder for people and trucks to get through.

As you trudged through the mud of the main square with a spare box of bandages and tape you found while off duty, you looked around at the jumping men who had received letters from their loved ones parading pictures of their lover and families for all to see.

You haven’t received any for the past 2 months.

Looking up, feeling the small droplets of rain beginning to wet your head you knew it was only a matter of time before the dreaded rain started again the tapes and bandages in the lidless box began to darken in colour making you quickly run to find any kind of shelter knowing showing up with wet supplies would be useless.

Making your way into the yards' hallway, you could see the downpour hit soldiers who all just remained unbothered and still staying in the same place, all too tired to move.

As your attention remained outside, your peripheral vision and legs failed you.

Falling forward on to the cold, wet and hard floor, the box now tumbled in front of you and your hands began to sting the gritty mud staining them. The sudden ache in your knees stopped you from getting up straight away.

“Watch where you're going.” The man who sat to the side of you grabbed your arm, his full hand engulfing your bicep as he pushed your pack up to your knees.

“Watch where I’m going ? Took your legs in.” You spat back harshly at the man back, wiping your grazed hands on your uniform, small smears of blood now staining the cotton.

The man grumbled slightly but chose to ignore your words and instead helped pick up the bandages and tape which spilt from the box before handing the battered box back to you.

You took it quickly from his hands and stood to your feet, walking away with no words in between, you got a few meters ahead before stopping in your tracks, making you face the man.

His body sat in the position that had just made you trip, his large back straight against the wall and his legs spread wide, a letter held in his hands.

You walked back over to him, and the sudden shadow made him look up at you.

“Thank you.” You spoke, giving the man a small apologetic smile to make up for your rudeness.

“No problem” he nodded to you, putting his attention back onto the inked paper in his hands.

You stood still for a moment, staring at the man below you, his face was dirty with mud and dark bags rested under his eyes from the many weeks of no sleep. But underneath you saw a ruggish handsomeness in him, his moustache was still neatly trimmed, and his blonde hair still cut nicely despite the ongoing terror happening around.

There was a something cruel yet pained about the expression he held on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed to in sadness but his eyes pierced the paper in front of him mouth had a faint frown present and his jaw was tight as though he was trying swallow a shout.

Yet for some reason you couldn’t seem to feel frightened.

You quickly turned around, realizing you stared longer than needed leaving you once again to walk away.

“Miss.” He called out, his voice was ruff yet held a certain softness in his tone.

You turned back round, staring back at the man who eyes seemingly didn’t want to meet yours.

“Yes.” You replied, walking closer to the sitting man.

“You’re a nurse, right ?” He asked stupidly as though you weren’t stood in a nursing uniform.

“Yes, what else could I be ?” You couldn’t help but smile at his question.

“That means you can read.” He spoke again, playing with the paper.

“And write.” You added.

“Would you read this to me ?” He held the letter out to you, which you accepted.

You crouched down to be closer to the man and began to read the scribbled words.

“Dear Stanislaus

I hope all is well, and you are taking care of yourself out there, we need you back home with us. Our daughter misses you dearly and asks every night when will you return. I’ve kept her worries away for so long and her questions answered, but sometimes I run out of lies to say. Her studies are coming along nicely, and she’s even started drawing beautiful pictures there one of you from when you were last here. I visited our sons …” you paused, looking at the man. His eyes held some softness when you read out his wife’s words, the small smile on his now left at the mention of his son.

“Grave today I read to him like I promised you many years ago. I told him about you and how you were still being a brave soldier. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you be able to send some money we are running low and if you have not yet put some away I would start to if I was you, it seems like a smart plan. I hope to see you soon, Stanislaus, and maybe we can talk about our future when you get back.  Love Anna.”

You carefully folded the letter over, handing it back to him. 

“Was that your wife ?” You smiled at the man, wrapping your arms round your body.

“Uhh…yes…she was.” The man tucked the letter into his inside coat pocket.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean.” You began to apologize, feeling bad for assuming.

“No, no don’t apologize she left me just before the war, she only writes for the sake of our daughter and my mental state.” He let out a small chuckle at the last part of his words, which for some reason calmed down your nerves.

You looked at the floor before standing up again and picking up your boxes, holding them against your hip.

“Thank you, by the way… for reading this to me.” He smiled at you again, and somehow it seemed a bit brighter than before.

“It was my pleasure sir and if you need me to write one back find me and I shall hopefully be free to help.” you informed the man who sat below you.

“Goodbye Stanislaus.” You bid the man before walking away once more.

“It’s Kat.” He shouted at your back.

“Well, I shall see you around, Kat.” You spoke again, not bothering to turn around.

•••

*Note*

I done it for the three people who wanted it lol 🙏 I hope you all like it I’m not really a good writer but I did try and I’m glad I’ve found other who love this man as much as I do I also decide to have Kat and his wife spilt cause I would have felt to guilt making this man cheat I think he has a daughter but I wasn’t to sure so I just wrote her in anyway and thank you so much for reading x

@iiriashouse @goslingdriver @hauntedbogwitch

[macamadamia]

The Coffee Table Incident Chapter 1: The Coffee Table

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51051661/chapters/128982094

Ship: Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature

Total Word Count: 3,037

AO3 Tags: Total Power Exchange, 24/7 Dom/sub, Punishment, Cock & Ball Torture, Bondage, Human Furniture, Gags, Discipline, Collars, Leashes, Light Sadism, Verbal Humiliation

Cas arrived home early the day of what he’d since dubbed “The Coffee Table Incident.” Dean still didn’t like to think that Cas had given it a cutesy nickname. Or the air quotes he made whenever he’d mention it.

“Dean, do we need to have a repeat of” – and up go the air quotes – “‘The Coffee Table Incident’?” Raised eyebrow.

Fuck no, thank you very much.

The week after they’d moved in, three months after the fire that destroyed their home, they’d found the coffee table on the grass outside a house a few streets over when they were first exploring the area. Driving around the neighbourhood, Dean behind the wheel of the Impala while Cas followed their route on his phone.

It wasn’t a great neighbourhood, and it wasn’t nearly as good as the one they’d left, but it wasn’t the worst place Dean had lived.

They passed row after row of small wooden cottages. Two- or three-bedroom single level homes, similar to their own, in various states of care and maintenance. For every overgrown yard with one or more rusted vehicles out front, they passed a small but well-maintained garden. Teenagers worked on cars, and elderly residents walked small dogs.

Waiting at the traffic lights while the kids from the local grade school trooped past in their high visibility vests, being herded like day-glo geese by a couple of adults, Dean’s mind was on paint samples and flooring timber.

The house needed a fresh coat of paint, and he was itching to rip up the linoleum flooring and lay down some floating wooden floors. The kitchen also needed a full renovation. He’d have to run it past Castiel first, but maybe they could replace the small stove with a range cooker. Cas might agree if he could find one cheap enough, and promise to do it up…

He jumped, ripped from his reverie, when Cas flung an arm out in front of his face and pointed to something out his window.

“Dean!”

Adrenalin flooded his veins as he looked for whatever threat he’d missed, even as he berated himself for his lack of attention. All he saw was the gaggle of brightly coloured children, and a little old lady standing at the traffic lights holding onto a walker.

He was already reaching for the crowbar he kept under the driver’s seat, silently cursing Cas that his no guns in the house rule extended to the Impala.

“Look Dean! Look at that table. It’s perfect.”

He took in the pile of furniture Cas was pointing at. Out the front of a dilapidated house surrounded by a hurricane fence, a pile of furniture rotted on the kerb. 

“What the– Cas! What the fuck?”

Cas had wanted to pick it up then and there, but covered as it was in mud, grass clippings, and bird shit, there was no way Dean was putting it in the backseat of his Baby.

“It’ll still be there tomorrow; we’ll come back then and pick it up in the work truck.”

“But Dean!” Cas stared at him like he was the loopy one. “It might already be gone by then.”

“Seriously, dude? It’s probably been out there for weeks.” There was grass growing up between the legs. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

Instead of answering him, Cas jumped out of the car and ran across the road.

“Cas! Goddamn it. Get back here!”

When Dean flat out refused to allow Castiel to load the table into Baby, no matter how much he pleaded, he insisted on waiting at the side of the road until Dean came back with his work truck.

It was Dean who loaded it into the truck, and Dean who carried it into the garage at home. 

It had taken him a solid two weeks to restore the table to its former glory, and he – somewhat grudgingly – had to admit that Cas was right. It was perfect. Cleaned, sanded, and lacquered to a shine that highlighted the wood grain, simple but well made, it was probably the nicest piece of furniture they owned.

After witnessing how Dean treated their last table, the one that had gone up in the fire that had claimed everything else they owned, Cas had gone so far as to make it one of their Rules. No shoes on the coffee table. In fact, no feet on the coffee table at all.

Dean mentioned at the time that Cas should probably talk to his therapist about his fixation on the first piece of furniture he’d chosen for their new home.

Whether Cas spoke to Missouri or not, Dean would probably never know. But Cas’ indignant huffing was almost worth the time spent over his knee, and the ten stripes he’d earned from the belt taught him not to mess with the object of his partner’s obsession.

Mostly, anyway. Sometimes he forgot.

Sometimes, he came home from work early, grabbed a beer and made a bowl of popcorn, and sat down on the sofa to watch Dr. Sexy on the second-hand television Charlie had given them as a housewarming present because.

And sometimes, he put his feet up on the table in front of him because it was his furniture too and what Castiel didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, right?

“Comfortable, Dean?”

Son of a bitch.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Hayloft (p.1)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts...) 

Warnings: Abuse, mentions of drinking, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!

__________________

When your car finally pulled up the old dirt driveway to your family's farm house, the sun was already setting, casting an orange hue over the acres of land that your father had inherited from his father. It was beautiful, really. The sun was behind your old two story home made of wood planks that were covered in chipping white paint. The door’s paint was also chipping, only this time it was old navy blue paint - at least that’s the color it was supposed to be when it was painted who knows how many decades ago - that peeled back to reveal the wood beneath. 

Your father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway yet when you pulled up and you sighed in relief because it gave you the opportunity to get dinner started before he got home. You headed straight for the kitchen. The only moment taken for yourself was the moment of silence when you leaned against the counter top and stretched out your back from the long day's work at the diner. The refrigerator was mostly empty and you made a mental note to run to the store after work tomorrow before your father could notice the lack of food. Thankfully, there was still enough scraps to piece something together for tonight between the fridge and the cupboards. 

The house was swimming with the delicious scent of herbs, onions, potatoes, and stock as you boiled a stew on the stove when you heard the front door open. “Hi, Daddy! How was work?” You asked over your shoulder before you even heard his steps enter the kitchen, not actually caring but knowing he’d be upset if you didn’t ask. 

He came around the corner but you could hear from the moment the door opened that there were the footsteps of more than one person entering your home. With a frown, you turned from the stove and took a few steps so you could see around the wall that blocked your view of the front door but your father and new mystery person stepped around that corner and into the kitchen before you could get that far. You stopped in your tracks, startled by their sudden appearance, and your hand flew to your chest as your eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry!” You chuckled awkwardly, apologizing for your jumpiness, “Didn’t think you’d be comin’ in here.” 

It was a man about your age that stood just behind your father, a navy baseball cap twisted in his hands and his footsteps light so as to not knock dirt off onto the floor from his work boots, both welcomed displays of manners that you appreciated, unlike your father who left a trail of chunks of dried mud and grease everywhere he walked. This new boy, though, he was cute. Short curly hair that was messy, either from work or wearing the hat, big expressive brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy in the best possible way, a tight lipped expression that showed he was a little nervous and uncomfortable to be here, they were all a welcome, albeit unexpected, surprise. 

"Work was good. This here is Arvin Russel. He'll be staying with us, at least for the night." Your eyes flicked back to the boy you now knew as Arvin when your dad introduced him and your heart skipped a beat at the eye contact. 

  He nodded his head slightly, a small cordial smile flashing on his face for just a moment, "Pleasure to meet you,..." 

"Y/N. It's nice to meet you as well. If you're staying the night, let me add some water to the soup and then I'll go make up the spare bed." You pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the pot of stew that was nearly done. 

"That's very kind of you. Thank you." 

Before you could notice him moving, your dad was already beside the fridge and you reached out to try to stop him before he could open it. "Let me get you something! What about you, Arvin? You want a beer or some water?" You scurried to try and beat your dad to the fridge that you knew would earn you a reprimanding that you didn’t deserve. 

You were too late though and your dad already swung the door open wide. You stepped back nervously, rubbing the sharp edge of your nails against your thumb. "It's damn near empty." He noted, voice stiff and dissatisfied. He stood, managing to produce the last two beers from the refrigerator before slamming it shut. 

You flinched at the loud sound, hearing the few glass jars of preserves and jams clanging against each other inside from the force. Your eyes rolled beneath closed lids at his overdramatic reaction, even though it was one you expected. "I'm gonna hit the market after work tomorrow but I checked that we have enough for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow." Your voice was sweet and placating, careful to respond in a way that would keep his temper in check. 

  "It's that damn job of yours. I told you women shouldn't be working. They belong in the house where you should be. Now look. You went and let the kitchen run out." He passed Arvin a beer, which he reluctantly accepted, watching the way your father pointed his finger at you accusingly. “Ain’t no man gonna want a wife who can’t even keep the kitchen stocked up.” 

Your tongue was raw inside from biting down on it so hard in order to keep yourself in line, as he called it. You didn't need a blow out tonight, not with Arvin here. "I manage to work and keep up with the house just fine, Daddy. We just got a little low on groceries but I'll be heading to the market tomorrow to fix it. Don’t you worry." Even you were surprised with how even and sweet your voice came out, that ever present fire of anger towards your father having been fanned into a decent blaze.  

He popped the tab on his beer and sighed, dropping the topic for the time being, "Fine. But make sure to pick up some fixin's for that chicken roast you make. Patty is lookin' nice and fat in the coop so why don't you cook her up tomorrow." 

You grimaced at the thought. Patty was one of the chickens in your coop out back that had been pretty slow when it came to laying eggs but you’d grown attached to her nonetheless. Ever since you were a young girl, your daddy warned you not to become attached to the animals out back but you never listened. Back then, you’d had your mother to step in and convince him not to kill the animals for whatever reason she could come with and opt for buying meat from the market instead. You hadn’t been able to convince him like that since she’d passed. Everything had been different since she passed. 

“I don’t know, Daddy. Patty’s been layin’ a lot of eggs lately and we’ve been gettin’ extra money from sellin’ all those eggs. Why don’t I just pick up a chicken in town tomorrow at the store.” You insisted, walking back over to the stove to stir the stew. 

“Don’t go wastin’ money on things we already got! We got some chickens out back. Just cook one of ‘em up tomorrow!” Your father’s voice was hard and stern now, enough to fill the air with tension in Arvin’s presence. You turned slowly, making eye contact with Arvin briefly before quickly avoiding it. You didn’t like the way he stood awkwardly, silently watching the interaction he clearly didn’t think highly of. Your father was already getting worked up and it would only get worse the longer the night went on. 

Biting your cheek, you nodded, “Yes, sir. Now why don’t you boys go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in just a minute.” 

**

Dinner went relatively well, despite your father’s occasional grumblings about there not being any beer. Once you finished, you stood up and picked up yours and your father’s bowls before noticing Arvin’s was empty as well. “Did you want some more? There’s just enough for one more if you’d like it.” You offered Arvin that last bit of stew but he just shook his head and stood up. 

“Oh, no thank you miss. Dinner was delicious though. Let me help with that.” He grabbed his own bowl before your hand could reach it and then took the bowls from your hands as well before setting them down at the sink. 

You chased after him, “Thank you but you don’t have to do that! Please, sit. I’ll make your bed up when I’m finished cleaning up dinner.” 

“She’s right, son. Kitchen ain’t no place for a man. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you the room you’ll be stayin’ in.” You father’s chair screeched against the beat up wooden floor as he stood, beckoning Arvin to him. 

Arvin was standing right beside you, his arm only a few inches from yours as he lowered the stack of bowls into the sink. He looked over at you with deep soulful eyes that seemed to look right through your calm facade in a way that made you feel seen like never before. It was highly uncomfortable, almost violating after all these years of hiding away what you felt for the sake of keeping the peace, and you forced a smile, “Please, you’re our guest. It wouldn’t be right to make you do the dishes. You go with him.” 

He gave you a drawn out hesitant look but turned away nonetheless and walked towards your dad. “Thank you again for letting me stay here till I get things figured out. It’s mighty kind of you.” Arvin thanked you and your father for your hospitality, shooting you one last glance over his shoulder before following your father down up the stairs towards the spare room. 

You made quick work of the dishes, having cleaned most of them as you were cooking earlier anyways and scurried to the closet that held your extra sheets. As you passed the bathroom, you heard the shower running and knew it was your father bathing after his long day of work, like he always did right after dinner. The man was a creature of habit. 

With your arms full of neatly folded faded steel blue linens and the thicker burnt sienna colored wool blanket, you made your way towards the guest room Arvin was staying in to find the door wide open and the man looking through his bag that was set on the bed. “Knock knock,” you announced your presence, waiting at the entryway for Arvin to notice you before entering. 

He spun around, dropping something that you didn’t see quickly into his bag and pressing it down while flashing you a small polite smile, “Hello, ma’am.” 

You walked into the room, raising the linens in your hands, “I brought some sheets so I could make up your bed.” You walked over to the wooden chair and set the top sheet down before making your way back over to the bed, unfolding the bottom sheet as you did, waving it up and down in the air to straighten it out before laying it flat on the bed. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, miss,” He moved his bag to the ground and jumped to lift the corner of the mattress and tuck the sheet beneath it. 

You blushed at his kindness, not used to such help from your father, but shook your head, tucking the sheet beneath the mattress on the opposite side of the bed “If my daddy came in and saw you fixin’ the bed yourself, he’d kill me,” you chuckled to make it sound like a joke but you knew better than that. He wouldn’t actually kill you but you would certainly get some less than kind words thrown your way, maybe even a few beer cans thrown your way depending on how drunk he was. 

Arvin shook his head, his hands falling on his hips, “Looks like you do most the housework ‘round here.” What he was insinuating was clear even though his tone didn’t change but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t need to concern himself with the difficulties between you and your father. 

“So how’d you and my dad meet?” You changed the topic, going to grab the top sheet and unfolding it. You laid it over the bed and tucked your side in, Arvin reaching down to tuck his side in as well in a silent act of defiance against your insistence that he didn’t need to help. It occurred to you suddenly after the question left your lips that you didn’t actually know anything about this boy but, for some reason, you still didn’t feel uneasy around him.  

Arvin pulled the top corner of the sheet up to the head of the bed as he answered, “I just started workin’ at the garage with ‘im.” 

“You like cars?” You questioned, spreading out the final layer on the bed, the wool blanket. 

Arvin shrugged, “Never been really into ‘em but I can fix ‘em alright enough. Just needed the work and happened to see the wanted sign when I was passin’ through town.” 

Your brow raised in curiosity, “You were just passin’ through and stopped in this old town cause of a help wanted sign?” The little town you lived in wasn’t terrible but it was far from a destination that people really moved to for work unless you a doctor desperate for a place to practice or something like that. “You must really be desperate,” you joked but immediately felt a slight pang of regret when a shred of truth could be seen in his eyes. 

“Just tryna figure out where I’m goin’ ‘n what I wanna do. Figure I’ll find somewhere I like eventually.” Arvin picked up his bag and set it off to the side where it was a little more out of the way. 

You stared at the man standing before you, taking every bit of him from the grease stains on his white t-shirt to his scuffed up brown work boots to his messy hair, dirty from dried sweat. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with him that you realized that you’d been staring in a settled yet weirdly comfortable silence. You stood up straight and smiled to diffuse the awkwardness you’d unintentionally fostered, “You’re more than welcome to take a shower. My daddy should be finished any second. I’ll set some extra towels in there for you.” 

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” He nodded in appreciation but offered no further conversation. You could tell from the moment of silence that it was time for you to make your exit. 

“Well, uh, I better head to bed. You need anything before I go?” You asked, backing towards the door and swinging slightly with it once your hand hit the old bronze knob. 

Arvin shook his head, “No, thank you. ‘M all set.” 

“Alrighty, then. You have a good night.” You chewed your lip as you opened the door to make your exit. 

“G’night, miss Y/N.” 

Butterflies flew wildly in your belly as you walked to your bedroom. It had been a long while since you’d seen somebody worth looking twice at in this old town but now a mysterious handsome man rolls into town and stays with you. In your house. It probably wasn’t the safest of situations but Arvin genuinely looked like a nice man. From your very brief interactions with him, you couldn’t really imagine him trying to hurt you or your father for no reason. Even if he did, you knew where your daddy kept his shotgun and you had no problem defending yourself. But like I said, you had an unearned sense of peace with Arvin that you hoped wasn’t a misjudgement. 

“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout?” Your father’s gruff but thankfully not entirely drunk voice made you stop in your tracks and turn towards his room with a suppressed groan. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but an undershirt and long johns with his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides.

You shook the smile off your face. “Just thought of somethin’ funny that happened at work,'' you lied. “You need somethin’?” 

“I watched you come out o’ that boy’s room with a big ol’ grin on your face. Better not let me catch you ‘n him. Ain’t no daughter o’ mine gonna be whorin’ around with some boy blowin’ through town, y’hear?” He threatened, his hands reaching down to pull up his worn out long johns. 

Your blood boiled at the accusation and despite your best efforts to keep peace while Arvin was here, you spat words with venom, “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ with Arvin. God forbid I have a damn smile on my face.” Your voice was low enough so that you hoped your guest hadn’t heard your outburst but when your father’s face darkened and he began taking slow, heavy steps towards you, you weren’t sure if your charade of normalcy would last much longer. 

Your father hovered over you, exaggerating the size difference between the two of you, “I put a roof over your head. I put food on the table. You play make believe with that little diner job but I'm the head of this house. I'm your father. You watch that fuckin’ tone with me girl."

Your jaw was clenched tightly, matching your fists, as you glared up at him with indignantly furious eyes. Father your ass. He once had been your father, an imperfect but loving man who used to try. Now he was merely a selfish broken sperm donor. He inherited this house from his father, didn’t pay a darn cent, and you couldn't remember the last time he pitched in a dime for anything but alcohol and the occasional dinner he made when he was in a good mood. He did do that- have these strange out of character nights where he pretended to be kind and loving. They were far and few between though and, while you enjoyed the change of pace, it felt like walking on eggshells in some fantasy world. 

A heavy silence settled between the two of you that crackled with a tension that could snap at any moment and turn into a full blown fight. Your eyes were narrowed on his as you refused to let him think he intimidated you anymore. Nevertheless, you turned on your heel, nails digging into your palm, and walked down the hall towards your room, leaving him alone. 

“He wouldn’t want you anyways, fuckin’ attitude like that.” Your father grumbled to your back, hoping for one last reaction out of you that you refused to give. 

It took all the control in the world to not slam the door in his face but you knew there was no way it would escape Arvin’s attention. You’d have to resort to the therapy of muffling your furious tear-soaked screams into your pillow until you finally fell asleep, like you did many nights. 

