#it becomes a word salad holiday. like WHY are we remembering. what are we doing it for. spit it out!

[mummer]

fundamentally i think my issue with remembrance day is that its purpose is to thank fallen conscripted soldiers but what we should really be doing is apologizing to them

[supernatural-jackles]

Owe You One - Part 1

Title: Owe You One - Here’s the Deal

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 6,290

Warnings: Bad Sex, Fluff, Playful Banter, Smut, Female and Male Receiving, Bit of a consent kink, 18+ only.

Summary:  Dean Winchester has been your best friend and neighbour for the last year. A year of finding comfort in random drop ins and casual conversations, but neither of you know the pasts that the other has. Not fully. Pasts that come back to haunt you, and ruin everything you want in life. Can you find what you’re seeking in a couple of favours and a good time between the sheets or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Square Filled: Neighbors!AU for @spndeanbingo​, Free Space for @spnkinkbingo​

A/N: It’s finally here!! I’m very excited to take you on this rollercoaster ride! Please leave your thoughts in the reblogs and replies! Feedback always keeps me going! Happy Reading! 

 “Fuck! I’m gonna come!” he called out, bucking his hips up into yours. You rolled off of him, taking the empty side of the bed as ripped the condom off, stroking his hard length. He rolled over, getting onto his knees so he could finish himself off on your body.

 The sticky liquid coated your stomach as he let out a loud grunt, still stroking his cock. One of his hands came down next to you, trying to balance himself as pleasure zapped through him. You lay there, trying not to utter a word about it. Did he really have to be that extra about it? Did he really have to rip the condom off and coat your skin in his - stuff?

 “Damn, you are something else baby,” he let out a chuckle. “I mean really something. Did you come?”

 “If you had to ask, then the answer is no,” you scoffed, rolling off the bed, completely unsatisfied. “Look, I’ve got things to do so you gotta go.”

 “Sure thing, baby. Can I call you later?” he grinned, looking over to you.

 “If you want to,” you said lowly, making your way into the bathroom. You heard movement on the other side of the door. It sounded like his jeans being put back on. You willed him to move faster. You wanted him out of your apartment. Nothing like shitty sex and a guy that lingered. You had no idea why you even tried with this one. He was as stupid as they came. Carl, or Keith? You couldn’t remember what his name was. You met him in a diner a few weeks back. He took you on one date, and fucked you the rest of the time. He wasn’t a good lay, and he was selfish as hell on top of that. There was nothing worse than that.

 You heard the front door shut with a click, notifying you that it was safe to leave the bathroom when you were ready to. You felt dirty and not just from sex. His hands were on you and they definitely weren’t the cleanest. You headed over to the shower, turning it on hot. You wanted to wash the gunk feeling off, along with everything else he left. What a waste of your time you thought to yourself. Why were you wasting your time with every guy that came along?

 You stepped under the stream, letting the water hit directly on your stomach. Washing away his finished product. You couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to ask you if you came. The man was lazy as hell, and didn’t know the difference between the clitoris and vagina. It was a complete and utter disappointment yet again. You had no idea why you kept him around when all he wanted was sex. He didn’t care whether or not you came, let alone about your life outside of the bedroom. There wasn’t a point in continuing when you weren’t happy with him.

 The hot water lulled over you muscles, relaxing you along with the apple scent of your shampoo. You always felt better after a good shower. No matter what the day held, or what went down. A shower made you feel clean and reduced your worries. There was a part of you that wanted to let your hand wander between your legs, just to finish yourself off. You had done it so often that it was becoming boring. Like a sad routine. You needed something more to get you there. Maybe you needed a new toy to play with.

 You shut the water off, stepping out of the shower and onto the grey carpeted mat. You reached for the blue towel on the counter, wrapping around your body before moving in front of the mirror. The mirror was fogged up, not that you needed it urgently. You felt a lot more refreshed.

 You dried yourself off, pulling on your black robe to cover yourself up until you grabbed actual clothes from your bedroom. You stepped out of the bathroom for a second, waiting for the mirror to clear up. You knew you had to get something out to cook for dinner before it got too late. It was already late enough.

 Your kitchen smelled of the apple cinnamon scentsy you had plugged in. It was supposed to help you get in the holiday spirit. At least, that was the point of why you put it in your cart when you saw it. It mostly made your apartment smell good. You walked over to the fridge, looking to see the chicken you had picked up at the grocery store the day before. You had some leftover salad to go with it. Enough dinner for tonight.

 You took the chicken out of the fridge, placing it on the countertop for when you got dressed. Three loud knocks at your door pulled out out of your thoughts. You had no idea who it could be at this time. You prayed it wasn’t doucheface showing up again. You weren’t sure you could handle anymore disappointment today.

 You twisted the knob, pulling the door open, only to reveal your next door neighbor standing in the doorway. He had a half smile playing on his lips as he stood in henley with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans that fit him perfectly.