[novelconcepts]

The night Dani sees Peter Quint, a blackout happens during the storm. The officers say that it's not safe to stay there in the middle of a storm and without a way to talk to the police if necessary. Hannah and the kids go to Owen's house. Jamie offers a ride, her little flat, clothes and a bath (since crazy Dani decided to run after Peter during the storm).

There's just one bed prompt. Maybe a small couch or chair.

They listen, which is frankly more than Dani expected when Hannah insisted on calling the police. She suspects it has less to do with the Peter Quint of it all, and more to do with the lightning strike, the cataclysm of rain, an old house plunged into deep black. No phone lines, the officers point out with weary expressions that say they are not certain Peter Quint is truly a danger--but Lord Wingrave is not without a certain amount of authority around these parts, and if any further tragedy should befall his niece and nephew, these men would find themselves overloaded on unpleasant paperwork and worse press. 

Bad reasons, Dani thinks with a scowl. They ought to have gone into this field to help people, not scoff at Hannah’s fear and Dani’s unease. They ought to be doing something, not simply waving them off the property for the night. It’s listening, sort of, but it isn’t hearing. 

She glances at Jamie as the officers speak--directly, she notes, to Owen, as though as the only man among them, he has defaulted to de facto lord of the manor. He looks uncomfortable, rubbing a hand through wet hair; Dani remembers him saying, I was born in Bly, wonders if he went to school with either of the men in slick uniform. 

Jamie doesn’t look uncomfortable. Jamie looks angry. There’s a fire burning in her Dani suspects never entirely went out after this afternoon’s rose debacle, one that might have been tempered if they’d been able to track Quint down outside. But he’s in the wind, the product of long legs and a better awareness of the terrain. Dani, giving chase into a fresh downpour before she could think better of her choices, is still itching at the memory of his long coat vanishing into the dark. 

She’d run into Jamie, instead--full-force, a bone-rattling collision that had sent them both tumbling into the sopping grass. It might have been funny, if not for the echo of Quint’s footfalls dying away.

“If he’s here?” Jamie asks now. “Quint. If he’s still here? What then?”

The officer in charge gives her a brief look, barely long enough to register detail. “If he’s here,” he says boredly, “all the better that you aren’t.”

Jamie grinds her jaw. She seems barely to be containing herself, resisting the impulse to explain in no uncertain terms that this is their home, this place Quint is intruding upon. Their home--Hannah and the kids and Dani, at least--where Quint would be trailing slimy fingers. The idea of that smirking face going through the bedrooms makes Dani shudder. It seems to press Jamie toward an unwise argument. 

Without thinking, Dani reaches out, lays a hand on her shoulder. Jamie’s hair is still dripping, her jacket sodden. Her eyes, catching on Dani’s face, widen a little, her teeth unclenching. 

“You have somewhere to go?” the head officer reiterates, glancing back toward the door as though dreaming of a warm car, a comfortable house far from the manor. Owen nods in Hannah’s direction. 

“Mum won’t mind. Can have a little sleepover.”

“Yes!” Flora perks up. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet, leaning against Miles’ side, but her whole face switches on like a lantern now. “A sleepover!”

“How’s about it, Miles?” Hannah taps him lightly on the head. “A little evening adventure.”

He looks uncertain, but when she ruffles his hair, a slow smile creeps across his face. Dani’s relieved to see it--she’s started to believe Miles is thirty-five in a ten-year-old frame, the weight of so much loss bearing him down like an anchor. He deserves a little fun. 

“And you,” Hannah adds, looking to Dani as if reading her mind. “What do you say to a night off?”

Dani blinks. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necess--”

“Chased a man into the storm,” Hannah interrupts. “Not a decision I’d approve of twice, but it was quite brave. And, forgive me dear, but you look like you could use a proper rest in the aftermath.”

That might be, Dani thinks absently, the nicest way of saying you look like shit I’ve ever heard. 

“I’ll just get cleaned up real quick,” she says, “and then I’ll be perfectly fine to--”

Hannah raises a hand. “I insist. Let Owen and I handle them for the evening.”

Dani opens and closes her mouth several times. What’s the alternative? Is Hannah expecting her to stay here? Here, in a house they’re all carefully not admitting feels much bigger in the dark, huddled around the glow of policeman flashlights? 

“Can crash at my place,” Jamie says, almost gruffly. “If you don't mind the company.”

Hannah looks unsurprised by this offer. Dani feels a little light-headed at the idea. 

“I--I’m all muddy.”

Jamie makes a show of looking down at her own clothes, caked in wet clods of grass, soaked nearly to the skin. She raises her eyebrows in Dani’s direction as if to say, Any more sterling arguments?

Dani has none.

Jamie doesn’t say a word as they load into her truck, Dani trying her best to shrink down to inhabit as limited a space as possible. Her legs ache with the effort of holding her feet aloft, her thighs pressed together to prevent staining the whole seat with grime. Jamie glances in her direction, pulling carefully out onto the road, and Dani could swear she’s trying not to smile.

“Know what I do for a living, don’t you?”

Dani nods. Jamie clears her throat.

“Then should go without saying you’re not the first to track mud into the truck. Relax.”

Embarrassed, Dani does as she’s bid. From the corner of her eye, she sees Jamie’s mouth twitch again--sees Jamie’s hands resting comfortably at ten and two, Jamie’s shoulders slightly rounded as though by holding her posture firm, she can punch a hole through the sheeting rain. She doesn’t seem nervous in the least to be driving through this mess with Dani huddled beside her. 

Jamie, Dani is starting to think, doesn’t get nervous.

Well, that makes one of us. 

She has nothing to be nervous about, is the thing. Chasing a strange man into a storm, racing after him with nothing but a fire poker and a hot protective impulse--that should have made her nervous. Should have scared the shit out of her. And it hadn’t. She’d felt bizarrely well-equipped for the decisions she was making, at the time. Peter Quint, she’d been certain, should have been the nervous one.

But now, sitting with wet hair and mussed clothes beside a woman she’s held barely three conversations with, Dani feels distinctly out of her element. No kids. No easy warmth of a carefully-sewn-together family opening its arms to let her in. Just a truck, rattling along a slick road on its way to a tiny town she’s never set foot in before.

And a woman with wet curls plastered to her forehead, stealing tiny glances at Dani like she’s not quite sure what to do with her.

“Flat’s small,” Jamie says, as if apologizing, as she parks outside a pub that looks older than any establishment in Dani’s hometown. “Don’t need much. But there are no screamin’ kids.”

Flora and Miles aren’t much for screaming without reason, but Dani thinks she takes Jamie’s point all the same. Quiet, Jamie is trying to say. Dani can properly rest here, Jamie is trying to say. Jamie doesn’t mind offering up her space.

“Ready?” The rain is still coming down in a torrent. Jamie’s hand is positioned at the doorhandle, Jamie’s posture strung tight. “Make a break for it on three. One--two--”

They run, damp clothes made soggy all over again, and Dani is surprised to hear herself make a whooping sound of joy as she splashes through puddles. Jamie, she thinks, could move faster--Jamie’s got a runner’s stamina when she puts her mind to it--but she’s jogging along at an easy pace, refusing to leave Dani behind. Her hand catches once on Dani’s sleeve, pulling her to the stairs behind the pub, guiding her up to a door at the top.

“Storms like these,” Jamie says when they’ve tumbled breathlessly into her home, “remind me of bein’ a kid. Sitting in school, hoping the power’d go so they’d send us home early.”

“Did it ever happen?” Dani wraps her arms around herself, trying not to shiver, trying not to drip too expansively across the scored floorboards. Jamie grins.

“Once. I was seven. Spent the whole day out in it anyway, caught the worst cold of my life. Best goddamn day a kid could want.” 

She looks so at home here, as Dani watches her pull off her boots, drape her jacket lazily over a chair, stride around turning on lights. At the manor, Jamie is casual enough, rarely inclined to rush or worry, but here, it’s instantly clear she knows every creak in the floor, every stubborn lightswitch, every inch of a domain that is entirely Jamie. 

A domain she has, for no reason at all, opened up to Dani tonight. The reality of it crashes home all at once, landing hard. Jamie barely knows her, and still is willing to give Dani a place to stay. Jamie barely knows her, and still is holding out a gray towel and a bundle of clothes, her smile crooked.

“Thought you might like to get out of those.”

A spike of warmth makes its way up Dani’s spine, settling somewhere around her ears. She crushes it down, forcing herself to accept the sweats and t-shirt with a grateful smile of her own.

“Thank you. Honestly, you didn’t have to do any of this--”

“The rain,” Jamie says easily, “is the fun part. The cold, not so much. Bath’s this way.”

Bathroom, Dani assumes she means--until Jamie gestures at the little tub, barely big enough for a woman her size. She looks marginally embarrassed for the first time, but it’s a resolute sort of embarrassment, as though Jamie has little patience for it. 

“Not much,” she says. “But still better than catching ill. Take however long you like.”

Dani watches her back out of the room, a tumble of unfamiliar emotions in her chest. Someone offering up everything--home, clothes, bathtub--without asking for something in return is strange. Someone doing that much and then leaving, peaceable as the turn of a new day, is unheard of. She hesitates, waiting at the closed door for signs that Jamie will change her mind--or knock, having thought of something else Dani might need--and nothing comes. This room has become, so long as Dani wants it, her space. Jamie will take it back only when Dani’s finished. 

Unwelcomely, she tries to imagine Eddie doing this very thing. Eddie, who only refrains from haunting her European adventures with postcard and phone call because he has no idea how to find her. Eddie, who would think the offer of clothes and a hot bath automatically come with other perks, and who would smile as he stepped in to collect like he couldn’t imagine her wanting to be left alone. 

She shakes her head. Eddie is gone, and she is here, and Jamie isn’t him. Is so unlike him, in fact, it’s hard to imagine them standing in the same room.

And why, some little part of her pipes slyly up, are you comparing them in the first place? 

She shivers, turning on the water, letting it run as hot as possible before sinking in. She leans her head back against a wadded-up washcloth, surveying the simplicity of the bathroom--single toothbrush, single cup for water, a minute assortment of hairbrush, hair ties, sunscreen. There is a dried rose framed beside the door, a small bunch of purple-and-white flowers she can’t name in a tiny windowsill vase. 

It’s all very discreet, all very Jamie. To look at it with this much freedom, to be trusted alone in a space that has belonged to no one else, makes her heart pound.

She’s only being nice. And so what? What does it matter? 

It matters. Even if she never says so, even if she never lets it out of her heart, Dani can’t deny that it matters. Like it mattered watching Jamie walk into the kitchen earlier this week, glancing at her with an easy raise of brows like she was thinking, Sure. You can stay. You’re one of us. 

Jamie, calling her Poppins, telling her she’s doing great, offering her flat without a second’s pause. None of it warranted. None of it asked for. All of it so incredibly welcome.

She stays in the bath until the shivers ease out, carefully soaping her hair with the little bottle of shampoo on the windowsill. A different scent and brand than her own, and as she’s rinsing clean, she realizes she will smell like Jamie now. If for only a night, her hair--and the clothes Jamie gently pressed into her hands--will hold just a little bit of the gardener’s influence. 

The warmth she’s beginning to attribute to Jamie sweeps through her again at the idea. That, and the awareness that these are Jamie’s things hugging her body. Jamie’s belongings, offered up like she feels not the least bit possessive about her living space. Sure. You can stay. You’re one of us. 

“Warm?” Jamie asks when she finally steps back out of the bathroom. Her hair is still wet, though she’s changed into a clean white shirt and sweatpants of her own. Dani nods, confused when Jamie grins. 

“What?”

“I think,” Jamie says placidly, “this is the first time I’ve seen you out of pastels. Suits you.”

Dani glances down. The threadbare black t-shirt bears a jagged white London Calling in peeling letters. She can’t help smiling.

“Maybe I’m a secret punk fan.”

“Are you?” Jamie sounds interested. Dani shakes her head.

“Sorry, no. Always open to learning, though.”

Here it is again: that funny, twisting feeling in her stomach that says she is at home with Jamie. That Jamie is easy and warm, despite the anger simmering somewhere deep down and a tendency toward cropping her sentences with swear words. That Jamie has opened her home to Dani only because Jamie has opened to her, on some level neither of them is entirely sure how to approach. 

“Thank you,” she says, because it’s easier than putting this feeling into words. “For all of this. You didn’t have to.”

Jamie shrugs. “Wanted to. You haven’t had an easy couple of days. Sometimes, a little quiet goes a long way.”

She’s seated on the arm of the couch, bare feet dangling an inch off the floor. Looking at her, Dani can’t entirely wrap her mind around the idea that she’s only known this woman for a couple of days. That she doesn’t, in fact, know much of anything about her at all. 

And still, when Jamie rises and begins arranging pillow and blanket on the couch, Dani’s stomach performs a backflip she’d never come close to feeling with Eddie.

“That’s really kind of you,” she says, the words a blind effort to distract from her trembling hands. “I really don’t need much, you don’t have to go to any trouble--”

Jamie glances over her shoulder. “No trouble. Bed’s just that way.”

Dani turns to look. Sure enough, behind a pulled-back curtain, she can just make out Jamie’s mattress and frame. “I--I mean, I won’t be bothering you, if that’s what you--”

“What?” Straightening, Jamie frowns. “No, I mean, it’s yours. Take it. I sleep on the couch half the goddamn time anyway, it’s no--”

“I am not,” Dani interrupts, “taking your bed, Jamie.”

Not since her last argument with Miles has she been engaged in such a standoff. Jamie, still holding a pillow, looks ready to chain herself to the couch. Dani, heady with the inescapable awareness of Jamie’s shampoo rinsed out of her own hair, can’t have that. It’s too much. Clothes and space and ride--all of that, she can accept. But foisting Jamie from her own bed?

“I’m not doing it,” she says. Her arms are folded, her mouth pulling into a smile she can’t for her life shake. “I’m told I'm very stubborn, so you might as well just let me have that couch now.”

“I--” For the first time all night, Jamie seems to be at a loss. “I’m--aiming for chivalry, here, Poppins.”

“You’ve been nothing less,” Dani assures her. “A white knight, really. But I’m afraid this is where I have to draw the line.”

“I sleep on it all the time.”

“So, it’s my turn.”

Jamie’s whole face seems on edge of some kind of collapse--though into laughter or upset, Dani can’t begin to guess. She has a brief flash of possibility, the two of them standing on either side of the couch all night, arguing well into daylight over who ought to take the proper night’s sleep.

“You’ve got kids to handle in the morning,” Jamie says reasonably, proving her point.

“You spent all day working in the sun,” Dani volleys in return. She thinks for a moment, then adds, “Also, I knocked you into a puddle earlier, and you didn’t get a nice warm bath.”

“Didn’t need one.” Jamie looks exasperated. “Poppins, come on. This doesn’t have to be a big bloody deal.”

It doesn’t, Dani agrees. It really doesn’t. All Jamie has to do is step out of the way, step behind that curtain, put herself to bed where she belongs.

Or, alternatively--

It’s coming out of her mouth before she can stop it. Before she can run through all the reasons not to suggest this very thing. Before she can pin down the butterflies having a dogfight in her stomach and make a decision based in good judgment. 

“Look, if you’re that committed to making me sleep in the bed, come join me.”

Jamie nearly drops the pillow. Her calm has utterly vacated the flat, leaving behind a woman who looks--if Dani isn’t much mistaken--much nearer to frantic than she’s ever seen Jamie before. Much nearer to the kind of nervous Dani had been on the ride over. 

“I,” she says. “That--I shouldn’t--”

“It’s the best compromise,” Dani says, trying to sound reasonable. Trying to sound as though the invitation to share Jamie’s bed isn’t making her entire body run with sudden electricity. “Neither of us is very big, I’m sure we can fit.”

“I’m--sure we can.” Jamie is grimacing. Jamie looks pained. If she had an elegant way out, Dani would take it back simply to erase that look from Jamie’s face, a look that says Jamie would rather sleep in her tiny bathtub than wherever Dani is. 

Elegant way out, she can’t find, and she’s tired. Tired, and buzzing with nerves, and somehow, the au pair wins out over all possible variants of Dani Clayton. “It isn’t that bad an idea,” she says, her voice steady. “I don’t even snore.”

This breaks something open between them. She can’t put her finger on just what it is, or why, but suddenly Jamie is laughing, and Dani is grinning, and she knows the stalemate is at its end. It’s been too long a night. There’s just no point.

“Here,” she adds, settling at the edge of the bed, watching Jamie switch off the lights and creep closer as though trying not to startle a skittish animal. “I’ll lay right on the edge, you won’t even have to know I’m here--”

“Don’t be silly,” Jamie says. She hesitates; Dani wonders if she’s giving a final chance for Dani to shoo her away, to choose a night spent alone after all. She thumps the bedspread with a flat palm, staring meaningfully at Jamie until the mattress sinks beneath the weight of au pair and gardener alike. 

“See?” she can’t stop herself saying. “We fit.”

Jamie stares at her, a lingering gaze Dani couldn’t decipher on her best day. She opts to ignore it, stretching out under the rumpled covers. Beside her, Jamie slides a hand beneath her head, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Not so bad,” Dani says, wishing she could shut up, wishing she could stop thinking--about Jamie’s head on the pillow beside her, about Jamie’s scent sunk into this pillow, about the indent of Jamie’s body in this old mattress where maybe no one else has ever lain. Jamie makes a low sound in her chest. 

“Long day.”

“So long.” Was it only this morning Dani was having a small panic attack, the strain of a new job on top of familiar guilt too heavy to bear? Was it only this afternoon she’d grabbed Jamie’s shoulder, pulled her back from storming off to skin Miles alive?

Was it really only this evening she’d stalked out after Peter Quint, crashed headlong into Jamie, listened to police officers warn them all away from the manor in a blackout?

Jamie clears her throat. Dani’s starting to think it’s a nervous habit--Jamie seems to do it only around her. Why on earth would I make her nervous? “Comfortable?” she asks the ceiling. Dani nods. 

In the dark, the bed seems smaller. The pillows are touching, the blankets bridging the brief gap between Jamie’s right leg and Dani’s left. In the dark, Jamie’s breath is audible, the smell of rain and shampoo and clean clothes twisting together into a single knot. 

In the dark, Dani thinks, they could be anyone. Not gardener and au pair, but anyone, bound by a single unpredictable night. 

She wonders if they should talk--about Peter Quint, about the tension of the evening, about the kids, or the roses, or any number of little odd moments around the manor. She wonders if Jamie expects her to ask questions--who Quint is, what he was to Rebecca Jessel, what he might be doing skulking around the house. 

She can’t quite find it in her. It’s too warm, too soft, the silence as inviting as the rustle of Jamie’s borrowed clothes against her skin. Laying in the dark, Jamie’s foot nearly touching her own, listening to the storm pound the windowpanes, Dani is breathing easier than she has in months. 

“I’m glad,” she says quietly, “you’re here.”

Jamie’s head rustles the pillowcase, turning to look at her. “Yeah?”

Dani smiles. “Yeah. I can’t explain it, but I feel...safer.” Something sharpens behind her ribcage, something that begs her to add, With Hannah, with Owen, with the kids, too. She doesn’t. It’s true, but it’s also not really what she means. 

“He doesn’t know where to find you,” Jamie says, and for a moment, Dani wonders how she could possibly be talking about Eddie. Then Jamie adds, “I hate that fucker. So does Owen. Everyone is safe tonight.”

Right. Peter Quint. Of course. “I’m glad,” Dani repeats. She feels the mattress shift as Jamie carefully settles in. “Jamie?”

“Mm?”

Too many things to say. Too many questions to ask. Too many of those butterflies winging around as Jamie’s elbow bumps her, as Jamie’s breath brushes her cheek. She shuts her eyes, the simple image of Jamie’s gaze inches away too much to handle. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Poppins,” Jamie murmurs. And though Dani’s heart is racing, though her skin is hot, though the storm outside is brutal and Jamie’s bed is much smaller than she’d thought--she finds herself relaxing. Finds herself thoughtlessly shifting to a more comfortable position on her side. Finds herself, even, leaning in toward Jamie’s warmth as the sound of her breathing shallows. 

For the first time in what feels like years, Dani Clayton sleeps.

[when-they-write-stuff]

SOMETIMES, STILES THOUGHT he understood Derek Hale.

Other times, he thought he never would.

The man was a million things tucked into a leather jacket. Stiles remembered the first time he’d seen Derek in the preserve; scowling, grey-green eyes hard, with an air around him that made younger Stiles a little bit terrified and a little bit intrigued at the same time. And honestly, if he would’ve known then that one meeting would turn into a whirlwind of chaos afterward, the younger version of him might have turned right back around and walked away without thinking twice.

Or maybe he would’ve just grinned. Grinned, knowing that one little meeting with the grumpiest werewolf in Beacon Hills would one day turn into a little bit more. 

If he just had the patience to wait, that is.

But that was then and this was now. Sitting in the loft with the rest of the pack, some rom-com that Lydia had picked out playing on the TV, though most of them were only half paying attention. Scott was all wrapped around Allison, Erica had fallen asleep in Boyd’s lap, and Lydia was scrolling through her phone while Jackson snored at her side. Stiles sat on the floor by himself and watched the TV silently, his brain not even caring what was happening onscreen at the moment.

From somewhere in the kitchen behind all of them, he could hear the faint sound of running water and clinking dishes.

The movie changed scenes— the main couple was kissing. Stiles sighed and pushed himself up.

Isaac made a sound of protest as Stiles accidentally blocked his view, craning his neck to see around. And honestly, the beta seemed to be the only one of them that actually cared about what was happening. Had it been any other time, Stiles might have made fun of him.

But instead, he just rolled his eyes and moved around the couch.

There was a stack of empty pizza boxes on the counter as he entered the kitchen and a line of clean plates next to the sink. Stiles paused in the doorway for a second and stared at Derek literal Hale standing in front of the sink with a towel thrown over his shoulder and an apron wrapped around his hips; a rare sighting of the man without his jacket on.

Then, like a wild animal caught on camera, Derek turned the water off and turned around, giving Stiles an unimpressed look.

“What.”

Stiles hoped his face didn’t look as red as it felt as he snapped out of his thoughts. Forcing himself to just shrug, he moved further into the kitchen and pulled the fridge open, staring unseeingly at the leftovers that he really didn’t care about.

After a long moment of silence, Stiles heard Derek turn the water back on and waited for a few more seconds before stepping back and shutting the fridge again.

“So…” he said, desperately trying not to pay attention to how utterly domestic Derek Hale looked. The man glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“So.”

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

Derek shut off the water again and Stiles noticed for the first time that there weren’t any more dishes left— Derek finished toweling off the last one and gave Stiles a flat look. “No.”

Internally, Stiles cursed himself. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

Derek pressed his lips together, still looking unimpressed. And before he could continue making a fool of himself or Derek could make him feel any more judged, Stiles nodded again and quickly exited the kitchen. Isaac glanced up from the couch as he moved back over, a definite smirk on his lips.

“Nice one, Stilinski. You call that flirting?”

Stiles’s heart skipped at least three beats and he threw a look over his shoulder back toward the kitchen— but all he could hear was the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Derek didn’t seem to have heard the beta.

Clenching his jaw, Stiles gave Isaac the darkest death glare he could muster. “Shut up, Lahey, or I swear to god, will strangle you with your own scarf.”

Isaac smirked wider. “I don’t think Derek would like that very much.”

“I really don’t care what Derek would think.”

“Yeah, we all know that’s not true.”

Stiles glanced over at the others but nobody was even paying their conversation any attention. Well, nobody awake, anyway. Stiles glared back at Isaac, who looked even smugger.

“What, Stilinski? Do you want me to talk a little bit louder?”

“Okay,” Stiles said, shoving himself back up. “You’re an asshole and that’s my cue to leave.”

And just like that, Derek materialized in the doorway of the kitchen. “You’re leaving?”

Stiles blinked at the man, pretty sure his heart had skipped another few beats. Because Derek hadn’t been listening in to any of their conversation, had he? “Uhm, yeah. I’ve got… stuff to do. Important stuff. To do.”

Isaac snorted loudly and then covered it up with the fakest sounding cough Stiles had ever heard. Grinding his teeth together, Stiles reminded himself to throw all of the beta’s scarves into the toilet the next time he came around. 

Derek looked at him for a moment longer before nodding. The man turned around, disappeared back into the kitchen, and Stiles gave Isaac one last furious look.

The beta just smirked and Stiles hated him even more.

Except, as he turned back around to make for the door, Derek came out of the kitchen again. This time, the man approached him with something in his hands.

“Uh,” Stiles froze, blinking at the container that Derek pushed into his hands. He looked down at it, glanced back up at Derek, and then carefully pulled the top off, realizing with a start that it was the rest of the leftover pizza. Blinking again, he gave Derek a confused look. “This is pizza.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Stiles didn’t know how to react. “You know my dad will eat this the moment I bring it home, right?”

For a moment, Stiles could’ve sworn he caught a touch of red in Derek’s cheeks; the man almost looked flustered. But then Derek just shrugged, turning back away, and Stiles was left gawking at the werewolf’s back.

Isaac made a strange noise from the couch. It sounded a little bit like a strangled groan.

Shaking his head, Stiles shoved the lid back onto the container and threw one more confused glance toward the kitchen before heading for the door. And, leftovers in hand, he honestly didn’t know what to think.

It was times like this he didn’t think he’d ever understand Derek Hale.

-

The night Stiles was stuck out in the preserve with Derek, it was raining.

He figured that sounded about right. They’d all drawn straws to decide who would be on watch for the omega that was running loose around Beacon Hills, and Stiles had immediately drawn the shortest one. And then, just because it was his luck, Deaton called Scott, his watch-buddy, in for an emergency shift.

So Stiles was going to have to go out on his own. But then Derek stepped in.

Which really wasn’t so bad, right? Stiles had been alone with Derek Hale before. Like… literally the first day after they’d met. When Stiles had been driving the near-dead werewolf around for a full day while Scott attempted to infiltrate the Argent’s house.

So yeah, he could handle one night. Easily.

But then they got out in the preserve and it started raining. Stiles thought that would make things a little less enjoyable.

“So,” he said, trying not to shiver as his hoodie stuck to his skin like wet paper. “This is nice.”

Derek shot him a sideways glance, not even looking the least bit bothered by the cold as raindrops rolled right off his leather jacket. And Stiles thought the entire world was unfair sometimes. Running a hand through his hair, he attempted to pull up his hood, but it was already soaked through, doing nothing but making his hair even wetter.

He groaned. “Yeah, this isn’t nice at all.”

To that, Derek paused and looked him up and down. Then the man sighed— like Stiles was the ridiculous one— and stripped off his jacket, shoving it into Stiles’s chest. 

Stiles froze, not even daring to touch it for a second.

“Er, Derek?”

“Put it on,” Derek said, letting go. Stiles barely managed to catch the jacket before it dropped into the mud and he blinked as Derek started forward again, head slightly bowed against the rain. The man’s long-sleeved t-shirt instantly started to stick against his skin.

Stiles stared after the man, looked down at the jacket held tightly in his hands, and then looked back up. Except, Derek wasn’t slowing down and he cursed silently, pulling the thing over his shoulders before hurrying after the man.

The jacket was like a portable heater. Stiles probably could have melted into it if his mind wasn’t spinning so fast, shoving his hands into the warm pockets as he stumbled after Derek.

“Dude, Derek, dude.”

Derek finally paused and turned around, giving him a pained look. Stiles fumbled to a stop and despite everything, wrapped the jacket further around himself. Even as he asked the question,

“Are you sure?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, looking from the jacket to Stiles’s face. Stiles flushed. 

“I mean, if you’re not—”

“There’s nothing out here tonight,” Derek interrupted, turning his gaze to the dark trees around them. “Let’s head back.”

Stiles snapped his mouth closed, staring at the man. But once more, Derek didn’t wait for an answer before starting off in a random direction. Shaking his head, Stiles hurried after him, feet slipping and sliding in the mud.

So, Derek Hale was officially the biggest grumpy-growly weirdo Stiles had met, he decided. One who owned an incredibly warm leather jacket.

He understood that much about the man at least.

-

Sometimes, Stiles hated werewolves.

Mostly, he decided one day, laying in bed feeling like he was dying, he hated them for their stupid immune systems. Because honestly, how was it even fair that the assholes couldn’t get sick?

Stiles didn’t see how that followed nature’s rules in any way.

He, on the other hand, was very capable of getting sick. And approximately two days after his dad came home with a slight cold, Stiles caught the thing so hard, it felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

Sometimes, he hated werewolves. And laying in bed, his head pounding and his nose feeling like it was about to start leaking out his brain, Stiles very nearly considered calling up Derek and taking the bite.

Then, as if his thoughts had somehow summoned the werewolf, Stiles’s window was shoved up and Derek pulled himself through.

Despite everything, Stiles didn’t even have the energy to be startled. A psychotic murderer could have come through the window and he wouldn’t even lift his head to complain. In fact, he’d take a psycho murderer if it meant his headache would stop.

He was pretty sure Derek had frozen the moment the man’s feet touched the carpet, because silence descended over the room for a moment. Then, he blinked up as Derek plodded over to his bed and glanced down at him, brows knitted tightly together.

“Stiles.”

Stiles gazed up at him blearily. Derek sniffed deeply and then drew back, looking repulsed. Which— rude.

“You smell bad.”

Stiles groaned loudly, which turned into a sharp cough, which turned into a minor lung hacking, before pulling his blankets up over his head. “Fuck you too, Derek.”

Once more, the room was silent. After a long moment, Stiles peeked back out again and saw Derek was still watching him with a mildly concerned look on his face. After another long minute of literal staring, Stiles sighed. 

“I haven’t showered in like two days, dude. Stop looking at me like that.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles groaned again.

“I’m sick, asshole.”

The man’s face finally cleared. Stiles noticed for the first time that Derek had the bestiary in his hands— and there was no way in hell he was doing research right now. But then Derek set the book on his bedside table and tucked his hands into his pockets, looking a little awkward. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“What can I do?”

Stiles blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What do you need?”

And that was the last response he’d expected to hear from Derek Hale. Ever. “Uhm, nothing? It’s fine. I’m just going to lay here until I wither up and die, but everyone has to go at some point, right?”

To those words, Derek definitely looked concerned. The man’s eyes flashed red for a second and Stiles startled, drawing the blankets further up to his chin.

“That was a joke, Sourwolf.”

But the man just looked at him for another moment before turning back around and heading for the window. Stiles didn’t even have a chance to protest before Derek was pulling himself right back out— and Stiles stared at the empty sill for a moment before sighing heavily.

Stupid sickness immune werewolves. Derek probably thought this was a life or death situation or something.

And honestly, Stiles didn’t expect to see the man again. After all, he smelled bad.

God, he hated werewolves.

His dad had gone back to work that morning and though it had been Stiles’s idea, telling the man he wasn’t five anymore and didn’t need anyone to ‘take care of him’, Stiles still kind of wished he had someone to complain to. Or someone to make him soup. Or even someone to bring him more tissues when he grabbed the last one out of the box.

Because honestly, the very thought of leaving his bed and searching for more seemed like an impossible task. For one bleak moment, Stiles had actually debated using the t-shirt next to his bed.

Then he realized he was losing his mind.

After what felt like a million hours had passed since Derek had left, and Stiles was right on the verge of falling asleep, his window was shoved up again. Stiles snapped right back to reality so fast his headache came back like an avalanche. In that moment, he vowed he was going to murder whoever had just interrupted his sweet, sweet escape into the darkness.

When he could make himself get out of bed, that is.

But then Stiles realized it was Derek. Derek, with a round styrofoam container held in one hand and a grocery bag held from the other. Struggling to sit up, Stiles gave the werewolf an incredulous look, and Derek approached the bed carefully.

The man was still looking at him like he was about to spontaneously combust. 

“I brought soup.”

Stiles just stared.

Derek set the round container on his bedside table and then pulled a spoon out of the plastic bag. Close behind it was a packet of crackers, a box of tissues, and a white bottle of painkillers.

“Boyd said chicken noodle works best,” Derek said, still avoiding Stiles’s blatant stare as he popped the top of the container off. “It should still be hot, so—”

“Derek,” Stiles said, cutting him off. Looking pained, the man finally met his gaze.

“... I also brought crackers.”

“Crackers.”

“For the soup.”

For the soup. Yeah, Stiles had to give it to him; that was a fair answer.

But what?

Before Stiles couldn’t even think of an appropriate reaction to everything that was currently unfolding, Derek was pushing the container of soup into his hands. Instantly, the smell of warmth managed to drift into Stiles’s clogged nose and he almost melted into the mattress, mouth watering.

He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was.

“You brought me soup,” Stiles mumbled, still a little lost in his own head. Derek’s face remained carefully blank and the man nodded once.

“You’re sick.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t actually expect soup—”

Except, Derek didn’t even give him a chance to finish that sentence. Instead, as if dropping off an entire ‘get better now’ cold-care package was all he’d come back to do, the man moved back over to the window. Though still, Derek paused there for a moment, glancing back, and Stiles could’ve sworn his eyes flickered for a moment. The man pressed his lips together, looked like he was going to say something else, and then pulled himself back out.

Stiles gaped in shock at the once more empty window. Because Derek was gone. And this time, Stiles was sure the man was not coming back.

He didn’t even know what to think of the werewolf anymore.

-

Stiles thought it was a little ridiculous how Derek had never learned how to knock.

That’s what he assumed, anyway, when his window was shoved up on a random Friday midnight and Derek the Grumpy Werewolf pulled himself through like he owned the place. Had it been any other weeknight or had Stiles been attempting to sleep, he might have been a little pissed. But as of that night, he was completely procrastinating sleep, and honestly, what use was telling Derek Hale ‘no’ anyway?

The man never knew how to take that for an answer.

Sighing, Stiles paused whatever Youtube video had been playing and half-closed his laptop, giving Derek a raised-eyebrow look.

“Yes, oh alpha of mine?”

For some reason, the man automatically frowned. “You’re still awake.”

And wasn’t that was a creepy way to start the conversation? Stiles blinked and closed his laptop the rest of the way. “Uh, yeah, dude, I am. Now please tell me you weren’t hoping for the opposite because this isn’t Twilight and I own an insane amount of wolfsbane. Just so you know.”

To that, Derek rolled his eyes. “No, Stiles.”

“‘No, Stiles’ what?”

The man just gave him a flat look— but that had been a fair question, okay?

One Stiles clearly wasn’t getting an answer to.

“Okay, then,” he said, raising his hands. “Just be all weird and creepy then, why don’t you? Yes, Sourwolf, I am awake. And no, I don’t plan on going to sleep any time soon. So do you need something?”

Derek hesitated for a moment before pulling something out of his pocket and stepping forward. Stiles sat straighter as the man dropped a set of keys onto his blankets— and automatically balked.

“Are those my car keys?”

Derek shoved his hands into his pockets and looked a little constipated. “Your jeep is parked in the driveway.”

“My jeep is… I’m sorry, what?”

“Parked in the driveway.”

Stiles stared at the man. Then he shoved himself up and stumbled to the window. And sure enough, his jeep was there. A little bit shiny looking, the duct tape no longer wrapped around the driver’s door handle, and wearing what looked like a new set of tires.

Slowly, Stiles turned back around. “Derek, my jeep was at mechanics.”

“Yes.”

Stiles stared. “Because it wouldn’t start.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s been there for three weeks because I couldn’t afford to get it fixed.”

Derek gave Stiles a look that made him feel like the idiot. As if all of this was somehow supposed to make sense. Because…

“Derek, did you pay to have my car fixed?”

The man didn’t answer for a long moment. Stiles took a deep breath, forcing himself not to turn right back around and stare at his jeep for a minute longer. Just to make sure all of this was real.

“Dude, I’m gonna need an answer. That really wasn’t a hard question.”

“... Yes.”

For a moment, all Stiles heard was white noise. Then he stalked forward and shoved a finger into Derek’s chest, but the man didn’t even move. “What do you mean, you fixed my car? Derek! Oh my god, how much did it cost? I’m going to need to get a job to pay you back. No, two jobs. And dip into my college funds. Oh my god!”

Derek finally reacted— by rolling his eyes. “I don’t want you to pay me back.”

“You don’t what ?”

If Stiles was overreacting a little bit, it wasn’t his fault. No, it definitely wasn’t. It was Derek Hale’s fault because apparently, the man thought it was normal to go around paying for people’s car repairments and—

Stiles blinked, staring blankly at the wall beyond Derek’s shoulder. “I’m gonna faint.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up and he stepped forward; to which Stiles reacted by raising his hands and stumbling back. Ramming into the nearest wall, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Nope, nope, nope. Do not get any closer, dude. Don’t take one more step. In fact, I think I’m gonna need a minute.”

“I can go,” Derek said, sounding uncertain. Stiles opened one eye and stared at him. 

“That… might be a good idea.”

And it probably wasn’t. No, it definitely wasn’t. But Stiles didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know how to react, and if Derek stuck around any longer, he might feel the need to throw himself out the window instead of sending the man away through it. And his dad would probably not appreciate that. 

Oh god, how was he going to explain this to his dad?

Derek looked at him for a moment longer, concern still written across his face. But then he just nodded and moved back toward the window. Stiles didn’t even watch the man leave, his attention fully fixed on the set of keys on his bed. His stomach flipped.

Derek Hale had just paid to fix his car. 

Stiles had never not understood the werewolf more.

-

It took a while for Stiles to regain the courage to go back to the loft.

The way things had ended the last time he’d been face to face with Derek Hale, he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to expect. But stepping through the front door, it was clear almost instantly that nothing had changed.

Somehow, literally nothing had changed.

The betas were all gathered around the couch watching something on TV. Stiles caught what smelled like pancakes and heard the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen. He stood still for a moment, head-spinning, and then moved toward the noise.

Derek was moving around the room with a towel thrown over his shoulder and a line of clean dishes next to an empty sink. The man’s grey-green eyes took their time drifting to where Stiles stood, gaping, and he just raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you were coming by.”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no idea what to say.

There was a stack of pancakes next to the stove.

“Are you hungry?”

And with those words, Stiles finally snapped back to reality. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he gripped his keys tightly and stepped forward, holding Derek’s gaze. Because dammit, all of this was throwing him through a loop and he didn’t know how to react anymore. It was driving him crazy.

“Derek, we need to talk.”

The man’s other brow raised and he crossed his arms; Stiles swallowed hard.

“Somewhere else.”

Because the last thing he wanted was any of the betas listening in to their conversation. Derek studied him for a moment longer before nodding and pulling the towel off his shoulder, dropping it onto the counter. Running his hands nervously through his hair, Stiles followed the man out of the kitchen, toward the loft door.

Isaac was the only one who looked away from the TV. The little bastard was smirking wide and obvious.

Stiles ground his teeth together and followed Derek out of the loft.

He’d kind of expected things to be awkward right from the start when he’d stepped foot in the loft. But Derek was acting like the entire event from a week ago hadn’t even happened. Meanwhile, Stiles could barely even look at his jeep without remembering every last word said.

Out in the hallway, Derek gave Stiles a blank look, his expression not betraying a thing. And, god, Stiles hated that about the werewolf sometimes.

“So,” he said, words sticking to his throat. “Yeah.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. Stiles cursed himself internally, biting down hard on his lower lip.

“Derek, what the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Stiles gaped at the man before shaking his head. Because he wasn’t imagining these things, dammit. “Uh, what do I mean? Derek!” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My car. The jacket. The constant weird leftovers and that one random time I was sick, you literally brought me soup? Even Scott didn’t bring me soup! And I had been complaining through text to him the entire day.”

Derek’s right eye twitched. The man didn’t say a word. Stiles’s head spun.

“I’m not going crazy,” he said. And he kind of needed to hear that out loud, even if he was the one to say it. “I just… I don’t understand you.”

Derek's face did something strange— maybe he looked a little red. But he didn’t say a word and Stiles hated him a little bit.

“I’m not going crazy, Derek.”

“No,” the man said, something in his expression finally softening. Stiles stared and Derek shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at the wall over Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re not.”

Stiles swallowed hard, desperately hoping the man wasn’t going to leave him at that. Because he didn’t think he could manage more half explanations. The silence stretched as Derek didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then the man dropped his gaze.

“I… don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.”

“I’m gonna need more than that, dude.”

Derek scowled at nothing. The man literally looked constipated now and Stiles might have been a little bit worried if he wasn’t so confused. So damn confused.

“Derek, do what?”

“All of… this! All of this, dammit, Stiles!”

Stiles startled. But before he even had a chance to react, Derek was moving forward. And then there were hands on the sides of his head, desperate lips pressing against his own, and Stiles jolted, nearly yanking back, and then all but melted into the touch.

For a moment Stiles.exe stopped working. His brain officially logged off and his instincts took over, leading Stiles to press right back, kissing Derek as hard as he could. 

And if this was another thing he didn’t understand about Derek Hale, Stiles never wanted to figure the man out.

He kissed Derek hard and hungry. Because how long had he wanted to do this? There was a not-so-little part of him that had imagined kissing Derek Hale. Ever since Stiles had first laid eyes on the man. And okay, maybe he didn’t understand it, maybe he didn’t understand him, but at the same time, maybe Stiles had never wanted anything more. Wanted to know something, know someone, more.

At the rate his thoughts were going, that’s what he clung to anyway.

Derek broke contact first. The man drew back almost as fast as he had moved forward and Stiles was left standing there for a moment, swaying just a little, torn between catching Derek’s lips once more or passing out right where he stood.

But when he met Derek’s gaze, the man looked terrified. The coolness of the werewolf’s expression had finally vanished and Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Derek’s expression hold so much before.

“Oh,” he said. And yeah, that was the first thing that left his mouth. If possible, Derek’s face paled even more.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles blinked. Just like that, he didn’t understand a thing about Derek Hale all over again. “You’re… what?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, clenching his jaw. “I shouldn’t— I didn’t—”

“Derek.”

The man cut off and looked at him with what could only be called a fragile expression. Stiles swallowed hard, all of it crashing down on him suddenly.

“Derek.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles stared. Derek Hale… god, Derek Hale was an enigma wrapped up in a leather jacket. Every time Stiles thought he was getting close to understanding even the smallest thing about the man, something had to change. Soup on a shitty day or a set of keys dropped onto his mattress. And sometimes Stiles thought he understood Derek Hale. But other times, he thought he never would.

The feel of the kiss still lingered on his lips. Maybe… just maybe he could understand that much. For a moment.

Stiles stepped forward carefully. “You confuse the hell out of me.”

Derek stayed stiff and silent. Reaching out, Stiles brushed the tips of his fingers against the man’s own.

“You’re like a thousand lines of red string, Derek Hale.”

Something flickered in Derek’s eyes. Stiles couldn’t tell if it was confusion or a hint of nervousness. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

Licking his lips, Stiles tilted his chin up and searched the man’s face. “I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand you.”

This time, Derek looked a little pained. Stiles offered a small smile.

“But I’d like to.”

Grey-green eyes flickered with the faintest hue of red. Stiles closed that last foot of space between them and took Derek’s hands fully, hoping the werewolf couldn’t hear how fast his heart was racing. Because he felt a little lightheaded and a little nauseous— like if this didn’t work out, he might throw up.

Which totally was not sexy at all.

“Derek?”

The man stared at him. The barest hint of color had finally returned to his cheeks. “Stiles.”

“You should totally kiss me again.”

Derek blinked. His expression did something strange. And then it was like the tension had been wiped from his face. In the breath of a moment, warm lips were pressing against Stiles’s again and this time, there was nothing desperate about it. Nothing hard, nothing sudden, nothing rash. The man kissed him warm, careful, and it was kind of like a leather jacket being draped over his shoulders in the cold of the rain.

Stiles smiled against Derek’s lips. Because honestly, there was something about it that just seemed right. And he thought he knew what it all could become. 

He'd like to, at least.

For the moment, though, Stiles kissed the man with just as much hope and decided he understood that much.