 “You always answer the door in your robe?” he smirked. “‘Cause if so-”

 “What do you want, Dean?” you chuckled, shaking your head.

 “Mhh what?” he furrowed his brows, clearly getting a good look at you in your black robe.

 “Dean, really?” you raised your eyebrow.

 “Sorry, you’re just,” he pointed at you. “Sorry, I came over to ask you if I could borrow your microwave for a second. Mine broke this morning and I’m trying to heat up my dinner.”

 “Yeah, c’mon in,” you nodded, opening the door a little wider for him to step in. Dean stepped in with a smile.

It wasn’t the first time Dean had been in your apartment and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. You had been neighbors for a little over a year. Eight months ago, he and his long time girlfriend Cassie broke up and he was a mess. You invited him to come over to distract him, and he ended up staying an entire weekend. You binge watched Friends and ate about a gallon of ice cream. That was when the two of you became really good friends.

 Dean was in your apartment at least three times a week, depending on his week that is. Dean was a mechanic at a local garage that he and his dad owned with a few other guys. Most nights he finished around six and dropped by with some food for dinner. Other nights, he was working his other job. He and his younger brother Sam, owned a bar in town called Jefferson’s Starship. Dean named it of course.

 He was a good guy. You got that vibe off of him instantly the day you met him. He helped you carry a few boxes into your apartment, which you needed. When you saw him upset that day he and his girlfriend broke up, you couldn’t stand it. He was a really good friend to you. One of the best actually. You weren’t the best when it came to guys, or friends for that matter. But Dean? Dean was special. There was no one that got you or your sense of humor like he did.

 “I take it Doofy was over,” he teased, nodding once more to your outfit as he opened your microwave door.

 “You really like calling him Doofy, huh?” you shook your head as you made your way over to the stool by the kitchen counter. “Yes, he was over.”

 “I heard,” he smirked. “Well, him anyways.”

 “Dean!” you raised your voice, shaking your head once more, trying to hide your smile.

 “We share a wall, sweetheart. Your bedroom, my kitchen. Walls are thin,” he wiggled his eyebrows as he placed his hands on the counter in front of you. “So, let me guess this time. He came and left?”

 “He came, asked if I did, then I asked him to leave,” you corrected him.

 “Ouch,” he said sheepishly. “High and dry. That explains the robe and the wet hair.”

 “How hard is it to pleasure a woman?” you called out. “I genuinely want to know. I haven’t found a single guy who knows the difference between my clit and my vagina, Dean! How hard is it?”

 “Pretty hard if he doesn’t know the difference between buttons,” he let out a laugh.

 “I’m just going to order a new toy off amazon at this rate. It’d get the job done,” you shrugged, feeling defeated.

 “Can I watch?” he joked, opening the microwave door to stir his food. “Oh by the way. I wanted to ask you something which may or may not have been the real reason why I’m here. My microwave isn’t actually broken.”

 “And here I thought you were here to comment on my sex life,” you breathed out, adjusting your robe a little more. “I’m all ears.”

 “So my mom is having a birthday party this year, and they still think I have a girlfriend and invited us. I was kind of, sort of, maybe hoping you’d go with me to keep my family off my back for that anyways,” he said lowly, swirling around his food before shoving it back in for another two minutes.

 “Me?” you raised your eyebrows. “Of all people, me?”

 “You’re the only one I know that I can be myself around. I don’t have to force myself to get along with some random girl in front of my family. You’re one of my closest friends,” he pointed out. “You just have to pretend to be my girlfriend for the night. I swear I’ll repay you.”

 “Will you though?” you side-eyed him playfully. “Look Dean, you really don’t have to. We’re friends and I’m happy to do it.”

 “Really?” he beamed.

 “Yeah, I’ll do it,” you smiled politely. “I’ve met your brother a few times so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

 “I owe you big time, Y/N. You have no idea how much you are saving my ass by doing this,” he breathed out as the microwave beeped at him again. “I have shown up to the last three birthday parties alone and I’m not going through the ‘oh Dean, when are you finally going to settle down’ comment from my cousins, and aunts. Granted I was still dating Cassie last year, but she was away on some journalism trip. Not that they ever showed interest in meeting her. I’d just rather not deal with that again. I’m tired of the comments.”

 “I would say I know the feeling, but I don’t. I’ve been on my own since I was pretty young. I didn’t get along with my mom and it was just the two of us.”  you shared. “You’re making me feel pretty thankful I’m on my own.”

 “Really?” he cocked his eyebrow. “I always thought you got along with your mom?”

 “No. Not even close,” you scoffed.

 “Well, it’s you and me now, girlfriend,” he winked. “I’m serious about repaying you though. You’ll see why when you meet my family. Sammy is the only normal one.”

 “Name your offer, Winchester,” you said, crossing your arms over your body.

 “Uh, let’s see,” he raised his eyebrow, looking up to the left. “I’ll let you drive baby?”

 “Really?” you rolled your eyes. “That buys you handholding and that’s about it.”