[jimlingss]

Moirai [5]

Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

➜ Words: 5k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Anastasia.”   Lucienne sits across the rounded table from you, oblivious to the blossom petals that have drifted down and tangled itself into her hair. The tea party invitation rests beside her teacup, neat and crisp like she held and opened it with the utmost care.    “Yes, thank you.” The other lady beside her pipes up. “It’s an absolute honour.”   “The Royal gardens are lovely this season,” another adds. “I’m glad I can enjoy it like this.”   “It’s not a problem, everyone.” A friendly smile stretches across your face. “It can get quite lonely being the only lady in the castle, so your company is welcome.”   More like Lady Devon and your other tutors was pretty damn insistent that you build a good reputation and inner circle, but whatever. What they don’t know, won’t hurt them.   But you do remember that in the original game, Anastasia used this opportunity to shame the heroine. She invited her to a tea party and made snide remarks about how she danced with the Prince. Of course it seems petty now but it’s understandable that Anastasia resented the heroine so much. Even if she didn’t intend it, she humiliated Anastasia by stealing her fiancé.   And the fact of the matter is that you’ll also become the laughingstock for what she’ll do.   “If I may ask, have you started the wedding arrangements yet, Lady Anastasia?”   You nearly choke on your tea, sputtering for a moment until you’re able to set the cup down on the saucer and cough into your napkin. The ladies around the table appear concerned, but you plaster on another smile. “Well, there’s been no discussion yet. The Royal family and the Devereux house are in no rush. There’s still quite a bit of time, so who knows what could happen.”   “What could happen?” One of them catches on quick and you cordially nod.   “The engagement was made when both Prince Jungkook and I were very young, but now that we are older, we can voice our own opinions on the matter.” You choose your words carefully and your smile widens. “I am not opposed if changes are made. If the leaders of the empire cannot exercise their own freedoms, then how can the people?”    They nod in agreeance, a few in awe at your deep thought process. “That is very mature of you, Lady Anastasia.”   You laugh stiffly and lift your tea cup for another sip.   “Oh, but the Crown Prince is so wonderful.”   You choke. Again. You wonder if you’re going to die at this tea party from the warm liquid constantly going down the wrong pipe.    “I am sure he wouldn’t change his mind with how lovely you are, Lady Anastasia.” The girl beside you smiles, laying it on thick to win your favour. “You two are a very fitting couple.”   “I agree.” Lucy smiles softly. “Prince Jungkook is very courteous.”   “And very majestic.”   You remember when you dueled with Jungkook, he lost within a minute. He threw a tantrum in the following days and gave you the silent treatment. Or that time you went horseback riding, you decided to race each other and he fell off his own horse into mud and started crying.   Uh-huh. Majestic indeed.   You chalk up your wheeze to nothing and dab the corner of your mouth with the tablecloth napkin. “Yes, well, Jungkook will make a fine King someday.”   “And you’ll make a fine Queen,” a soft-spoken voice pipes up and your eyes connect to Lucy’s. Unlike the others surrounding you, you know her words are genuinely spoken and you shift uncomfortably in your seat.   “I’m not so sure about that,” you honestly admit as you fidget with the edge of the porcelain saucer. “A queen must be kind and generous and know the suffering of the people. I’m afraid I have a lot left to learn.”   Your gaze meets Lucy’s again.   Her smile is all too gentle for high society and its naturally cunning, heartless nature. She’s awfully naive, but that aside, you know her benevolence will make her beloved in the empire.   //   Once the tea party is over, you’re able to breathe a sigh of relief. Christ, thank god that’s over.   You escort most of the ladies towards their carriages, bidding them goodbye with polite waves as the palace servants clear the dishes, chairs and table away from the garden. And you turn around to head back to your room to sneak in a break, but your name is frantically called—   “Lady Anastasia!”   You turn and a girl in her purple, simple gown comes barrelling down the open hall. Her chest rises and falls, completely out of breath even when she only ran two meters. It makes you laugh unabashedly. “Is everything okay? You don’t need to run.”   She hunches over, lungs probably burning, but she fixes her posture a moment later. “S-Sorry, my lady.”   “Anastasia is fine.”   Lucy nods. “I...just wanted to thank you again. I was very excited when I received your invitation. It’s an honour….Anastasia.”   “There’s no reason to thank me so much.” You walk alongside her. Your hat with pinned pink peonies, matching your gown, shields the sun away from your face.   “It’s just that I don’t get invited to these sort of events often considering….considering I’m just a baron’s daughter and adopted one at that.”   She doesn’t need to tell you — you know her backstory well. You’ve played through it from her perspective. Her father abandoned her mother who died of illness when she was five and she was picked up on the streets by the sympathetic baron. It seems like every character in this game has some tragic backstory. They are defining moments that make that person.   But you suppose life itself is like that.   “Can I give you some advice, Lucy?” you ask after a quiet moment and she nods. You stop walking and the girl halts beside you. “Your humility makes you likeable, but be careful not to self-deprecate yourself. Your worth is more than what you consider yourself to have.”   Her eyes widen and you add, “Plus, it’s not good to thank a host more than once like they’ve done you a big favour because they’ll start to think you owe them for it.”   Lucy nods and you smile, resuming your stroll. “I’ll be inviting you to more tea parties in the future.”   “Thank—” She catches herself. “Yes, I will be looking forward to that.”   A grin spreads into your cheeks. “On a different note, I never got to ask you how your dance was with Jungkook at the debutante ball.”   “Oh, yes, the Prince was very kind. But I’m sorry if it was inappropriate, I know he’s your fiancé—”   This time, your laugh is unrestrained. She looks up at you in surprise. “Do you think I’m getting jealous?” Lucy opens her mouth and then closes it, not sure what to say and you bat the air with your hand. “Jungkook is like a little brother to me.”   If she was surprised before, now she looks entirely off guard. “It thought the Prince and you were the same age.”   You laugh stiffly. “Yes, we are, but I guess that’s what childhood friends are like.”   “Oh, I’ve never had a childhood friend.”   “Have you ever had a friend?” Your eyes meet her’s and you smile. “Because I’d be happy to be your first.”   The conversation soon ends and as Lucy walks away, you breathe another sigh of relief and pat yourself on the back at the positive interaction. Even if she’s just a countryside girl, it’s nerve-racking when you’re supposed to be the villainess. You like her and you even offered your friendship, but with each interaction, your demise is always lingering at the back of your head.   “I didn’t take you for being such a mentor.”   You whirl around, nearly startled to death by the voice and you discover a tall, dark-haired man leaning against the marble pillar with a sly smile.   “How long have you been there?”   Taehyung grins. “Not long. I was just passing by. It was a coincidence.” He turns in the direction where Lucy went. “I heard you had a tea party, how did it go?”   “It was exhausting.” You stretch your arms over your head and walk over to lean against the stone ledge next to him. “I don’t think I’m quite fit for the palace life.”   Taehyung smiles and you look up at him. “Are you going to the garden again?”   He nods and there’s a strong urge to ask him if you can come along. Just for a small break before they find you and you’re swept up in another lesson. But you’re not sure if you should—   “Would you like to come?”    Taehyung asks the question for you and your eyes meet one another’s.   There’s no one around. Not a soul in sight who could stop you from going or leaving.   You know you should keep your distance from him. You know. But…   “Okay.”   You take him up on the offer, following after him, just for a moment of indulgence.

With the arrival of Spring also comes the Hunt. It’s a rather eventful time in the castle considering it's generally symbolic of the harvests of this year, thought to prevent famine if those attending can bring back large game. An irony that isn’t lost on you. But it’s an undoubtedly lively time and one that you don’t mind.   “You better bring back a whole moose,” you mumble as you tie the blue ribbon on the belt of Jungkook’s armour, making sure it’s tight and secure. The ribbon is a gift of good luck and one of affection. You’re obligated to tie one for Jungkook considering you’re his fiancée.    “I’ll bring back a dragon,” he declares brazingly and you lightly scoff.   This is his second time participating after winning last year, but you remember he was practically shaking back then out of fear and pressure.   “Okay then. Just make sure you don’t fall off your horse this time.”    “That was only once!”   You take a step back when you’re done tying the ribbon. “I should be the one going on the hunt instead of staying back for idle chit chat. I’m pretty sure I would be able to catch something bigger than you.”   “Probably.” Jungkook grins. “You’re good enough with your sword to be a knight.”   “They’d never let me.” You sigh. God knows your mother would be mortified and probably faint and die.    But while staying back and waiting for the men to return with their kill is boring as hell, at least you’re removed from the pressure of having to hunt large prey in the first place. It’s a competition after all and one that can get quite competitive from your knowledge.   You follow Jungkook to his prized white horse and watch him caress its muzzle.    “If you win, you should give the prize to Lucy.”   His brows furrow and he turns his head to you. “Lucienne? The girl I danced with at the ball? Why?”   You shrug half-heartedly. “Because she has no one and I feel bad for her. I already have a few knights who are going to dedicate their game to me.”   Jungkook hums, not thinking much about it. “Fine by me.”   He puts his foot on the stirrup and swings himself over, sitting on top of the majestic horse.   Preparations almost complete, you turn to the King who’s seated at the top of the stands in a throne-like chair. He looks across the field with an approving expression.   Your parents are beside the King and you spare them a mere glance before turning away. You haven’t spoken to them since the end of the debutante ball and you don’t plan to. It might be childish to give them the silent treatment, but you wonder to what end they’ll try to force you.   The attendant steps up. “Is everyone ready?”   At that exact same moment, as if he was called upon, a familiar dark-haired man with eyes the hue of deep honey enters your peripheral vision. Taehyung emerges onto the field filled with knights on horses and soldiers in armour. His navy cape draped over his left shoulder sways with each movement, twinkling in the sunlight as if there were stars sewn into the fabric. He’s grasping onto a steel pole, a magical staff and his presence garners whispers from all.   “Isn’t he the bastard son?” — “The first son of the King.” — “The one born from the maid.”   They’re all startled to see him — the nobles sitting in the stands, women murmuring underneath their breaths, men watching with their eyes wide, knights and guards. And most of all, you’re stuck at a standstill.   Heart thunderous in your ears — blood drained from your face — you can’t look away when all Taehyung is looking at is you.    He comes close and his expression melts into a tender smile, a softened gaze when he reads your eyes’ fixation on him.    Jungkook, on the other hand, grins and mounts off his horse. “Taehyung?!” The Prince welcomes his brother warmly — an action not unnoticed by the crowds watching. He hugs him and lets go a moment later. “What are you doing here?”   “What can I say? I’m here to steal your victory.”   The younger laughs and you can tell he’s genuinely excited. Jungkook’s cheeks are practically pink and bulging, and his eyes have brightened. “Do you want to put a bet on that?”   “How much are you willing to wager?” Taehyung quips back.   “My pride and dignity.”   He scoffs playfully. “How about your private library collection?”   “Deal. And if I win, I want you to come to the feast tonight.”   Taehyung grins. “Looks like this year’s going to be difficult for you, Your Highness.”   “I’ll keep up.” Jungkook laughs again and gets back on his horse.   A stable-boy comes rushing over with a horse for Taehyung and before the King can utter a single word or you have a chance to speak to him, the games have begun. Taehyung glances over his shoulder at you for a single beat and then he’s off into the woods with the rest.    In the original game, Taehyung never participated in the Hunt.   He looked on from the window of his tower and even sabotaged Jungkook.    In the original game, Jungkook became injured but still conscious enough that before he fated, he declared he would give his prize to the heroine since Anastasia was so overbearing. It sparked the girl’s jealousy and was the reason why she decided to conspire with Taehyung. It was the first domino in the chain — the beginning of the villains working hand in hand.   But none of that is happening.   You wonder how far your choices will continue to deviate from the story. How many more mistakes—   “Are you alright, Anastasia?”   You jolt, torn out of your deep trance by a worried gaze. Lucy has leaned in towards you, her brows knitted together and you smile. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.” You quickly change the subject. “Have you given your ribbon to anyone yet?”   The pair of you are walking down the castle hall, heading towards the dining hall where you know the noble women will be having tea and making small talk while waiting for their sons and husbands.   Lucy shakes her head and unties the blue ribbon she had around her wrist.    “Why not?”   She stares at the soft satin for a second and then looks up at you, mustering a small smile. “I wouldn’t know who to give it to.”   “Well, you still have time to decide. You can give it to someone when they get back.” You hum to yourself. “How about giving it the Crown Prince?”   Lucy’s eyes are as large as saucers and she blinks thrice.   You’re a bit endeared with how surprised she seems at your suggestion. “Don’t you admire Prince Jungkook?”   “I...I do,” she admits quietly and peeks at you again. “But I wouldn’t want to overstep—”    “Not at all!” You reassure her. “Prince Jungkook likes the admiration. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind whatsoever. He might actually appreciate it.”   The girl smiles to herself and nods.   Evening sets in after meaningless conversations, cordial expressions and polite responses. The only interruptions are the horns that ring as each participant in the Hunt slowly arrives back.   Jungkook returns sweaty and out of breath, but with a whole moose like he promised. There are cheers and applauses, but more importantly, silent gasps when he beelines straight to Lucy to give her the prize. She blushes, a stuttering mess full of ‘thank yous’ and ‘it’s an honour’, and you discover Jungkook’s bashful behaviour at her sincere gratitude.    He scratches the back of his neck, diverts his vision, mutters ‘it’s fine’. It’s fascinating to watch considering he’s always been arrogant and bratty to you since the day you met him.   But you don’t get to observe their moment for long.   Not when the horns ring again and a figure appears over the horizon.    This time, no one moves. Truly stunned. Breaths hitched. Holy shit. Taehyung arrives back with a bear and he doesn’t even look like he’s broken a sweat.   “Wow!” Jungkook is the first to react, moving out of the crowd to his brother. He’s genuinely amazed and impressed, jaw dropped and brows shot to his hairline. “You did this?!”   “Didn’t I say I would win?” Taehyung grins languidly.   “This...is incredible!” Jungkook’s admiration for his brother causes the unsettled crowd to finally calm. It starts off slow, a clap here or there and then it’s applause, cheering and murmurs of acknowledgment.   “Has anyone ever brought a bear back before?” — “Did he use magic?” — “Why didn’t the eldest son participate in the Hunt before?”   And you know that it’s the first time people have clapped for Taehyung.   The attendant rushes forward, sputtering on his words. “T-The winner for this year’s Hunt is His Highness, Prince Taehyung!”   Taehyung wins a chest of gold, worth more than fifty commoner’s lifetimes and you watch as he bows his head as he receives it. You watch as he holds it and strides towards you. You watch until his arms have extended and a smile draws upon his features.   “What are you doing?” you ask, a whisper that’s befallen off your lips, spilled past the astonishment.    His gaze and smile never wavers. “I’m giving my prize to you.”   The crowd’s stirred to silence, watching the two of you, and you receive the wooden chest.   The attendant quickly announces the feast in the hall and servants begin ushering the people inside. But you continue watching Taehyung, your eyes connected to his, both grounded in the private bubble.   No one notices the King sitting on top of the stands, his brows tightly knitted.    //   The dining hall has shifted.   No longer are there laced tablecloths, towers of pastries and teapots from the afternoon. It’s large plates that have stretched along the surface, meats and cheese, breads and butters that have begun the feast. There are grandiose chairs all around three different tables, arranged based on importance and connections, conversations that have filled the enormous room.   The darkness of the night is casted away by the chandeliers overhead, illuminating the room in a golden hue. Yet, while each is high on the atmosphere, drunk by the wine, you can’t swallow the food down.    The tapping of utensils on glass has you looking over. The room simmers down.    By the coaxing of Jungkook beside him, Taehyung rises from his chair and clears his throat. It’s customary for the victor of the Hunt to give a speech and you’re guessing this is it.   “Thank you all for coming.” Taehyung appears unfamiliar and awkward addressing the crowd, quickly rushing over his words as if to get it done and over with. “I have never participated in the Hunt before this year and it was only because of beginners luck that I won. That—”    Suddenly, Taehyung looks right at you. “—and the support of those most important to me.”    Then, as quick as he stole his glance, he turns away. “I hope the harvests of Ashea will prosper this year.”   There’s thunderous applause and the feast resumes.   You’re overwhelmed, dizzy, the celebrations of the room getting to your head — laughter, questions, comments louder by ten decibels until it feels earsplitting.   You look over at Jungkook, finding that he has two blue ribbons pinned on his left side. He’s smiling widely, oblivious. Then, your head whirls over to your parents sitting down the table. They might have friendly smiles plastered on their features, but you can tell through their eyes that there’s seething anger. They’re unhappy, most likely with you, most likely with what happened earlier.   “Anastasia.” Lady Devon, who sits beside you, calls you out of your thoughts, disapproving at how your listening skills could be so poor.   You blink, pretending you were in deep thought about her discussion of silver forks and the corner of your mouth tugs. “If you’ll excuse me…”   After a delayed moment, she nods and you push your chair back, blurring into the massive paintings on the wall as you slip out to the terrace.   The night is cold.    Each exhale of yours is visible and you tug the soft pink shawl around your shoulders closer to your body for some warmth as you lean against the railings. You look up at the star-filled sky, finally able to calm yourself from the noise inside. You’ve always been glad that no matter where you are, what universe it is, there’s always the same sun, stars and moon. A constant.   One thing you don’t have to worry about.   “Is there something wrong?”   You know who it is before you’ve even turned around.    It’s a relief. You’ve waited all day to be able to speak to him, to be away from prying eyes and in a private moment. It’s easing. Your nerves take comfort in the familiarity, somehow finding his very presence soothing. Yet it’s unsettling at the same time. You have too many questions, too many suspicions and you don’t know if you want to uncover the truth.   But you gather your strength and face Taehyung. “I’m just thinking.”   “About what?”   Taehyung approaches your side. The warm light from inside the palace spills out and your shadows cast onto the grass beneath the terrace. There is not a soul in the hall when they’re all inside the dining hall, celebrations and conversations muffled through the many walls.   You inhale a breath. “Why?”   Taehyung frowns.   You ask again, “Why did you give me your prize?”   “Should I not have?”   Half of his face is illuminated, the slope of his nose and dip of his cupid’s bow sharp against the glow of the chandeliers, reminiscent of the chiaroscuro of a painting.   “That’s not it. Just…..” Why does he treat you so kindly, why does he want to go out of his way to talk to you, why does he look at you like that— “Why?”   In the original game, Anastasia was Taehyung’s chess piece and nothing more.   “Does there need to be a reason?” The corner of his mouth tugs gingerly. “I wanted to, so I did.”   “But there’s so many eligible bachelorettes you could’ve them them to, like Lady Myoi or Lady Paxton—”   “None of them matter,” he injects without needing to blink or think twice. “Not like you do.”   Your head snaps up and your eyes meet. Taehyung gazes at you tenderly, searching your irises with a small smile and he swallows hard. His voice lowers when he asks, “Are you cold?”    Oddly enough, even with the chilly wind whisking through the branches and swaying the leaves, you aren’t cold if he’s here.    Yet suddenly, Taehyung snaps his fingers and you’re engulfed with the warmth of an embrace. It’s the heat of a winter fire crackling underneath the mantle, the Summer sun casting down on your cheeks, and it travels from your toes to your head, and you can’t help the giggle that spills from you.    “What did you just do?”   He grins and leans closer to you. “It’s a simple warmth spell.”   Your brow cocks. “How much magic do you exactly know?”    He even managed to get that bear without looking like he had to fight. Your efforts to get him not to tap into magic all those years ago were in vain, but you have to admit it’s pretty cool.   Taehyung looks away, smile easing. “It doesn’t matter how much magic I have. It’s not enough for what I really want.”    Your breath hitches in your throat. The implications of his words welcomes the tension back into the air that had snuck itself away for a simple moment. But it isn’t uncomfortable. It isn’t the kind of tension that comes when you’re speaking to the Duke and Duchess, not the stiffness that arrived when you were being scolded by Edith. No. It’s different. It’s….intimate.    Especially when he sneaks a glance at you and you hold it, eyes fixated into his.   None of you speak, breathe, bat a lash. Not when Taehyung starts to lean in close. Not when you begin to feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin, when you can hear the thunderous noise of his heartbeat bruising his rib cage. His lash tickles yours. But before your lips can brush—   You push him away.   Taehyung stumbles back, nearly falling over, but he grasps the railings.   Your breath heaves and you stare at him in shock, in horror with what was about to happen. And before anything can be said or done, you turn away.   “Wait! Anastasia!” Taehyung calls after you. “I’m sorry!”   “I….I need to leave.”   You can’t deviate from the story more than you already have. This is a mistake.   In the midst of your panic, you return to the dining hall and cut through the room. It’s the quickest way back to your chambers, so you don’t hesitate to move your steps, never once looking behind your shoulder. Luckily, Taehyung doesn’t follow after you. He can’t.    But while each is celebrating and distracted with their company, a certain girl notices your distraught and frantic form beelining to the massive doors.   Something doesn’t sit right in her, so she immediately stands and bows her head to the woman she was speaking to. “If you can excuse me, thank you, I’ll be right back.”   Lucy follows after you, eyes pinned on your backside.   The only people who pay any mind is your mother, the Duchess of Devereux. Her senses are sharp and she taps your father on the shoulder until he follows her line of sight to the girl.   The castle grounds are dark, the moon waxing but not yet full enough to provide a bright light. But enough is shed for you to see. It’s enough for shadows to cast along the stone walls. You would never walk outside at this time of night, but you need air. More of it. Something you can breathe in and hope will clear the cloudiness inside your mind, the noise that’s earsplitting.   A gentle tap on your shoulder has you screaming.   “It’s me!” Lucy puts her hands out, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”   You catch your breath, steadying it and you swallow hard. “W-What are you doing outside? I thought you were still celebrating the feast.”   “I saw you walking by and I thought something was wrong and I got worried, I’m sorry.” She looks at you when the silence is ongoing. The concern is evident through her knitted brows. “Are you alright, Anastasia?”   It seems like everyone is asking you that question today.   A question you don’t know how to respond to yourself.   But you manage a nod and a smile. “I’m fine. I was just tired. I was thinking of retiring to my room early.”   “Oh, okay.”   You step towards her and grasp her hands within your own. “Can you do me a favour, Lucy, and keep Jungkook company tonight? He might be looking for me too and I don’t want him to be worried.”   “I will.” She nods. “But do you want me to escort you to your room? I could call someone—”   “No, it’s quite alright. I’ll be fine.” You smile and let go of her. “You should go back now before someone goes looking for you.”   Lucy nods for a second time and she bids you a goodnight as she walks back.   You’re left by yourself and you turn to tread your own way. The weight of so many decisions lie upon your shoulders and slow down your steps. You wonder why you have to bear the heavy burden of knowing your future, of knowing all of theirs while trying to escape your own fate.    It feels like you’re a pawn trying to control the whole chess board.   You exhale a breath, watching the cloud dissipate and unbeknownst to you, there’s a rustle in the garden’s bushes.   “That’s her, isn't it?”   Two shadows emerge from the darkness and before your ears can pick up on the noise, before you can turn around and meet the figures, a cloth is clamped over your mouth. Your shout is muffled and arms begin to drag you in the opposite direction of the castle.   What the fuc—    Immediately, your elbow juts out and the man behind you sputters, cowering over with a curse. You manage to slip out of his loosened grip, about to sprint and yell. Until another overtakes you and grabs hold of your wrists, yanking you back.   “Wench!” A cold blade sits at the juncture of your throat and you freeze, breaths tearing out of your throat frantically. You can fight him. Years of swordsmanship didn’t render you useless after all. But his threat delays you— “Shut your mouth if you don’t want Baron of Liza dead too.”   What?   Your mouth is stuffed with cloth and you’re roughly ripped into the darkness.   At the same time, Taehyung, still at the terrace and about to leave, turns around.

[jeogiyall]

Tim McGraw; Y.JI (II)

GFX By @dreamystuffers

Word count; 3.4k

Genre; Jeongin x Reader, Fluff, Angst

Warnings; None :)

Find the rest of my Stray Kids Folklore series here!

A/N: This is the second part of the @kpopscape ‘Walkin On Sunshine’ Summer event! Look out for the third and final part coming this month!

A boy in a truck, with a tendency of getting stuck

“Last one in is going down like a one egg pudding!” Jeongin shouts while bounding towards the moonlit lake, fully clothed. You’re not entirely sure what a one egg pudding is, or why it’s going down, but you are sure that you’re not gonna be one. You sprint after Jeongin, running towards the very edge of the lake before looking back and seeing the boy directly behind you. He wears a happy smile, white hair bouncing over the sun kissed skin of his forehead. When he reaches you he holds out one of his hands, which you grab onto before kicking off your shoes and running into the lake. He started doing that a week or so ago when you mentioned that the very edge was muddy and feeling it on your feet made you squirm. He had jokingly asked if you wanted him to hold your hand, but when you said yes he did it with no questions asked.

The two of you wade out to the center of the lake, as you have done each night for the past two weeks. Jeongin splashes at you when he looks back and sees your slightly scared expression.

“Stop!” You giggle, holding up one hand to shield your face, “I thought that I felt something brush my leg!” He rolls his eyes and swims over to you, wrapping a hand around your waist so as to support you as you splash back at him.

“It was probably the gator, just like it was last night.” When you’re this close you can see his eyes sparkle even with nothing to illuminate them. You can’t see the rest of his face, but you assume it’s smiling. He’s always smiling.

“You’re mean.” You laugh a little bit, heart fluttering as your shirt rides up beneath the water and his hand smooths across your exposed skin. The pads of his fingertips are rough. His hands are warm.

“Do you wanna get on my back?” He asks, voice quiet due to the close proximity of your faces. When he moves his head just ever so slightly you can feel the tips of your noses brushing. It causes goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“Yes.” The word is meek, but affirmative. Your eyes have adjusted enough to where you can see his smile grow. He exhales a laugh through his nose and the hot air fans across your cheek. His hand hooks beneath your thigh as he turns around so that you can secure your legs around his torso. 

“Be sure to tuck those legs in tight or else the gators gonna come and eat ‘em.” He teases while pinching the squishy part of your calf that’s nestled against his stomach. You stay like that for a while, listening to the singing cicadas and the sloshing lake water as Jeongin carts you around. Neither of you say anything, but you’ve gotten to the point where you don't need to. You can tell that he’s happy by the rise and fall of his chest against your forearms, you can feel that he’s relaxed by the slope of his shoulders.

Later in the evening when you’ve returned to the grass and you’re both laying down and looking at the night sky, which is void of stars due to the full moon, Jeongin brings up an old conversation. It took place on your first day here, when he had just clambered through your bedroom window donning perfectly white hair and a heartwarming smile. 

‘Something about how you used to get bored as a kid.’ 

‘I did get bored. It's lonely around here, but you seem like good company.’

‘Thank you! I think we’ll have fun, and uh… Not just because your grandmother said so.’ 

“Are you?” He questions, turning his head so that you can both see each other. 

“Am I what?” You pretend to not notice his eyes trained on your lips, or the thumping of your heart that you can now feel in your ears.

“Having fun?” You think back to all of the nights spent at this very lake, all of the jokes exchanged, all of the water splashed into your face. You think of the way that Jeongin makes you laugh so hard that your ribs ache. You think of the smile that never leaves his face, and the way that over the past month that same smile had begun to spread over your own face.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had fun before this Summer with you.”

The next morning at breakfast when your grandmother asks what the two of you will be doing that night your cheeks fill with heat. Something about the memory of his touch washing over you last night leaves your heart so full that it could burst. You’re expecting him to answer quickly as he always does. When a few seconds pass with no response you turn in your seat to see whether he’s choking on breakfast or if he’s simply neglected to speak. His eyes are mischievous once you meet them, his regular smile twisted into a more playful one and his cheeks pink. 

“I’ll tell you later, m’am.” His eyes cast over to you quickly before returning to your grandmother, the grin on his face growing with each second, “(Y/n) can’t know.” 

“Why can’t I know?” You question. He turns back to you with his head lowered and if you look closely enough you can see each sparkle in his eyes.

“Because. It’s a surprise.” Your grandmother giggles from across the table, sighing out something about ‘you kids’ before getting up and taking your emptied plates to sink. You and Jeongin help tidy the kitchen a bit before it’s time for you to walk him back to his truck. The sun is beating down hot today, just as it was yesterday and the day before. When he climbs into the white vehicle the first thing that he does is crank the air. 

“So I’ll see you at eight thirty tonight?” You question, so used to the routine of seeing him that you barely even need to ask. 

“Yep, eight thirty.” He runs a hand through his hair. The roots have grown out a lot in the past month, but you like it. It almost looks nicer to you than when it was all white.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what we’re doing?” You ask. He smiles in a way that crinkles his eyes, causing your heart to stutter for a moment before he responds.

“Yep.” You pout a little bit in the way the two of you do when talking to each other. 

“Are we going to the lake again and you’re just teasing me?” He laughs at your question, shaking his head a bit at the notion. The hair that he pulled back a moment ago now falls across his forehead.

“Nope.” His smile grows as the syllable leaves his mouth. Your heart clenches again, the way that it always does whenever he smiles.

He arrives perfectly on time that evening, clambering through your window just as you’re securing the final piece of your outfit. It was supposed to be colder than usual tonight so you decided to wear a flannel over one of your white tank tops. The flannel was actually Jeongins, he had loaned it to you after a dip in the lake and you had neglected to return it. He noticed it the moment that his feet swung over the windowsill, but since he didn’t say anything you figured that it was long forgotten.

You headed downstairs and into his car as per usual. Once in the car he drove for a little while, headed in the same direction as the lake. You were tempted to ask him once again if he had just been yanking your chain and you were going to the lake, but then he drove straight past your usual drop off point and into the expanse of field before you. He had looked at you apologetically and said that it would be a little bit bumpy, which it was. Until it stopped entirely.

“Well,” He starts while climbing back into the driver's seat. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, his white hair pushed backwards so as not to stick to it, “We are for sure stuck in the mud, and this field is usually riddled with rattlesnakes around this time of year. Your grandfather isn’t gonna be here for another two hours. It’s already nine, so we’ll be here for… A while. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine!” And really it is fine, because you don't know how you could be mad at him when he’s looking at you with glimmering childlike eyes and an apologetic smile, “If you really want to make it up, just tell me where you were taking me.” He exhales quickly, so much so that it’s nearly a pant, before letting his head tilt back.

“There’s a field about five miles from the lake, I think it used to be used for hunting or something like that. I-I don’t know it’s empty now, but when you lay down you can see every star that there is. I just thought that you would like it.” It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but cicadas chirping and him breathing. You place your hand over his own before pulling him in your direction, “(Y/n,) what are you doing?”

“We’re going to see the stars.” He laughs a bit incredulously while you push the door open with one hand. You’ve grown to love that sound, so gentle and encompassing. Like a hand woven blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“But my truck-”

“Has a bed, does it not?” He remembers you looking back at him with a wicked grin and squeezing his hand before hopping out of the car door. You climbed over the car's metal frame until you couldn’t hold onto his hand any longer, in which you shouted, “Hurry up, slow poke!” He remembers thinking that you were the strangest person he’d ever met. He also remembers thinking that you were his favorite. By the time he’s managed to maneuver to the very back of his truck you’re already laying on the cold metal bottom, one hand up to the stars while the other rests over your heart. You bring them both to lie across your stomach upon the sight of him. 

“What’re you looking for?” He questions while moving to lie next to you. The truck groans beneath his weight and he lets out a sweet laugh. It’s genuine, floating through the air as though it were a summer breeze. You look to his lips for a lingering moment and watch as they relax into a gentler smile. Your eyes slowly start to wander over his face, taking in each of his features with care. His cheeks look so soft while still being defined. The tip of his nose is so petite and endearing. His hair falls into his eyes ever so slightly in a way that makes you want to push it back. 

“Constellations.” You take a staggering inhale, heart hammering so fast that you’re sure he can feel it thudding. If he can, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. He does nothing other than meet your gaze with equal adoration, “I’ve never been any good at finding them.” 

Jeongin thinks to himself for a moment. He thinks that you look lovely tonight, with the evening breeze tossling your free bits of hair and the white straps of your tank top sliding down your shoulders. He thinks that this field where he’s gotten you both stuck smells sweet like dandelion wine. He thinks that there’s something in the air tonight. He thinks that whatever it is is making him brave.

“May I kiss you?”  You look taken aback at first, eyebrows softening into a question as you lean ever so slightly closer. Your hands readjust to cradle his sharp jaw as your noses brush. He locks his dark brown eyes with your own before asking again, “May I?” 

You answer him this time, only it’s not with words. It’s with your lips moving gently against his own. He tastes like summer air, his skin traipsing your own feels like sunshine. When he slides his palm against the exposed bit of your waist you can feel the roughness of his hands. Calluses surround the delicate bones there, and in moments they catch onto the soft skin at your stomach. It’s a new sensation to you. Kissing someone like this is a new sensation to you. Loving someone as fiercely as you love him is a new sensation to you.

But then we woke up to find that Summer had gone

You don’t remember when your lips parted, or when your grandfather came to rescue the two of you. All that you can remember is waking up on top of your white comforter with your window open, as if someone slithered out of it in the middle of the night. When you go to close it you look down in search of a muddied up truck and a white head of hair. Surely enough you find him as easily as every morning, tending to his tomato plants and smiling to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about, you hope that it’s you.

When you leave the window and return to your bed you see that your phone is lit up with a message from your mother. The two of you have barely talked since you arrived here, though you’re not sure why. Life has probably been busy for her since you left, and you’ve been enjoying yourself so much that you nearly forgot your home even existed. The text banner covering your home screen, which is a picture of you and Jeongin enjoying a picnic in your grandfathers fields, reads ‘hey sweetie! could you please give me a call soon? love and miss you, xoxo mom.’ 

It rings three times before she answers. You can hear bustling from her side of the call, probably from her getting off of the city's public transport and into work. If she hears any background from you it’s probably just chirping birds or Jeongins whistling that started up a minute ago. 

“Hi mommy!” You say into your phone. With how relaxing life was here at the farm you hadn’t thought much about home, but now that you can hear the city you realize that you do actually miss it. Just little things, like the bakery across the street from your townhouse and seeing buskers at every street corner when you went out.

“Hi love! I’m on the way into work right now but I just wanted to check up with you, even if it’s quick.” You chew on your lower lip and nod before remembering that there’s no way that she can see you nodding.

“Mhm, sounds nice.” You wipe your palms on your denim shorts, which are still on from last night, while racking your brain for what on earth you’re going to say to her.

“Tell me everything!” Great. That really helps you to narrow things down.

“Well, everything is great I guess! Grandma makes breakfast every morning and Grandpa comes in at around lunch time. We spend lots of time together, around the house and going out sometimes. I like to help Grandma cook. A-and I met the neighbor, he’s… nice. Really really nice.” At this moment you’re unbelievably grateful for the phone between you and her so that she can’t see your sheepish smile. You’re not sure how she would react to the knowledge that you’re head over heelsfor the farmer next door.

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” The white noise in her background quickly dissipates so you assume that she’s entered her work building. Which means this call will be ending soon and your heart will forget the city and return to the farm, “I hope you aren’t having too much fun to come home?” 

“Of course not!” Even as you say it your heart squeezes. You like your home a lot. It’s fun, even with barely any friends. Even when your parents are in and out of the house all of the time. Even when you’re mostly alone. Alone is fine when you’re there, because alone is what you’re used to.

But when you came here there was Jeongin, and suddenly you weren’t alone anymore. Suddenly you had someone to tell about the fat squirrel that you saw on your windowsill. Someone to make inside jokes with. Someone who made you laugh and smile in a way that you haven’t in years. Someone who made you feel seen in a way that was addicting. 

“That’s good because we got an email from your school district that you’ll be starting back two weeks earlier than anticipated, so we’ll have to come get you earlier. In about two weeks actually. Is that okay?” As soon as the question registers in your ears it feels like you’ve eaten an entire bushel of cotton. Your mouth is so dry, your tongue so heavy, lips hanging open as you think of anything to say. ‘Is that okay?’ your mother had asked, as if your answer would change anything. As if saying no would earn you more time.

You’re quiet for a moment, trying so hard to not be mad with your mother or your school or yourself. You knew all along that this happiness would end, the fact that it’s coming quicker isn’t anyone's fault.

“Yea, that’s fine.” You answer, feeling a bit guilty for keeping your mother longer while she’s trying to get into work. 

“Okay sweetie, I just wanted to let you know. I need to go now but I’ll see you really soon! Love you!”

“Love you too.” You’ve barely finished saying the words before your call ends. Your heart pangs, longing for comfort so badly that it hurts. Longing for Jeongin so badly. Tears well up in your eyes and you think that they might fall, until you hear your grandmother shout your name from down the stairs. You rush down them just as you do every morning. When you’ve reached the bottom you see Jeongin and your Grandmother waiting at the table, a smile on both of their faces. You take your seat beside Jeongin and intertwine your hands then squeeze tightly. 

He looks at you and smiles again before the three of you bow your heads in prayer. Your intentions were to focus on your grandmother's words, but as Jeongin begins to rub circles on the back of your hand with his thumb your mind begins to wander. You think of how much you’ve enjoyed your time together, and then of how you’re already acting like it’s over, and then again of how badly you don’t want to tell him that you’re leaving. Once your Grandmother is finished and everyone is raising their heads and starting to eat, you decide that these next two weeks won’t be one drawn out goodbye. You’ll enjoy the little bit of time that you have instead of spending it all wishing that there was more.

The two of you go to the lake each night just like always. Some nights you barrel straight into the water, both of you giggling and clinging to each other for no reason at all. Some nights you forgo the dip in the water and instead lay down on the grass and look up at the stars. He talks to you a lot on those nights, which you really enjoy. On most nights, regardless of how you’ve spent your time before then, the two of you end up rolling around in the grass with your limbs tangled and lips locked. On the day that he and your grandfather brought in strawberries from the fields he remarked that your lips tasted like the fruit. It made your heart flutter. A lot of the things that he does makes your heart flutter.

There was one night when he came into your room after dropping you off. The two of you crawled into your bed, bones tired and aching from the long day. You laid your head on his chest so that his heartbeat was beneath your ear. You matched your breathing to the steady thumping there. He brought his hand to your back and began to rub soothing circles against your shirt. He pressed a kiss to your temple before he fell asleep. You remember thinking that you only had half a week left with him and that it wasn’t enough. You don’t know if any amount of time with him would be enough.

tag list: @dreamyyang​ @charm-arts @straytannies

[yikesharringrove]

I’ve just always loved the idea of Billy and Steve being chilhood best friends since they were litte kids and then slowly as they get older they’d start to like each other. So, what about them having their first time with each other? Billy slowly fucking Steve while they’re both so new to all of it and in a way it’s very tender.

Steve met Billy at the park when he was six.

Billy was only five, was new to Hawkins with his dad and his brand new baby sister.

Steve liked his curly hair.

Billy liked Steve’s brown eyes.

They had been inseparable since.

Steve came over for lots of play dates when his parents were out of town and his nannies didn’t mind dropping him off at the little house on Cherry Road.

He and Billy would run around in the backyard, would jump in puddles and stomp through mud. They would help Mrs. Hargrove with dinner and clumsily set the table with chubby hands.

And then Steve’s nanny would whisk him away and Billy’s father would berate him for whatever he did wrong that day.

But the two boys were joined at the hip, spent as much time as possible together.

They knew one another inside and out.

Steve was the first person to tell Billy that he loved him.

Billy was the first person to tell Steve that he loved him.

And they shared everything. Their clothes were so intermingled that neither knew which t-shirt originally belonged to whom.

They told each other everything.

-

“Don’t you think that Stacey’s totally hot now?” They were fourteen, laying on their stomachs on Steve’s bed, talking through the first day of high school.

“I don’t know. Wasn’t really looking.” Because Billy only ever had eyes for Steve, had since he was five.

“She’s got boobs now.” And Steve had only come into his own. His braces had come off two summers ago, and he was beginning to fill out, probably had one last growth spurt left in him.

“I didn’t notice.” Billy was trying as hard as he could to keep off the baby weight he had finally shed this summer. He was going out for the high school basketball team, was heartbroken when Steve decided he was going to go for swimming, since he already swam for the Hawkins Comp. team.

“You never notice girls.” And Steve said it so nonchalant, like it was just a plain old fact. Billy supposes it is.

“I notice boys, though.” Billy’s voice was small.

He knew he could trust Steve, but his heart was still thundering as Steve flicked the page of last year’s yearbook. What if Steve turned? Called him disgusting like his dad does and told him to get out of his house.

“Yeah, me too.”

So they shared the same shameful secret.

It was only fitting.

-

“What do you think sex is like?” They were sixteen, sitting in the front seat of Steve’s brand-new BMW. The old Camaro Billy bought much too cheap and had been fixing for the past year and a half was so damn close to being finished.

Sometimes Billy got jealous. Steve had fucking everything. He didn’t have to buy a junked car and fix it up just so he can have some transportation. He doesn’t have to clip coupons with his step-mom just so they can afford some dish soap.

But Steve didn’t ask for any of this. It’s just what he was born into. And he shared it with Billy, no qualms about it.

“I mean, like jacking off. But better, I think.”

“I guess that would be pretty good.”

“I don’t know. I kinda just wanna get the first time over with. I feel like there’s too much pressure for it to be this magical thing you’ll fondly look back on for the rest of time.” Billy took a drag of his cigarette. Steve stole it from him as he was blowing the smoke out the window.

“I hope mine is.” Billy rolled his eyes. He knew Steve was a hopeless romantic, always had been. “I hope it’s with someone that I care about, and that cares about me, and even if we break up or something, I’ll always think about my first time and feel good.”

Billy took back the cigarette.

He had an idea. Didn’t know if he could broach it to Steve, didn’t know if Steve would take it well.

He had thought about fucking Steve plenty of times.

He had swiped enough gay skin mags from truck stops outside of town to know what to guys got up to together.

And he knew that Steve’s eyes were big, and his legs were long, and his heart was kind. And he knew that he was in love with Steve. He’s known that since he was a little boy.

He blew out the smoke, locking his jaw. Didn’t want to ask.

“Um, hear me out.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, focused on the windshield. “What if, what if we, um, did it.”

Steve was staring at his hands, fidgeting with the steering wheel.

“Wait, like, you and I have sex?” Steve shrugged.

“I mean, best of both worlds. Like, you can just kinda get it over with, and I can have something nice with someone, someone that cares about me.” He got quieter with every word.

“So you, you think we should fuck?”

“Just forget it. It was dumb.”

“I mean, I was thinking the same thing.” Steve’s head snapped to look at him, dark eyes searching his face.

“Really?” Billy shifted in his seat, trying to open his posture.

“It makes sense. Plus, I mean, I know I said I wanted to get it over with, but at least I’ll never regret it, you know? Plus like, I can make it real special for you. Candles, and Michael Bolton. All of it.” Steve had red patches on his cheeks, looking past Billy out the window.  “What do you say?”

“Um, yeah.”

-

Steve didn’t know what gay sex was like.

He had pawed through a few of Billy’s nudie mags, had seen naked men enough to know that he wanted, had seen Billy naked enough to know that he really wanted.

He drove out the city, shoved a hat low over his brow as he walked into the store.

He bought a few different films, watched them that night with his hand on his cock.

He thought about fingering himself, getting used to the stretch of something inside him, but then he thought about Billy’s fingers, thought about how thick they are, thought about Billy stretching him open, and he blew his load.

-

Steve had told him he didn’t want to know what Billy was planning, and he especially didn’t want to know when he was planning it.

Billy had pulled out all the stops.

Well, as many stops he could pull out on a limited budget.

He bought lots of nice candles, and put a lot of ideas into music.

He picked a random Saturday, when he knew Steve was at swim practice to get everything set up.

He toyed around with taking him in Steve’s parents room, but didn’t want to give Steve any reason to be uncomfortable.

He had made a mix tape, songs that he knew would make Steve all sappy and gooey. He lit the candles, put lube and a few condoms on the nightstand.

He was a little jittery.

Steve had told him that he wanted to be the one taking, that he had come to really love the idea of Billy fucking him.

Which, Billy was fine with, had been hoping for.

He had whacked off that morning, figured he wouldn’t last long once he got inside Steve.

He was getting hard just at the idea.

He heard Steve’s car out front.

He sat on the end of the bed, didn’t want to pull some awful pose.

Steve’s eyes were wide when he opened the door, hair still wet from his post-practice shower.

He dropped his bag.

He was on Billy in a second, straddling his lap, sinking both hands into his hair.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Billy pushed forward, connecting their lips.

Steve sighed into him, melting into Billy.

Billy brought his hands up Steve’s frame, feeling up his back from his hips.

He laid back, Steve pulling Steve on top of him.

They made out for a little while, just taking it slow, easing each other into it.

And then Steve ground his hips down, and they both gasped, breaking their kiss to look at one another.

Billy rolled them over, Steve’s eyes were wide as Billy settled on top of him.

“You want this?”

“Yeah, I want this. Want you.”

Billy pressed his hands under Steve’s shirt, pulling it over his head, tossing it on the floor.

Steve scrambled to get Billy’s shirt off as well, feeling down his chest. 

He squeezed at the bulge in Billy’s jeans.

“I wanna blow you.” Billy fucking moaned at Steve’s voice.

“Yeah, Baby. Go for it.” He rolled off him, sitting against the headboard.

Steve sat on his knees between Billy’s legs, undoing his belt slowly.

His hands were shaking a bit as he pulled the zipper down, reached inside and pulled out Billy’s cock.

He stared at it for a second, and then bent forward, sucking the head into his mouth.

He thought about what he saw the pornstars do, licking up the length of Billy’s dick.

Billy sighed above him as he took him into his mouth, pressing down as far as he could.

He buried his nose in the soft pubic hairs at the base of him, the head of Billy’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Steve pulled off, jerking his spit-slicked cock.

“What?” He sank back down, taking all of Billy, bobbing his head.

“Oh my, God.” Billy was stuttering. “I thought deepthroating was supposed to be-ah-hard.” Steve pulled off him again.

“I don’t really have a gag reflex.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, ‘course you don’t.” Steve just shrugged, kept going.

Billy was gonna lose his shit.

Steve gave head like a goddamn pornstar, like he’d been doing it for years.

He set a sloppy pace, swiping his tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Stevie, Baby pull off.” Steve pulled off him with a frankly obscene slurping noise. “Don’t wanna cum yet.” Steve smiled coyly at him. “Yeah, yeah. You did a good job. Whatever.”

Steve laughed at him, started tugging Billy’s jeans down and off.

“I mean, didn’t really take you for a minute man, Bill.” Billy kicked off his jeans, slamming Steve back to the bed.

Steve yelped as he roughly pulled off his shorts.

“Let’s see how cock sure you get.” He reached for the lube, pouring some out onto his fingers.

He pressed Steve’s legs open, taking a look at his hole.

He pressed one finger against him, just rubbing small circles.

He pushed his finger inside.

Steve gasped sharply as Billy teased his finger, pressing in slowly.

“You ever finger yourself?”

“Thought about it, but, but wanted you.” Billy pumped his finger in and out.

Steve breathed deeply, relaxing into it.

“You okay?” He smiled lazily at Billy, nodding slowly. “What’s it feel like?”

“Honestly, doesn’t feel like much.”

“You think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Billy pulled his finger out, began prodding at him with two.

Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Okay, yeah, now I’m feelin’ it.”

“Good?”

“It’s just, it’s a lot.”

“You want me to slow down?” He was still drilling his fingers in and out of Steve, and gave an experimental curl.

Steve arched off the bed, inhaling sharply. He went limp again, Billy watching with wide eyes.

“Whatever the fuck you did, do that shit again.” Billy barked a laugh, started curling his fingers, making Steve moaning loudly, and fucking writhe below him.

And then Steve went rigid, his thighs trembling, cumming all over himself.

He was breathing heavy as he opened his eyes, looking back at Billy.

“Who’s the minute man now?” Steve lazily slapped at him. “For real though, that was hot. Didn’t know you could cum like that.”

“Yeah, me neither, or I woulda stopped you.” Billy was suddenly aware he stil had two fingers in Steve.

“So you want me to stop, or?” Steve shook his head.

“I’ll be good in a minute or two. Just keep, you know.” He waved a hand at Billy’s arm, his face flushing. Billy smirked at him.

“Just keep what, Doll?” The more embarrassed Steve got, the more Billy wanted him to say it. “I don’t know what you want.” Steve whined.

“Keep, like, keep fingering me.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, his cheeks red.

Billy took out his fingers, pushing three in at once.

He rubbed up and down Steve’s chest, could feel him tensing against the intrusion.

“Breathe, Stevie.” He closed his eyes again, visibly relaxing.

Billy fucked him with his fingers, moved slowly in and out of him.

He spread his fingers, making room for himself.

He took his time, loved sitting here making Steve feel good.

He was starting to get hard again, bucking his hips to fuck himself on Billy’s fingers.

“I’m ready, Bill.”

Billy pulled his fingers out, lubing up his cock. He wanted to feel Steve, knew they were both clean anyway, didn’t wanna bother with a condom.

He scoot on his knees closer to Steve’s body, lining himself up.

“You ready?” Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck, pulling him closer to him.

“Want you.”

So Billy pushed his way in.

It was like Heaven, sinking into Steve.

His body was so hot, tight and perfect around him. He slumped on top of Steve, lazily kissing his neck.

Steve was holding onto him, started tapping his shoulder.

“Move, Bill. Fuck me.”

He pulled his hips back, pushing back in slowly.

“Oh my God.” Steve felt like he was being split open, his mind short-circulating at the feeling of Billy on top of him, all around him, inside of him.

Billy lost himself in the slick slid of his cock, the perfect heat of Steve around him.

“Feel so fucking good.” Billy’s mouth was right against Steve’s ear.

Steve was completely hard again, his dick caught between their stomachs.

“God, Billy.” Billy pushed up on his elbows to look at Steve’s face, still moving slow.

Steve wrapped his leg’s around Billy’s waist, pulling him close. Billy picked up his pace a little bit, bucking his hips a little harder, a little faster.

He was toeing the edge, felt like he could cum for the past half hour.

“Love the way you feel.” Steve was babbling, his eyes hazy. “Love you.”

Billy bucked his hips, and came deep inside Steve.

He buried his face in Steve’s neck, embarrassed that Steve saying he loves him made him cum.

And then he thought about it more, realized Steve had just said he fucking loves him.

“Wait, hold on.” He pushed back up to look at Steve. “Did you, did you mean that?” Steve looked to his right, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.

But his cheeks were red, and his bottom lip trembled just so, and Billy knew.

“I love you too, Stevie.” He reached down to tug on Steve’s cock, jerk him quickly.

Steve’s eyes went wide as Billy touched him, his hips bucking into his hand.

“Wanna watch you fall apart again. So pretty when you cum. Lemme see it.” Steve was panting, his body going tight.

His eyes screwed up as he came for a second time, his chest heaving.

Billy flopped next to him, pulling Steve into his side.

He brushed his fingers down Steve’s back.

“How you feelin’?” Steve hummed into his chest.

“Real good.”

“And um, about what you said-”

“Bill, just leave it. It’s fine.” His back was stiff, his shoulders rising to his ears.

“No, but I-”

“It’s fine.”

“I meant it when I said it back. Meant it the same way you meant it.” Steve looked up at him, his hair all wild.

“You serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Steve smiled, all big and so pretty, burying his face in Billy’s chest, let him pet through his hair. 

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Baby.”

[kitchenscene]

four a.m. [2.9k] buck follows the rain, so eddie follows buck, wherever he may lead

read on ao3

The firehouse carries a heaviness to it after a particularly long shift. The team packs their bags, heads turned down, trying to shuffle home to find some sense of comfort. Security. B-crew starts to roll in with all the enthusiasm in the world and Eddie wishes he could borrow just an ounce of that energy. Enough to carry himself home, lift his eyes up just long enough to drive without drifting to sleep. 

Call after call, the team couldn’t catch a break. Electrical fire, two girls caught in a web of barbed wire, and a five car pileup. No chance to slip into the bunks, steal leftovers from the fridge, or take a momentary breath before the alarm rings. It’s a miracle they could still stand, let alone walk from the truck to the locker room after their last call. 

Eddie slips into the shower, wanting to immediately fall into bed when he gets home. The warmth nearly lulled him to sleep. The station never sounded so quiet. All he can hear is water dripping along the tiles, spiraling to the drains, and the slow, tapping movement of feet outside the showers. He stands still, watching the water run clear until it starts to burn cold. 

He steps out, sliding the curtain aside, dawning a fresh pair of sweats and an LAFD longsleeve. The navy blue sleeves, two sizes too large, bunch at the wrists, slipping past his fingertips. The soft fabric grounds him, he pulls the cotton tight in his hands. Freshly washed and warm.

The locker room stands silent, no laughter to echo off the glass walls, no movement filling the space. Dirt and ash trails along the concrete, leaving random footprints and smudges anywhere they could reach. Smoke lingers in the air, rising high. Tomorrow the smell would vanish, leaving no memory of the day. But for now it burns, leaving a tattoo heavy on his chest.

B-crew paces through the station, the hectic day coming to a halt as soon as they arrived. The alarm never rings. Eddie wishes it would. 

His bag sits on the bottom shelf. The crew is gone, having all gone home for the day. His bag should sit alone on that bottom shelf, waiting to be carried away. 

But Buck’s bag sits beside his, car keys still shining inside, phone left locked in one side pouch. 

He glances around the room, waiting for Buck to appear, as if the weight of the day could’ve somehow blinded him from the sight of his best friend. 

Outside the locker room he’s nowhere to be seen. B-crew works quietly, cleaning, restocking, gentle conversations. They mumble good mornings—it’s nearly four a.m.—and sip their warm coffees. He’s jealous at the ease they’re able to take, his own morning filled with wet hair and heavy eyes. 

The loft is empty, the silence echoes, almost painfully. He’s never seen the kitchen so clean, so mellow and silent. No steaming pans, no shuffling plates, no grabbing hands. The lights glow softly, waiting for the next chef to pry open the pantry, but for now, the cupboards remain shut, locked away tight, no sign of Buck to be found.

He looks up from the edge of the loft, over the railings. The garage doors are wide open, the soft pattering of rain can be heard, but only just. It dances across the pavement, spilling inside the firehouse, leaving only wet footprints in its wake. The night darkens the sky, grey clouds tracing overhead. It’s almost peaceful, a welcomed end to a hectic day. But then he remembers Buck, nowhere to be seen. Buck, who, of course, could never simply witness a peaceful moment like this. Buck, who, naturally, would want to be up close, feeling the cold rain in his hands, on his skin, anywhere he could find it. 

It seems obvious now; Eddie would never find Buck inside the station when there’s so much more to be said outside. A quiet, pouring night to end the bustling, restless day. Buck would follow the pour, follow the only sound to be heard. His eyes would brighten at the sight of it, despite the restlessness of the day. 

He follows the stairs, follows the trail of mud that seems so obvious in retrospect. Follows it all the way up to the roof, away from the firehouse, away from the day they desperately needed to leave behind. 

Eddie pulls his sleeves tighter, shivering at the sudden chill the fresh air gave. Raindrops stain his soft shirt and trail down his spine. 

From the roof, he could see it all. The moon, half full, glowing softly, brightly in the dark from behind the grey, swirling clouds. It wasn’t so heavy, up here, all the weight feeding into the drainage pipes. The water washes across the concrete, leaving the air fresh, clean, new. City lights flicker in the distance, proof of a bustling life, even so long after sunset. He could barely see the rain, barely watch it fall, but he could see Buck. 

Buck, who stood to the sky without a care. Buck, soaked in the rain, t-shirt pressed tight to his chest and boots logged with water. Buck, with his damp curls and bright smile, facing Eddie, inviting him forward. 

Eddie, arms crossed, shivering, hiding at the edge of the roof under the only cover he could manage to find. Eddie, watching Buck, but only from a distance. Eddie, with his flattened hair and heavy eyes, who couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Buck, what’re you doing up here? Shift ended…” he twists his arm, checking his watch, “half an hour ago.”

“It’s raining,” Buck says, as if Eddie couldn’t see the clouds above. 

He watches Buck, who looks back and forth between him and the sky, the twenty-ish feet between them feeling too far away. Come home, he wants to say.

“It’s late, you shouldn’t be up here,” he says instead.

“Neither should you.” Buck shifts back and forth slightly, splashing the rain by his feet. Eddie uncrosses his arms, letting his sleeves fall. 

He’s tempted by the rain, by Buck’s wonder. It would be far too easy to follow him to the edge of the roof, shoulders brushing as they watch the rain. The rain, so cold, but it wouldn’t matter because Buck would be there, warm and bright. So easily, he could drop his arm around his waist and pull him close, savouring a moment he would pretend to regret the next morning. 

He could never regret it, not really. Buck, with his never ended kindness, would never hurt Eddie, he needs to trust this. Needs to trust that he is not alone in his feelings. He needs to trust Buck to stop him before he ruins this, ruins this perfect moment on the roof. 

But it’s four a.m., and no good choices have ever been made so early in the day.

“You should go home. When’s the last time you slept?” Eddie asks, genuinely concerned.

“Even if I was at the apartment, I wouldn’t be sleeping,” he says, “I would be doing this. The only difference is I’d be doing it alone.”

The sentiment weighs on his chest; he’s not alone on this rooftop. It would be so easy to step into the rain and lay himself bare. To spill everything he has and let it wash away. 

Buck takes a few steps closer, closing the mileage between them. He’s still too far away. But Eddie can’t move, can’t take those small steps forward, away from the only dry patch of the roof, away from the safety of the wall behind him. 

“Come on,” he offers, “it’s just rain.”

But it’s not just rain, not to Eddie. There shouldn’t be anything different about this day other than the weather. Today, like every other day, he drove himself to the firehouse, worked side-by-side with Buck, and tried to keep himself from speaking his mind. 

This, here, on the roof, is something they’ve been building towards for a while. He’s certain—nearly certain—that Buck wants this too. He’s never shied away from the brush of a hand, or a hug that lasted a few seconds too long. He’s held onto Eddie, as if at any moment, he would disappear, and Eddie wants nothing more than to promise he’ll never leave. 

“What do you have to lose?” Buck asks, with a lightness around him. 

Everything. 

If he steps too far, if he reads this wrong, he’ll lose Buck. He’ll lose everything. He’ll lose a partner, a best friend, the only pillar he’s ever allowed himself to lean on. Buck has been there since day one, latching onto Eddie, planting roots in his heart and refusing to leave. If he ruins this, he’ll lose everything.

Buck holds out his hands, begging Eddie to reach out, take the leap. But Buck is still twenty feet away, and it’s still four a.m. 

He sees those hands and the water curving around them. Wet hair dripping in those blue eyes, pressing against his forehead. Those blue eyes he can barely make out from so far away, but he knows them well enough to feel their brightness even from afar. 

And he can’t deny the fact that it is, just rain falling around them, as Buck said. But it’s late and he’s tired and it would be far too easy to fall into Buck’s embrace. If he held that hand extended towards him, he may never let go, and when Buck pulls away, as Eddie believes he will, it will ruin the rain forever. Every drop will remind him of this; a moment that could’ve been. 

“Buck…”

“I’ll wait here all night,” he says, arms open wide, “where’s the fun in standing all the way over there, anyways?”

It’s four a.m., it’s raining. Somewhere downstairs, the alarm rings, the trucks file out, one at a time, and for the first time they’re alone, truly alone. And Eddie’s too tired to hold back anymore.

He steps forward, into the rain, takes the leap. Buck is there, always has been, grinning as Eddie steps forward, arms unfolding. He was the one who followed Buck to the roof in the pouring rain. It’s inevitable that they’d end up here, standing together.

Buck takes his hand, strong and calloused, but gentle to the touch, and pulls him farther than he would’ve walked on his own. Up close, he can see the rain drops pressed to his arms, around every muscle. His shirt, entirely soaked through, clinging tight around his torso. He’s spent all night outside, in the rain, yet he never shivers under it’s touch. 

“See? Not so bad,” Buck laughs, and Eddie can’t stop his own grin from forming. He wants to pull away, go inside, go home. Hide away from his touch, pretend he feels nothing. But Buck is here. He has to stay here. Buck turns towards the horizon, but Eddie still watches Buck.

“I still don’t get why you’re up here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re gonna catch a cold, or something.” He tries to ignore Buck’s grip, still tight against his hand, and tries to slip into something lighter. An easy conversation without any real meaning to avoid what will inevitably become of this night—morning, rather.

Buck turns back to Eddie, eyebrow tilted. The rain drips around his eyes, still bright, still blue. “That’s not actually a thing, is it? I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

“Either way, you’re soaking wet, and probably freezing,” he offers, hiding his worry behind a bit of laughter. 

“I’m not freezing,” Buck holds Eddie’s free hand, pressing the back of it to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. He drops his wrist, but Eddie doesn’t move his hand. “See? Not freezing.”

Eddie turns his hand to push the wet hair away from Buck’s forehead, before sliding his hand down to rest on his cheek, his thumb wiping a raindrop away from his eye, tracing his cheekbone. 

Buck doesn’t pull away. Rather, he leans into the touch, still smiling, his hand slipping out of Eddie’s and tracing up his arm. He shivers at the touch, knowing there’s no way he can slip out of Buck’s grasp. Not when he finally knows what it’s like to be so close. 

“Yeah,” he says, not knowing how to fill the air, “not freezing. But you’re still soaked.” It’s barely a whisper, he’s close enough to speak softly and still be heard. 

“So are you.” 

“And whose fault is that?”

“You can’t blame me for the rain,” Buck says, pulling him closer, toe to toe, knees nearly knocking and hands holding steady. It would be entirely too easy to bridge the gap, to latch on a cut the tension hanging in the air. 

Eddie says nothing, he can barely breathe. He rests his free hand on Buck’s waist hesitantly, giving him every opportunity to pull away, to stop him before he goes too far. 

He can hear the rain, he can hear Buck’s breathing, soft and steady, and he can hear his own heart, skipping beats in his chest. It’s entirely too loud, and Buck could almost certainly feel it, the unsteady beating of his heart. 

“But you brought me up here,” Eddie whispers, “I can at least blame you for that.”

“I didn’t expect you to follow me,” Buck admits, “but I was kinda hoping you would.”

He tries to analyze it, pull apart Buck’s words to find meaning in it all, some type of confirmation that he’s not alone in his feelings, that Buck wants him too. This, to Eddie, is as close as he’ll ever get. There’s so much to be said, but he’ll never find the words to say it all. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Buck says, pulling him out of his head. “Whatever you’re trying to say, just say it.”

“I don’t think I can…” His hand, still resting on Buck’s cheek, slides down to his jaw. He looks between Buck’s eyes, his gaze landing on his mouth before leading back up to the thumb grazing his cheekbone. 

“It has to be you,” he says, resting his free hand on Eddie’s hip. “You have to take the leap.”

It’s all the assurance he needs that Buck wants this too. But even still, he struggles to close the final inches between them, something in his head still convincing him he’ll lose everything. 

He has to trust that Buck would never lead him astray. That if he takes this leap, Buck will be there to take the next. He’ll be there when he wakes up, leaving Eddie with proof that this is not a dream, and they’ll move forward together, taking every leap after that. He has to believe that Buck will always be there for him, just as he will be there for Buck. 

But first he needs to take this leap. Buck nods, only slightly, as if reassuring him that he wants this too. 

He moves slowly, still doubting himself, using Buck’s hand as an anchor to hold him steady. The rain only falls heavier, letting Eddie fall with it right into Buck’s arms. Buck is warm. He’s freezing, but his touch is still warm. He’s freezing but he doesn’t care. The rain, the sirens, the clouds, none of it matters because he’s so close to finally grasping what he’s always wanted. 

There’s hardly space between them, mere centimeters keeping them apart. There’s no room for doubt, no room to change his mind. 

So he falls, finally lets himself fall. He closes the gap between their lips, tilting his head up, and lets himself fall. And Buck is there, he always has been, to catch him, hold him up, pull him close. He kisses Buck slowly, softly, as if he’ll disappear. The rain showers over them, but he can barely feel it. All he feels is Buck, pulling him by the hem of his shirt impossibly closer and his hand tracing up his arms to rest on Eddie’s shoulder, gripping the fabric between his fingers. 

His hand slides to the back of his neck, savoring every touch. He’s kissing Buck and he’s barely breathing, but he can’t let it end, not yet. They’re soaked and they’re cold but none of it matters. He’s kissing Buck and nothing else matters. 

Buck pulls away first, not straying far, resting his forehead against Eddie’s. His breath, still heavy, brushes against Eddie’s cheek, mixing with the rain, leaving him cold. He can’t let this moment end, not yet. 

He closes his eyes to take it all in, but Buck is there again, drawing him in for another kiss. It’s more determined this time, less hesitant, less afraid. It’s strong and assured Eddie lets Buck guide him. He opens his mouth and lets Buck take him in, desperate to feel him closer still. He hears the rain and he hears the sirens, a vague reminder that they’re still at the firehouse, they’re still on the roof, collapsing in each other’s embrace. The stress of their shift is behind them, nearly forgotten, and all that matters is this, on the roofs, grabbing each other by the waist, hip, neck, wherever they can manage. It’s peaceful, and it surrounds them fully.

Their foreheads press together again as they break away, still soaking in the moment. Neither of them try to leave, staying on the roof even as the clouds darken above, taking each other in wholly. It’s way past four a.m. but still they stand, on the rooftop, and Eddie can’t help but lean in again, kissing Buck quickly, once more, just to remind himself that he can.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 6

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

Tag List: @happyveday​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes​ @saritanotserena​

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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

For two days they traveled, leaving the little French town behind and making their way to Haguenau. It was slow moving since the majority of the infantrymen had to walk. A few rode on the sides of the tanks but when bickering about who got to ride started up, Don, with the backing of Captain Evans, called off the option. There were two vehicles for officers and a small truck for medical supplies and food. 

 Don was pleased that Anna had a spot on the truck and was not forced to walk. The dark-haired, lead medic seemed to be watching out for her. That first night they stopped to make camp, Boyd had wandered to the back of the long line to get Anna and have her stay close to him for the night. The lead medic and Boyd ended up in an argument, ending with Anna staying at the back, sleeping in the truck. Boyd stomped back to Fury and was grouchy the rest of the night. Don understood though. It was better to keep her hidden away than parading her through the long line of lonely men. He never said anything but once everyone was settled, he took a leisurely stroll to check on his new tank platoon and check in with the Captain. If he happened to stop near the supply truck to look and make sure Anna was safe and being looked after, he would never admit it out loud. He never approached, just watched subtly from a safe distance as he finished a cigarette.  

 The next night he repeated the process, pleased she seemed to be alright. Even if Boyd was still grumpy. Who knew how much longer they would see her? She was supposed to be traveling onward with Captain Evans and his company, while the tanks headed in a different direction. It was foolish to get attached. She meant nothing to them. Just another nurse. Yet that tasted like a tainted lie on his tongue. 

 Currently, Don stood in his spot on the tank, scanning the thick forest they were traveling through. The density of the trees blocked out part of the sun. Although it had been quiet the past few days, all the men able to slightly relax…. today felt different. The further they traveled, the more his nerves felt alight. Something itched in the back of his mind. There was something that demanded he pay attention. Only a few other times had this feeling consumed him, and it never ended well. Without looking, he could feel a slight shaking in his hands. No, whatever was coming, it never ended peacefully. His eyes continued to scan, ignoring the teasing of his crew members in lieu of trying to look behind every tree. Perhaps this time they could all make it out alive.

 "Don?" 

 The tank commander did not even turn his head from eyeing the cobbled road ahead. 

 Boyd's tone turned from amused to serious in a heartbeat. "You got a feelin'?" 

 "Yep."

 "Fuck." Grady swore, having been reclined on the tank but now sat up straight, his own gaze moving furiously around for the enemy. 

 "Gordo, hold up here." Don said into his comms. "All tanks hold up." As the tanks screeched to a stop, he pulled out his binoculars, trying to see through the trees as to what had him so on edge. 

 The revving of an engine preceded one of the jeeps pulling up next to Fury. "Why have we stopped, Sergeant Collier?" Captain Evans asked, thick eyebrows furrowed into almost a single line. 

 What was Don supposed to say? Something doesn't feel right? His gut was screaming that something was wrong but he was unsure what exactly it was? He lacked any kind of proof. 

 He answered after a moment. "Captain, permission for some of your men to scout ahead." 

 The grizzled man stared at him. "Something you know, Don?"

 "No, sir, just a feeling. The road has been smooth up till now. Then there up ahead, it gets real bumpy. Just wondering if those are from erosion or some goddamn land mines." 

 "Mmm...good eye, son. Lieutenant Diggs, send some men to check it out!"

 Yells and commands filled the air before a squad creeped past the tanks, rifles up and eyes wary. 

 Don slid over, placing his hands on the .50-inch machine gun with a firm grip. Only now did some of his nerves settle. He always felt better when there was a weapon in his hand or nearby.

 "What's going on, Wardaddy?" Sounded over the comms from Binkowski. For once the man was not joking, the tension heavy in the air around them. 

 "Eyes and ears open, boys." He replied, still scanning the surrounding tree line. Hopefully this was just his paranoia. The familiar sound of Boyd's voice softly praying floated up from the inside of the tank. 

 For a split second he wondered if there was a firefight up ahead, what would Anna do? Was she expected to run in the mayhem like the medics or to stay back and work triage? His fingers gripped the machine gun a little tighter before he forced the thoughts away. Now was not the time to think about it. 

 The squad cautiously walked ahead of the company and tanks, moving close to thirty feet before one stopped and stared down at the bulge in the cobbled road. He quietly said something to one of his squad mates then tapped the bulge with the end of his rifle. 

 Only to be blown up in an explosion of dirt, stones and flames. Those nearby were thrown back violently from the shockwave of the explosion. One screamed as he laid on the ground, cradling his head. 

 Everything happened in an instant. The forest was still, not even the birds chirped or trees groaned to provide ambient noise. Then the explosion. In the next second, machine gun fire started, bullets flying through the air towards the column of Allied soldiers. Screams, commands and general mayhem ensued. 

 *****

 When the column stopped for whatever reason, Anna practically begged Joe to let her out to stretch her legs. For the past two days she had pretty much been confined to the supply truck, both in traveling and then sleeping at night. At this point she was ready to scream. Finally, Joe relented but stayed in the driver's seat while she bounded out of the truck with all the exuberance of a retriever puppy and wandered to the side of the road. The other medics walked up ahead with some of the men. For a moment she could pretend she was alone and not surrounded by smelly men. She stared out at the surrounding forest, thinking how beautiful it was. She was always biased towards forests though. They reminded her of home. Running amongst the trees, jumping small creeks, trekking mud into the house when she finally got back home, much to her mother's chagrin. The imagination of the innocent. 

 A loud boom and explosion startled her and she swung her head to face the front of the troop column. She had heard soldiers talk about land mines before. She had worked on plenty that had received terrible wounds or missing limbs from them. 

 Never before had she seen one in real life. 

 The power in it both amazed and terrified her. Before she could decide which emotion was stronger, the sounds of screams and gunfire ended the peaceful silence. She turned to run back to the truck, back to Joe, to find out what to do next. Having never been in a battle before, she had no idea what to do. Panic creeped up her limbs, threatening to drop her to the ground in terror and self-preservation, but she valiantly tried to ignore it. She could see Joe getting out of the truck, medic satchel hanging on him, ready to go. Locking eyes with her, he took two steps closer and opened his mouth. A loud boom drowned out the words he said, followed by the front of the truck bursting into flames. The force of the explosion threw her back, making her stumble to try and catch herself but ultimately fall flat onto her back. 

 The sounds around her suddenly sounded muffled, like thick cotton balls were in her ears. Her vision felt hazy and the sharp tang of iron filled her mouth. Groaning, but unable to hear the sound, she rolled onto her side and spit the blood out of her mouth, some dribbling down her chin. 

 She looked around her environment, unable to fully register what she was seeing. She wondered if this was one of Dante's circles of hell. The supply truck resembled an inferno, flames trying to touch the sky. Bodies lay on the ground already, unmoving. Others spread out, shooting into the forest surrounding them. 

 Slowly she sat up, hand on her head as the sounds around her began to register. Gunfire. Screams. Yelling. Chaos. A tree snapping and crashing to the ground. She glanced around only for her eyes to land on an unmoving form on the ground. Joe's eyes open but blank. Blood spilled out from underneath him. Smoke curled in the air just above his back. 

 Immediately, she began crawling over to him. 

 *****

Fucking ambush. Damn cocksuckers were lying in wait. All Don could figure was somehow word from the town they just left got to the Nazis. They were lucky though, there had not been any tigers or panthers. Only infantry, the worst being some bazookas. 

 "Boyd, you see that giant ass rock on our ten o'clock. Make sure there ain't nothing hiding back there."

 "On one!" The gunner yelled followed by a loud boom from their 75mm gun.  

 A short scream echoed in the forest after the shot. 

 Don surveyed around, hands still gripping the machine gun. The infantrymen were scattered around now that most of the fighting was done. They were checking to make sure the dead Krauts were really dead and there was not any still hiding in the forest. 

 "That's it?" Peterson asked over the comms. 

 "Don't jinx us." Davis retorted. 

 "Keep a sharp eye. There might still be some hiding. We'll wait for the Captain to call it." Don responded over the comms. Not even trying to be discreet, he turned around to look at the supply truck still ablaze at the end of the column. His stomach dropped at the sight. He had heard the shot, seen the fire consuming the vehicle. All he could hope was that by some miracle she was not in that truck. That she had escaped the flames. Or if she had not, at least death came for her quickly.

 "Fuck." He whispered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Then he pounded on the side of the tank. "Boyd, get up here and cover for me."

 "What's going on, Don?" Boyd asked, head popping up out of the gunner's hole. He pushed himself out to take Don's spot but froze, eyes transfixed to the back of the column. 

 "Stay here."

 "Don, no I need-"

 "Stay here." Don commanded, already seeing the way Boyd's eyes were glassy and his breathing was becoming erratic. He softened his tone when he spoke next. "I'm gonna go check. You don't… you don't want to see that."

 Boyd held his gaze for a long moment then nodded, swallowing thickly. He placed his hands on the machine gun but Don could see the tremble in them. 

 Don turned his comms off, ignoring the questioning looks from the other tank commanders as he stalked by without looking at them. His gaze remained at the back of the column. He was doing this for Boyd. At least that's what he kept telling himself. 

 With a single-minded purpose, he stormed down the road, closer and closer to what had once been the supply truck but was now a bonfire. His eyes systematically scanned the surrounding area, desperate to see auburn hair, deep blue eyes and slender frame in a dirty nurse's uniform. 

 Bodies lay scattered around, blood seeping out from various spots. As he walked closer, he noticed in particular one body near the flaming truck. Black hair, medic badge on his arm. It was the lead medic who looked out for Anna. Don recognized that he had been the one driving the truck the past two days. 

 "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He spun around in a circle. Nothing. There was no sign of her. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. For a brief moment he allowed the grief to touch him, a sharp ache filling his heart. Even though he had not known her long, somehow she had wormed her way into the circle of those he felt responsible for. Her presence was a blinding light amongst the darkness of war, a splash of color in a world of gray. And now, she was gone. She should have stayed at the field hospital. At least it was safer there. Damn that arrogant doctor. If Don ever crossed paths with him again, he would not hold back from punching that asshole in the face… and then letting Boyd have a turn at him. 

 Then the moment passed and he doused the grief till his heart was dead and cold once again. He needed to tell Boyd. Heading back towards the tanks, a different medic darted in front of him, running towards the nearby line of trees. His blue eyes followed without meaning to. The medic dropped onto his knees, wrapping his arm around the shoulder of a soldier sitting on the ground. A large bandage wrapped around his thigh. As the two stood up, Don noticed a third, much shorter person on the other side of the soldier, trying to help get him on his feet. Messy, red hair, gray nurse's uniform. 

 His heart began to beat wildly, the shaking of his hands he had not even noticed subsided. It felt like he could take a deep breath without pain shooting through his chest. 

 Don changed direction, feet eating up the ground beneath as he stormed over to them. As he got closer, he called out. "Anna!" 

 Her head whipped around to meet his gaze. A look of relief crossed her face as she quickly scanned him. His heart clenched. An unexpected warmth forced away the coldness lining his heart at her relieved look but he shoved that feeling aside. She made a comment to the medic, who slowly walked away with the wounded man, leaving her standing there. 

 "Don, are you alright? Is anyone hurt?" Her soft voice soothed the last of his worries for her. 

 "They're fine. I just…. I saw the truck get hit."

 She nodded once, eyes dropping to her hands as she wrung them tightly. "I, ah, I stepped away... just before to stretch my legs." 

 He grunted an affirmation, now finally taking the time to really look her over. There were fresh blood stains on her dress and hands, multiple small tears in the fabric. A large chunk of her hair's bun hung limply down her back like someone had yanked on it. "Are you injured?"

 She shook her head. "I'm…" her breath hitched for a moment but she continued. "I'm fine."

 Suddenly, a soldier not too far away collapsed, a hole right through his forehead. A second later another soldier collapsed followed by a gunshot ringing out. 

 "SNIPER!!" 

 Without thinking, Don grabbed the nurse and threw her roughly to the ground, covering her with his body in the next instant. He looked around, seeing the soldiers that had once been casually strolling around now trying to find cover somewhere. 

 "Don…"

 He glanced down at the whimper of his name. "It's going to be alright. Trust me, yeah?"

 "I trust you."

 That single statement slammed into him like getting hit by a semi-truck. The fear evident in her sapphire eyes but the firm line of her mouth, her pinched lips. Before he found himself gazing at her anymore, he tore his eyes away. If he was going to make sure she survived, he needed to be alert, not distracted by her overwhelming trust and beauty. He was damn well going to make sure she survived this. He could feel one of her hands gripping the front of his jacket. His body hovered over her, arms caging her to the ground beneath him that in any other situation would have been the stuff of dreams. He could feel her breath on his neck as he swiveled his head around repeatedly. Unable to stop himself, his eyes drifted back down to her face, only inches away from his. Their gazes locked and he swore in that moment he felt something within him shift. Those wide eyes held him with absolute trust and for the briefest of seconds it seemed they flickered down to his lips then back up to meet his own icy gaze. 

 It was then several loud booms shook the forest. He whipped his head up to see the tanks all lighting up a particular section of the forest, completely decimating it under their firepower. 

 Silence hung heavy over the forest as everyone waited to see if anyone could possibly survive that. 

 "ALL CLEAR!" 

 After a hesitation, Don jumped to his feet, noticing others around easing back out of their own hiding spots. He extended a hand downward, slightly surprised when Anna took it, and helped her to her feet. Her hand was so small compared to his. Soft compared to his rough calloused hand. The realization the two of them were just standing there, still holding hands almost knocked the breath out of him. Quickly he dropped her hand, eyes surveying around them before landing on her again. 

 "Come on, let's get to Fury. You'll wait there."

 "No. I can't." She said, voice shaky but filled with resolve. 

 "What?" The word came out as a harsh back unintentionally. For the life of him he could not fathom what she meant. Why couldn't she wait at Fury? For Christ's sake, it was far safer there than anywhere else currently. 

 "I have to do my job." 

 Her statement sunk into his mind and he had to refrain from a groan of annoyance. Of course, she would still want to help. Their stares met, both unyielding. Even though she only reached his mid chest and he could easily physically force her compliance, he found himself in awe of her quiet strength. Even through everything she just witnessed, she still wanted to do her job, to help others. It was an admirable trait but damn if he wished for a moment she was more selfish. 

 "Fuck." He ran a hand through his hair, looking around before staring back down at her unrelenting gaze. "Alright, but after you come find us. You hear? I don't care what the other medics say or anyone fucking else. You're traveling with my crew from now on. If anyone says otherwise, you send them to me. Got it?"

 "Yes, sir." 

 "Get to work." She started to walk past him but he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm. "Anna, be careful."

 A sweet smile warmed her face, something so outlandish in their current situation that it almost felt wrong to gaze at it but Don could not tear his eyes away. "You too." She whispered, reaching up to squeeze his hand on her arm. When he released her, she started walking back to the road without hesitation. 

 He watched her walk away, her pace quickening when she noticed a soldier carefully guiding his friend back towards the road. 

 "Fuck." He muttered to himself. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hurried back towards Fury. 

 *****

 Her feet only propelled her forward through sheer willpower alone. Night had fallen over the company and everyone was bedding down to wait for dawn. The medic satchel bounced against her hip. Each time she moved and felt it jostle, a sharp stab of pain reminded her that the satchel was not hers. She had taken it off Joe's still warm body. With the truck and all its supplies destroyed, they had to make due with what was in the satchels. Twenty-two dead. Another eighteen wounded. A couple of them she was unsure if they would survive the night due to their lack of medicinal supplies. 

 She approached the four tanks still parked on the road. 

 "Nurse Cooper!" 

 She turned to her left at the call, surprised to see Don standing near a small fire with a few others. Her tired feet stilled as he approached, cigarette hanging between his lips. A small flutter of butterflies danced in her stomach as he walked towards her. If she was not so tired and numb, those same butterflies would be threatening to explode out of her. 

 Even through treating the wounded and helping the other medics, her mind continuously slipped back to during the attack when Don protected her. As he practically laid on top of her, she found herself staring at him, eyes tracing the scars on his face, the shape of his lips, the vivid blue of his eyes. However much she had tried to suppress the feelings, here and now, she did not even try to deny it. She was attracted to him. Far more than she had been with any other man before. It was more than that though. With him, she felt safe. Protected. 

 He stopped just in front of her, his eyes scanned her before he spoke. "What happened to your dress?"

 She glanced down at her ruined uniform, the hem of her dress now a ragged, ugly cut at her knees. "We ran out of bandages. My uniform was the only viable, clean option."

 "Mmm." After a moment, he slipped his leather jacket off and dropped it over her shoulders. "Boyd and the others are just on the other side of Fury. Go sit with them. Make sure Norman gets you a blanket."

 Soon as the weight and warmth of his jacket enveloped her, she could not help but burrow into it. She had not realized how the cold clung to her until there was something to combat it. "Thank you." She murmured, staring up at him. 

 He nodded, looking over her once more then started back towards the other men as she headed towards the lead tank. A few of the men stared at her as she walked past but she was too exhausted to care. Perhaps they could see the exhaustion she carried like a blanket over her shoulders or Don's jacket was enough to deter them from calling out to her. Either way, she was grateful. When she came around the side of the tank, she could see the four other crew members relaxing near its drive wheel, both Grady and Boyd actually leaning against it. 

 When they noticed her, Boyd jumped to his feet. "Anna!" He immediately came to her side and pulled her into a quick, tight hug. She reciprocated, placing her head on his chest as she took several deep breaths. After a long moment, he released her but only enough to sling an arm over her shoulder. "You alright?"

 She nodded. Even though she felt the furthest thing from alright. 

 It must have shown on her face because Boyd gave her another quick side hug then softly said, "Come on then. Let's sit down."

 Silently, she followed him over to the drive wheel, taking a seat next to him, tugging Don's jacket tighter around her. The night's air now seeped through her mental fog to remind her of how cold she actually was. 

 "What happened to your dress?" 

 Her head jerked up, surprised by Gordo's question. He sat across from her, head tilted to the side as if trying to puzzle out what happened. "Ah, we ran out of bandages." She had not realized how much of her legs showed until she sat down. She tried to tuck her legs under her but there was only so much fabric left. 

 "Norm, there's an extra blanket next to my seat." Gordo said, looking over at the youngest crew member. 

 Norman immediately jumped up, scurrying away without another word. They sat in silence for several seconds before Grady spoke up this time.  

 "This your first fight?"

 She startled at his gravelly voice, meeting his eyes hesitantly for a second before staring at her lap and nodding. 

 "Shit."

 "You need to eat somethin'." Boyd whispered to her. 

 "I'm fine."

 "Anna…"

 "It's fine. I'm just… I'm just tired."

 Norman came back with an army issue, coarse blanket. She thanked him softly and tucked it around her legs. Between Don's jacket and the blanket, the night's chill was tolerable. All the events of the day, all the pain and death she had witnessed, seemed to suddenly coalesce and hang off her like chains threatening to forever weigh her down. Too tired physically and emotionally to care, she scooted closer to Boyd and laid her head on his shoulder. 

 "He's dead." She whispered to herself, only to reaffirm the truth even as her mind fought desperately to deny it. She had touched his body, seen the light no longer in his eyes, his blood staining the ground beneath him. Yet a childish side of her hoped it was all a fever dream. 

 Boyd looked down at her. "Huh? You say somethin'?"

 "He's dead." Her cheeks felt wet and she wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks, surprised to realize she was silently crying. Her breath hitched as she remembered. For the rest of her days, she doubted she would ever be able to forget. "Joe… the lead medic… when the truck got hit… if I hadn't gotten out to stretch my legs…"

 "S'right. His number came up, that's all. Nothin' you can do about it." Boyd wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "Try and get some sleep."

 She tucked her face into the leather jacket, wrapping her arms around herself. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks as she closed her eyes. All she wanted to do was hide from the pain and death, even just for a little while. Just pretend that the dried blood on her hands was red paint. As if sensing her emotions, Boyd pulled her tighter against him, silently offering his support. Greedily, she accepted. 

 This was her job. This was war. But sometimes, it was just too much. 

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

a/n: we are FINALLY meeting Easy next chapter! stay tuned! 

[the-twi-light-zone]

The Sun and The Moon Chapter 4

Anger flares through Anna, chest exploding with pain and anguish at the sound of Bella’s voice. Though Bella is not the reason for her anger, their mother has now called Bella every night to gossip, exchange I miss you’s, and worst of all I love you. Not once has her mother even tried to reach out to her. Thoughts sprint through her head about why, why was she not good enough? Why was she always the odd one out? Why didn’t the people who created her love her as much as her twin?

Sadness seeps into her, a darkness spreading across her features and causing her to feel helpless. Annabelle looks out of her window, seeing her reflection in the glass the stream of tears that rain down on her shirt. Cheeks red with heat, her body begins to feel numb, numb with an underlying bitter tone. Riffling through her closet she throws on warmer clothes sweats, sweatshirt, scarf, gloves, hat, carhartt, and her boots. 

Throwing her wallet in her pocket, she collects her keys and begins her trek out of the house. Charlie sitting on the sofa watching the television, and as she stomps her way downstairs he doesn’t even bother to look. A fresh wave of tears seep out of her eyes, she slams the front door closed and runs her way to the woods surrounding the back of her house. Anna stumbles through the dark out farther and farther from any and all light.

The moon barely lighting the way through the thick foliage, her feet slip slightly in the fresh mud. Her fast breathing turn to hiccupping sobs, ugly wails leave her lips and turn to fast fading fog around her. Anna cries her heart out not understanding why she’s alone, why her sister receives all of the love from everyone around them. Her sadness again turns to anger a scalding rage burns in her, tingles run through her arms and into her palms. 

She eventually makes her way across a river shoes slipping and causing her fall forward. Her hands catch her, scrapes across her hands start to ooze blood pooling in her palms. She quiets her cries, opting to use her now ruined gloves to help put pressure on her palms. Anna stands slowly shins and knees damp from hitting the wet and muddy edge of the river. Continuing on Anna’s emotions have heightened, causing her to let out a howl of rage. Her anger searing in her body, blood boiling and finally she screams so loud and as she drops to her knees it stops.

Her energy drained, she slumps into her knees, sobs building up again her cries forming a red haze that she doesn’t see with her eyes squeezed shut. She suddenly opens them when she hears a cracking, trees around her scorched alongside the grass. forming a circle on the ground around her. A few trees around her collapse with a shaking thud scaring her back onto her feet. Hands shaking she looks down at them only to find light scars in place of the gashed up skin. 

Anna turns slowly and stumbles into the ground, trying to stand again black spots dance in her vision. A haze forms over her, head tilting as she falls onto her side, the energy that she expelled when it surged out of her drained her. Leaving little to no way for her to make her way home this evening. Eye’s fluttering she see’s yellow eyes watch her carefully. Slowly blinking she sees a man next, again her eyes close and open to see him kneeling down next to her. Swaying, her body is finally set on a soft surface warm air seeps into her cold bones as her vision again goes black.

____________________________________

Eyes opening and adjusting to the bright light that fills her room, Anna sits up slowly her head pounding like she had a hangover like never before. Groaning she can’t remember much of last night after the man had knelt next to her. Somehow she had made it home safe and sound, although she was still wearing her clothes from the night. Shaking her head she got ready for school prepared to go through her first five periods and be able to go home to complete her online AP classes. 

Nothing exiting happened at school, she wasn’t noticed like always. Which made it easier for her to disappear after lunch to go home to complete the rest of her schooling. Pulling her laptop off of her desk she grabs her charger and school supplies, heading back out of the door and to her truck. Pulling off only to drive in a haze towards the Black’s residence. Hoping out she shuts the door and makes her way into the home enjoying the warmth that flows into her chilled bones on the rainy day. 

“Ahh I thought you would show up earlier than the other heathens.” Billy’s voice rings out from the kitchen where he wheels over to Anna extending a small bowl in her direction. “Yeah I get off after lunch for my AP classes, so I figured it would be best to miss the heavy traffic from the schools getting out.” Anna replies taking the offered bowl to find half an apple sliced with some cubes of cheese and what looks to be some turkey jerky. Smiling she thanks Billy and gives him a hug. He reciprocates and tells her that she is welcome to go set up in Jacob’s room. Nodding Anna makes her way in and sets up, grabbing her bowl she lays against Jacob’s pillows.

Munching on the nice after school snack she sighs and opens her laptop and begins to solve problems for all of the college courses she has. A couple hours go by with her finishing up homework for two of the three, the third being nearly done to where she can then work ahead and complete assignments for the next few days. Laughter breaks her train of thought as three rambunctious boys enter the bedroom joking and snaking on the same she had earlier.

“Hey Anna! How’d your first day go?” Quil asks throwing himself on the bed next to Anna. Tilting her head back she groans, “I’m ready for it to be over already!” Anna says looking back at the boys, seeing them nodding in agreement. “Well we don’t have much longer if you think about it, prom is what six weeks away?” Jacob says pulling out textbooks and folders at the end of his bed.

Nodding her head she mutters an agreement, “are you going to prom Anna?” Emery asks his eyebrows raised as he looks at Quil for a fleeting moment. Anna’s face is blank as she looks at Embry, “why, did you get rejected by Quil’s cousin again.” Embry’s smirk disappears while the other three burst out laughing at his expense. Embry eventually joining in giving Anna a fist bump.

As the afternoon passes into the evening the four teens eat dinner together after completing the grueling task of homework. “Alright kids it is a school night, so let’s finish up soon and start headed home.” Billy breaks in wheeling his chair into the living room to do who knows what. Sighing the teens getting out of their seats after seeing the time is 9p.m.

The teens all exit the house with the promise of seeing them tomorrow at Quil’s house. Hugging them goodbye, Anna is slow to make her way home. Not welcoming the feeling a dread that sits in her chest and sieges her stomach down. “My god is an iron.” Escapes past her lips as her truck slowly disappears into the crisp night.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

[set-phasers-to-whump]

insomnia

prompt: insomnia

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi!!! i hope that u like this fic :) it’s set after eddie begins and deals a little w the events of that. (also if u look for this on ao3 it has a different title but im gonna keep everything on here titled with the prompt for consistency lol)

In the wake of it, Eddie hasn’t been able to sleep. He’s tried and tried, but the second he falls asleep he’s back underground choking on mud and fighting for his life and that on its own is more exhausting than simply not sleeping, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t sleep if he can help it, and he feels like shit because of it, but it’s better than the nightmares, it’s better than dying every night.

He hasn’t slept more than an hour in days. Weeks, maybe. He’s been doing his best to appear normal, but it’s exhausting. He’s tried to hide it in front of Chris, especially, not wanting him to worry about it, but he can tell the façade is slipping. He catches Chris looking quizzically at him when he jerks himself awake from half-falling asleep on the couch, when he sits and watches Chris and Buck play in the park rather than joining in. He’s slipping. 

Pretty soon Buck is going to start noticing it, too, with as much time as they spend together. Then the team will notice. He imagines there will be an uncomfortable combination of irritation and pity thrown his way when it happens. So he does his best to avoid it, acting as normal as he possibly can.

Today, it’s harder. He’d dropped Chris off at school and had nearly gotten into an accident on the way to work - he’d yawned, closing his eyes, and had almost slammed into the back of the truck in front of him. So he wasn’t in the best mood to begin with. 

Then, everyone at the station was getting on his nerves. He knew they weren’t doing it on purpose, but every spoon dropped in the kitchen, every shout of laughter from people playing videogames, every squeak of a shoe on the floor, made him feel like punching something. But he was too tired to work out, so he kept the irritation inside of him. 

“Hey, Eds, you want a turn?” Buck calls to him from across the room. He’s sitting in front of the TV with Chim, who is doing a victory dance as the screen proclaims him the winner. “Fair warning, Chim cheats.”

“I do not!”

He shakes his head.

Evidently, Buck doesn’t see. “Eddie? You wanna play?”

“I said no,” he snaps, wincing when Buck’s face falls. He might go over to apologize, but just then the alarm rings, far too loudly for his liking. 

He trudges down the stairs, too tired to completely pick up his feet, and slumps into his seat in the truck. He catches Buck giving him a look from his spot in the driver’s seat, but then he turns around to pull the truck out of the station, leaving Eddie to stare out the window and ignore everything else going on around him. 

When they arrive at the scene, Eddie’s the last out of the truck. As the team makes its way towards their victim (a man with his entire arm stuck inside a vending machine), Buck bumps Eddie’s shoulder in a way Eddie knows is meant to be friendly. He flinches away anyway. 

“What’s up?” he asks, and he sounds so genuinely concerned for Eddie’s wellbeing that Eddie half wants to punch him. “You’re acting weird.”

He shrugs, stepping away from Buck, kneeling down next to the victim. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” he says, which isn’t exactly a lie. 

They manage to get the guy out after a few minutes of careful maneuvering, and he emerges relatively unscathed, hand wrapped around the candy bar he’d been in the middle of grabbing. He thanks them for their assistance and asks whether the vending machine will be okay, and then ambles off, unwrapping his candy. 

The team heads back to their vehicles, Bobby and Buck leading the pack, Buck talking animatedly about something, gesturing with his hands. Chim and Hen walk behind them, and Eddie hears Hen laugh, sees Chimney shake his head at something. He himself walks behind the group, forcing his feet to keep moving. His head pounds - he’s had a headache all week, but in the last half-hour it’s intensified, and every time he moves it feels like something is being slammed into his skull. He briefly considers sitting down right there, in the middle of a parking lot, just to catch his breath. He decides against this because he is genuinely worried that he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

“Eddie,” he hears Bobby call, and he looks up to see that everyone else is back in their spots in the truck and ambulance, save for him. 

“Coming,” he says, though it sounds so quiet to his own ears that there’s no way that Bobby had heard him. 

He takes a step - and then he’s falling. He feels his palms scrape against asphalt, feels his cheek press into the rough surface. He thinks about standing up, but that’s all the action he’s able to take on the matter.

He hears footsteps run up to him. Someone rolls him over so he’s on his back. Hands press to his neck, checking his pulse. His eyes are opened, and a light shines into them. He flinches away from it, turning his head. 

“Eddie? You awake?”

“Always,” he slurs out, moving to push himself up. A hand rests on his arm, pushes him down. 

“Hold on there,” Hen says. “You just collapsed. You’re not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Your breathing’s a little shallow, but otherwise your vitals are normal,” Chim says. “Nothing that would have caused you to collapse.”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Let me get up.”

A hand is placed on his shoulder - Buck’s hand. “He said he didn’t sleep too good last night,” Buck offers, as Chim dabs his hands with something that makes them sting. 

“One night of bad sleep wouldn’t do this,” Hen says, as Chimney moves on to bandaging his hands. 

“Eddie,” says Bobby, “when was the last time you slept?”

He doesn’t know. He shrugs. 

“Eddie,” Hen’s voice leaves no room for argument. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Chim asks, putting a hand to his forehead.

“‘M not sick.”

“Well, something’s the matter,” Buck says. “You’ve been off all day - actually, all week. Quiet. Kinda snappy.”

“What’s going on?” asks Bobby. 

“I can’t -” He can’t do this here, can’t admit that he’s terrified to sleep, in a way he hasn’t been since he first returned from Afghanistan. He can’t be weak. Not like this.

Nobody says anything for a long minute. Eddie’s eyes are closed, but he imagines his teammates exchanging glances over his body. 

After a bit, he feels Bobby gently grab his freshly-bandaged hand, and then he’s being pulled to his feet. Bobby all but carries him to the truck, and Eddie breathes a mental sigh of relief to feel the leather seat underneath him, instead of the gurney in the back of the ambulance, which he’d feared they’d force him into. 

Someone reaches across him and buckles his seatbelt, and he leans his head back against the seat as the truck starts moving.

When they arrive back at the station, Eddie fumbles with his seatbelt and manages to get it off, then forces himself to his feet, where he wavers for a second before carefully stepping out of the truck. 

Immediately, Hen is next to him, letting him grab onto her arm when he stumbles. “Easy there,” she tells him, and carefully leads him upstairs, Chim walking very closely behind them like he thinks Eddie’s going to fall backwards at any minute.

Once they are safely upstairs, Hen guides Eddie to the couch and eases him down. She leaves, and a second later she’s pressing a cool bottle of water into his hands. He looks at it. Chim takes it from his hands and opens it, handing it back. “Drink it,” he says sternly, in a voice Eddie just knows he’s gonna get a lot of mileage out of when his new kid comes. 

He drinks some of the water with shaking hands. If Chim and Hen notice this, they don’t say anything, a fact he’s grateful for. Hen takes the bottle from him when he’s finished, and Chim pats him on the leg, and then they both get up as someone else approaches. He very slowly turns his head to look. 

Buck stands at the end of the couch, smiling softly at him, not a trace of irritation or pity on his face. He walks over to Eddie, extending a hand. Eddie grabs it, letting Buck pull him to his feet and slip an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s get you some sleep, okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t, no matter how much his body might want to. 

“Okay,” Buck says, not arguing. “You don’t have to sleep. But you are going to lay down.”

Eddie agrees to that, and they enter the bunkroom, which is empty, seeing as how it’s the middle of the day. Buck pulls Eddie along to his usual bed and gently guides him down. 

Without a word, Buck takes off Eddie’s shoes, and then his own. Eddie stretches out along the bed, turning his body to face the wall. He feels Buck sit down beside him, feels the bed move as Buck gets himself comfortable. Neither of them says anything. Eddie tries desperately to keep his eyes open. 

“You can sleep, Eddie,” Buck says quietly. 

“I can’t,” Eddie whispers. “I’m afraid.”

The admission slips from him a good deal easier than he’d thought it would. “I’m afraid,” he repeats. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m back underground…” he trails off, not wanting to elaborate. “I can’t, Buck. What kind of coward can’t even fall asleep?” he asks, half to himself. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, sounding stern for the first time all day. “Eddie,” he repeats, putting a hand to his back. “You are the furthest thing from a coward. You went through something traumatizing, and your brain knows that. It keeps reminding you every time you fall asleep. But your body doesn’t know that. It just knows it’s exhausted. You have to sleep.”

“But-”

Buck doesn’t let him protest. “And I know that’s scary, and I know there’s not a lot I can do to help, but I can say this. When I said I had your back, I meant it. I am always gonna be here for you, Eds, whether that means working together on a call or this right here. Anything. I promise I won’t leave you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, letting his eyes close at last. 

“That’s it,” says Buck, and Eddie feels his hand brush through his hair, a repetitive, calming motion. “Let yourself sleep.”

It’s not a magic fix by any means, but when the alarm rings three hours later, Eddie wakes up from a nightmare-less sleep feeling a good deal more alive, with Buck still pressed to his back, just as he’d promised.

[wtfdavidsvlogs]

Can I just get one big vlog squad imagine where reader is having a rough day and the squad makes them feel better maybe a party imagine or something similar

Sure girl hear ya are

Cause you had a bad day (V.S)

Warnings: pov being yelled at, drinking, swearing, angst, fluff

“It’s already 6:30, and you had all day to make these look amazing. These spreadsheets look like shit. You’re lazy, worthless, and obviously incompetent. Get your shit together and come back when you get your head out of your ass!” His words stung and made me feel like shit. I had been spending almost two weeks of two to three hour over time working on them. I was expecting a good result. Obviously, like always, my hopes are destroyed. He points at the door gesturing for me to leave.

“I’m sorry, sir.” I stood up to leave as tears finally fell from my eyes.

“Y/N,” He said gaining my attention again. I turn and quickly wiped the tears from my face.

“Yes sir?” I said with a quiet voice.

“You can actually just go home early today, and bring your things with you. We won’t be needing you here anymore.” He said without blinking. My mouth falls open and I let out a sob. I turn and leave his office quickly. I cover my mouth as I quickly speed walk to my desk to quickly get my things. People were already staring at me like I was insane. I tried to keep my eyes on what I was doing. It was hard when you could hear them talking about me five feet away from me as if I couldn’t hear them. I stood up infuriation the only emotion in mind.

“Cassandra, you have no fucking right to be talking about me when we all know that you don’t mind putting out for Hammond. Nick, you best keep your mouth shut before I whip my fucking phone at your thick head, you fake judgmental prick. And Angela, do you want to leave so that you’ll be spared or would you rather I bake your life, as well?” I stood there as all of their faces were etched with disgust and disbelief. I turn back around and grab the box I had with me full of my things. They all silently go back to work and I walk out of the office. I adjust my shirt and press the elevator button. I rotate my shoulder in order to raise the loosened, pesky strap. I groan with more frustration. I finally step into the elevator and press 1. The doors suddenly start to close slowly. I was carried down and put on the first floor. I exited the building and I was on the streets of downtown LA at night. Without any warning a semi truck comes down the streets and runs over the curb filled with the previous days rain water. I, thank God, was slashed head to toe in the filthy water. I gasp at the temperature. I was in shock that my day had already gone this badly. I went to sit on the bench as I felt more tears prick my eyes, this time more so from embarrassment. I take out my phone from my purse but to no avail, it was dead and there was not a single charger in sight. I hadn’t memorized any of their numbers so I couldn’t call them even if I did have access to a phone. So I just start walking. The drive was about fifteen minutes so I should be home in like two and a half maybe three hours tops.

I had been walking for about ten minutes until I saw a rambunctious little French Bulldog. I smiled at it and he started barking and getting all up in my business. It’s owner was desperately trying to get a hold of him. The french i’ve grabbed a hold of the fringes of my jeans and started ripping and running. My pant leg shortly was being torn up the side stopping at about my mid thigh. It’s owner finally caught him and deeply apologized. I looked down and about two feet up my leg was this giant strip of my pants gone. I sigh and look at the sky. I blinked as I suddenly felt a droplet of water hit my forehead.

“You are absolutely fucking joking. There is no way it’s raining right now. It started down pouring the very next second. My jaw falls open. It could not get worse than this I thought to myself. I kept trudging. No matter what, I just wanted to see my friends. The rain never let up, it rained for hours. All of my things slowly were being covered in water. It felt like I was going to just keep walking forever. It felt almost therapeutic. I could just gaze off and I didn’t have to focus on the pain I was feeling in my feet already. At this point I was just over half way finished with the trek I was on. I was crossing by a local park when I slipped on the smooth part of the side walk and my knees were the first thing to get impact. Bruised and bleeding I stood up and winced. I walked it off and kept going. The pain throbbing through out my knee like a fire in the dry wilderness. I only had about 45 minutes left of my journey. This is finally the home stretch, I thought. Of course, as it has been proven, I jinxed it. I finally started getting more towards the hills. With living in the hills however, when it rains, mud is your best friend. Mud will be anywhere that you don’t want it exactly when you don’t need it to be there. Like right now. My shoe slipped outward from under me and I fell into grass. Or what I thought was grass. I stood up and viewed what I was laying in. How about a 6 foot wide hole of straight wet nearly black mud? Oh yeah, I’d love to have that cascading down my back. I let out a yell of frustration. Yet, I kept walking. I was only about a half a mile away at this point. I was slow. My feet were dragging my eyes were heavy from crying and my face was droopy. My hair and clothes were just dripping. My knees were about to give let alone my poor destroyed feet in these overly expensive flats. I had finally reached David’s gate. I put in the code to open it and I immediately closed it. I trudge up to the door and rest my head on it as I knocked on the glass. I suddenly see Natalie stand up and walk towards the door. She looks up and see me standing there looking the way I do. She lets out a scream until she finally sees who I am. She quickly opens the door. I feel the warmth of an actual home again. I could finally discard these horrendous shoes. The rest of them had also stood up and were just staring at me. Without saying a word, I set my destroyed little box on the ground. I walk over to the kitchen to grab a red bull. I close the fridge as I cracked it open and took a couple of sips. I look back at all of them.

“Wanna tell us what the fuck happened to you, doll?” Jeff said before anybody.

“I was fired from my job. I screamed at three of my coworkers in front of 75+ people. I was hit with runoff water by a semi. I had to walk three hours to get back here cause I had no phone. I had my pants ripped by the cutest dog I’ve ever fucking seen. Then it started raining, more like down pouring nonstop. I scraped and bruised both of my knees. I fell into a huge thing of mud. My shoes are fucked. I’m sore, I’m upset and all I wanna do is shower and hang out with you guys for the night if that’s okay.” I said tears threatening to spill for the sixtieth time. My eyes were hurting at this point.

“Why didn’t you call one of us? We would have gotten you.” Zane said.

“Phone was dead and I didn’t have a charger or money to buy one.” I replied. “I just want to have a good night with you guys tonight is that okay? It’s literally all I have wanted since I left today.” They all nodded and I walked to the main bathroom. I finally turned on the hot water and discarded my clothes. The sopping wet dirty clothes that had been clinging to my skin making me freezing for hours. I stepped into the stream of hot water and sighed as relief overcame my body. The dirt running off of me, my body feeling warm. I spent 20 minutes in there.

“Nat, do you mind if I borrow some clothes I have nothing with me right now.” I yelled not fully opening the door and exposing myself. She came back five minutes later with a crop top and sweats. I threw my hair up and finally stepped out of the bathroom. Everyone there smiling at me. Zane and David moves so that I’d have a spot on the couch.

“Thank you.” I said quietly sitting down. I laid my head back and sighed at the relief from my feet finally not being in use.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Y/N. Why were you fired?” Jason asked.

“It seems like it was about these spreadsheet I was supposed to finish and have organized correctly but like always something was off. You know what, Hammond is a God Damn bully! After everything I have done for him and to protect his company from tanking, I should be the fucking CEO at this point! That motherfucker spends 20% of the company’s monthly earnings on drugs, alcohol, and strippers for his monthly ‘conference calls’ with other heads of the different branches. All of them are rich, scummy, lazy, entitled pieces of human fucking waste! The spreadsheets that I had spent my personal work time and nearly 15 hours of my overtime all for him to scream in my face that I’m lazy, worthless, and incompetent and then firing me. I am one of the best employees he has had in 20 years. I was being worked like a dog for days and weeks on end. All while being completely alone in the office due to the judgmental assholes that would eat shit straight out of Hammonds ass if it meant they kept their job.” I yelled about everything. Every part of working in that hell hole of a job. All of them shaking their head listening to the crude and annoying behavior of my old boss.

“I just don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do now, you know. I have to make house and car payments in a couple days and my last check will not even remotely be enough to cover it.” I said rubbing my head.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that part of things. I got you covered.” David said to me.

“David. No. I can’t take money from you.” I said not wanting to have to ultimately need to pay him back at some point.

“Y/N. You are our friend, I will take care of you for however long you need until you can start working again. No question.” David said holding my shoulders and looking me directly in the eye. I closed my eyes, reluctantly accepting his offer. “Perfect now that that is settled. I want to drink and Y/N I know for a fact you do too after your day honey.” Todd said with Zane backing him up. A smile comes to my face.

“Fuck yes.”

[litwitlady]

When You Go, Take Me With You

On a warm July morning, Thomas Mann – not his real name, mind you – finds himself hauling ass down 285, praying that the airstream doesn’t come unhitched. Tommy has spent the last 11 months in Santa Fe grifting seniors in assisted living facilities out of their hard-earned nest eggs. But someone’s greedy little grandson finally noticed his grandmother’s savings dwindling away and called the authorities. He’s been riding hard all night and can’t remember the last time he ate. But he’s got a rap sheet three pages long and knows if he gets caught, he’ll never see the light of day again.

Eventually, his stomach wears him down, though, and he stops in Roswell at a kitschy little diner he hopes he can disappear into long enough to satisfy his basic needs. Halfway through his cheese fries, three sheriff’s deputies walk in and as they are chatting with the waitress at the counter, Tommy sneaks out and takes the scenic route back towards his pickup. He can’t really say he’s much surprised to find the actual Sheriff knocking on the airstream’s door. Knowing he’s lost this battle, he decides to cut his losses and run. The old Ford pickup is eventually auctioned off, but the airstream ends up in the impound lot collecting dust for the next year.

And then one day Michael Guerin accidentally illegally parks his truck on the Long farm where he promptly passes out drunk across the bench seat. Daddy Long calls the Sheriff and Michael’s arrested. Again. Max bails him out and drives him over to the Chavez County impound lot to collect his truck. And that’s where Michael Guerin falls in love for the second time in his life. The shiny, silver airstream gleams in the morning sunlight and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. Not in a long while, anyway. He convinces Max to bargain with the county in order to buy the airstream for him. Michael knows they will laugh him out of the precinct, but Max is one of their own. He parts ways with every single penny he’s ever made, but he’s rewarded with the first permanent roof he’s ever had.

Not that Michael expects the trailer to be a permanent thing. After all, no home has ever been forever. Most haven’t lasted longer than a year or so. Besides his truck, of course. The mere idea that the airstream is mobile proves the impermanence of the situation. He can flit from place to ungodly place without settling down with any actual intent. There’s beauty in the nomadic nature of it all. Mostly, he doesn’t have to worry about being rained on any longer or crashing on Isobel’s sofa or cuddling up with Sanders’ dog. So, he’s happy. Content. Proud, even.

The trailer is cramped. The engine is shit. And the toilet is literally two feet from where he lays his head at night. How he convinces any of his hookups to climb into that tiny bed with him is anyone’s guess. There’s been more than one conquest sent home with multiple bruises. Once he burns a piece of toast so badly that he can’t sleep inside for a week. There’s no storage, the floor is lopsided, and Isobel refuses to step inside for two whole years. But hey, nothing’s perfect.

After a year together, Michael and the airstream find a balance that works for them. He covers the windows with old newspaper, adapts to being very, very tidy, and sleeps outside when the claustrophobia sets in. He even fashions a front patio out of some old oak pallets he finds in the junkyard. In return, the trailer gives him privacy, a sense of autonomy, and a place to bring Alex Manes when he returns from his first tour overseas. And every tour after that.

Not that he was looking to bring Alex back to his place, of course. He hadn’t even known Alex was back. And then suddenly, there he is. Laughing with Arturo in the Crashdown. Michael hardly recognizes him with the regulation haircut and newly lean body. He tells himself to walk away, but the universe has other ideas. Alex spots him and his whole face lights up. No one has ever looked at Michael like that and he’s lost all over again.

Over the next decade, the airstream begins to collect memories. Isobel blowing the door open and taking her first steps inside to shout at him that she’s engaged. Max showing up at 3 am like clockwork every year on Liz Ortecho’s birthday because he’s smashed and doesn’t want to hear Iz’s lectures. The Sheriff’s random visits for one reason or another; he suspects she’s spying on him. The brief time he lets an old, senior dog share his space. There’s still dog hair in the many nooks and crannies.

And then there’s Alex.

He’s everywhere - in every corner, every empty inch of space – filling up the entire trailer. Sprawled naked across the narrow bed, one long, gorgeous leg hanging off the side. Standing over the small stove laughing as Michael teaches him how to make the perfect omelet. Two old Air Force t-shirts stashed deep in his closet that Michael will swear up and down he doesn’t know exist. The silly little cartoon of a cowboy he’s scribbled on every single yellowed newspaper taped to the windows. And the one solitary heart drawn in permanent ink right above Michael’s pillow. He’ll never admit how many times he’s traced that doodle and prayed that Alex’s heart is still beating.

Not every memory is happy, however. He and Alex have always fought as hard as they’ve loved. How many times Alex has stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoing off the trailer’s tinny walls, door hinges growing whinier as the years go by. Tears shed in anger and in desperate sadness every time the Air Force calls him back to some violent conflict a world away. Damn near feral sex fucked out through those same tears. The sun rising over two beaten, broken hearts the next morning. Another goodbye. Another lonely year stretching out into the desert wasteland. And suddenly the airstream feels suffocating and enduring. Set in stone and unmovable as Alex walks away one more time.

In the in-between times, Michael nurses his bruised heart out on Foster’s Ranch, punishing his body with grueling manual labor. He settles the trailer into an anonymous patch of dust and scrub brush. He begins to collect various trailer accoutrement. First, a rusted, used patio set he grabs off someone’s teetering trash pile. Next, a ‘free parking’ sign he finds abandoned on the side of Route 60. On Alex’s next leave, he’ll mark out the ‘free’ and write ‘no’ in its place. Michael will try hard not to overthink the implication. Isobel says he’s nesting, jokes that he should hang up a cross-stitched ‘Home Sweet Home’. Michael begins to panic.

At the end of ten years, he gives up. The airstream is home. There’s no point in denying the most basic fact of his existence any longer. The impermanent is now permanent. He flicks off the tin bucket and then lovingly wipes away some mud caked on the tire well. Love/hate, defined.

He returns to the trailer after another stint in the drunk tank (a home away from home, if you will) to find a uniformed Alex Manes knocking on his door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised to find him there – Isobel, after all, had been the one to organize his hero’s parade down Main Street. But it’s been two years with no contact – the longest they’ve ever gone – and so when Alex turns to meet his eyes, the breath is knocked right out of him. So begins another cycle of fight or flight. The airstream will play centerstage. He can almost hear the aging trailer sigh.

But this time the cycle ends differently. Michael moves the airstream into the Wild Pony’s parking lot, shocking everyone. Ostensibly to keep Maria DeLuca safe. But really just to be near her energy, her spirit, her laughter. He hopes to love her. He wants to be good for someone, goddammit. But deep down he’s worried he never will be. That he’s about as solid and steady as his home on wheels. Good enough for a little while, but never long enough to last. Always ready to roll off a cliff with the slightest push.  

He hates when he’s right.

Maria breaks up with him in a hospital room. The next night he meticulously searches the airstream for anything she might have left behind. A shoe, a bra, some lipstick. But there’s nothing and he feels like the trailer is out to get him, shoving those two old Air Force t-shirts in his face. The tiny, scribbled cowboys serenading him with derisive laughter. The black heart mocking him. And Michael can’t take it anymore. He slams the airstream’s door shut, nearly knocking it off its stupid creaky hinges and calls Isobel, all but demanding she meet him at the Pony. He needs a drink. Maybe several. And a shoulder to brood on. Perhaps he should call Max instead.

Michael doesn’t expect open mic night. He doesn’t expect Alex Manes and his dumb angel voice. He doesn’t expect to be confronted with the one answer he’s always wanted. But home is a tricky business. Especially for an alien stranded in the foster care system on the wrong planet. As Alex sings his song – asking Michael to come home – everything becomes crystal clear. And Michael tries to telepathically tell the airstream to go fuck itself. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Because here’s the thing. Home can be a person.

The answer has always been that easy and that impossible. And the airstream has always known. Watching all these years as the two of them danced around each other. The ultimate grift. The longest con job this side of the Milky Way. Michael Guerin has been played, marked, and left wanting. His genius brain duped and cheated. The airstream has never been more than a shit engine and lopsided floors.

After Michael leaves the Pony that night, he moves in with Isobel. And he goes to work. On himself – AA meetings, college classes, mending all his relationships with Max, with Maria. With Alex. And on the airstream – gutting the inside and converting the space into an admittedly revolutionary eco-friendly garden greenhouse.

Once the project is finished, he attaches the toe hitch to his Chevy and heads east until he pulls into the Chavez County Children’s Home. The director meets him outside and shakes his hand with tears in her eyes. Michael walks her and several of the children through the garden, excitedly explaining all the vegetables and flowers he’s planted. Isobel arrives to take pictures for the local paper and secretly shed several of her own tears. She watches Michael happily playing with all the kids and teaching them the wonders of composting. Soon, he gives her a kiss on the cheek and climbs back into his truck. He’s got one final stop to make.

As he drives through the center of Roswell, something swells in Michael’s chest. He knows this place so well – has been arrested on nearly every corner. The Crashdown has always welcomed him with a warm meal and silly antennae. New Roswell High – with all its memories, good and bad. The UFO Emporium – or what was the UFO Emporium – with its fake alien displays and empty corners perfect for kissing sweet emo boys with the biggest of hearts. Of all the places to crash land, Roswell hasn’t turned out so bad. It’s truly a stunning conclusion.

When he arrives at his destination, he pulls into the driveway next to Alex’s green Explorer, grabs his two duffel bags, and heads to the front door. He opens the lock with his key and shouts to Alex that he’s home.