 “Oh we’re playing this game now?” he chuckled, opening up your drawer to grab a fork for his dinner before taking a seat at the counter next to you. “Fine. How about - oh - how about I show you that not all guys are clueless when it comes to sex?” he said with a smirk.

 “And how are you going to do that?” you cocked your eyebrow.

 “How do you think, sweetheart?” he wiggled his eyebrows before taking a bite out of his food.

 “You? You’re going to have sex with me?” you asked in confusion.

 “Why not right? I mean, you’re gonna have to kiss me in front of my family. Not that you haven’t dreamed about kissing me,” he pointed out. “And besides, I know the difference between your clit and your pussy, how to pleasure you, and I’m not going to stick it in the wrong hole unless you ask me to.”

 “You said you were never going to bring that up,” you let out a dry laugh.

 “What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t?” he grinned. “I’m serious though. I’ll show you a damn good time, and treat you right. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, of course. But I won’t leave the room until I know you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

 “Dean, are you sure?” you questioned. “I mean, we’ve gotten really personal with each other but this is different. I don’t want to cross any lines here. I’m not putting our friendship at risk here.”

 “I know, but I think we’re both mature enough to handle this. Nothing will ruin our friendship, ” he stated. “‘Sides, you have to know by now that I think you’re hot, and I’d nail you in a second given the chance. Call it practice for my mom’s party.”

 “So if I untie this robe and drop it to the floor, you’d be cool with that?” you played, trying to gage his reaction as you stood up, stepping away from him. His eyes went dark as he froze, watching your every move.

 “More than cool with that,” he muttered.

 You reached for the tie, pulling it loose before opening up your robe. You could feel a lump forming in your throat. No going back now. Dean thought you were hot, you reminded yourself. You let the material fall over your shoulders, and drop to the floor around your feet. Dean swallowed hard, not daring to tear his eyes away from you.

 “Son of a -” he breathed out.  

 “I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re done,” you teased,

 “Oh I’m done,” he stated, getting up from the stool. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

 “Yeah?” you cocked your head to the side, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Your voice was confident, but inside, you were dying to cover up and hide away forever. You weren’t gorgeous, or sexy. You weren’t the kind of girl a guy like him fawned over. You found guys like doofy. It was almost like you needed confirmation that he thought you were attractive.

 “Oh god, yeah,” he licked his lips. “Can - can I touch you?”

 “Yes,” you nodded. Your eyes locked with his breathtaking green orbs as he stepped closer. You were expecting his hands to either reach for your breast or your ass. You knew he was going to touch you. He asked and it was to be expected.

 He reached for your hips before slipping his arms around your waist, resting them on the small of your back. That was completely unexpected to say the least. His eyes were dark and filled with desire, but there wasn’t the typical I can’t wait to shove my dick inside you, lust that everyone else had. You were standing completely naked in front of him and he couldn’t take his eyes off your face. It was different and you liked that.

 “Seriously, you are fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, leaning in closer to you. You felt his breath mingling with yours. Was he going to kiss you? One of his hands reached up to your cheek, his index finger brushing the wet strand of hair away from your face before cupping your cheek in his palm. You melted against his touch, just a little as you glanced up into those breathtaking green eyes of his. He inched closer, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, hesitant kiss that made your heart flutter in your chest. He was gentle, which is the opposite of what you were expecting from him of all people. If anything, he was making you feel more comfortable. You kissed him back with the same hesitancy he had. You slipped your hands around his back, tugging him closer to you out of instinct.

 “Mhh, we should probably move this into the bedroom,” you muttered against his lips.

 “You got it, sweetheart,” he smirked. His calloused hands slipped down the curve of your ass, reaching the back of your thighs. He lifted you off the ground with ease, earning a tiny yelp from your lips. You giggled as he carried you into your bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot. He placed you carefully on the messy bed, letting you adjust yourself so you were comfortable while he stood tall.

 “You’re wearing far too much clothing, Dean,” you smiled up at him. He cast his head down with a smile playing on his plump lips. “Off with the shirt and show me what you’re working with.”

 He took the hem of his henley, tugging it over his head to reveal his upper body. God, he was a fucking sight. You had never seen him shirtless before this. You thought he was hot before this, but you had no idea just how hot he was until he shed some layers. He wasn’t completely toned. He was soft in some places and that only made you want him more. You wanted to trace your tongue over every inch of him.

 “Damn, you’re hot,” you commented as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. He didn’t say anything to you. In fact, he looked a little nervous about it. You didn’t want to make a comment about it because this was a hook up and he wasn’t your boyfriend. You were going to let it slide this time and bring it up the next time you had a movie night or something. “Take it all off, baby.”

 “You’re such a dork,” he let out a laugh. You watched as he unbuckled his jeans and shoved them and his boxers down his legs, revealing himself to you for the first time.

 And oh my fucking god, he was perfect.

 He has the nicest looking dick you had ever seen on a man. Big, thick and he kept himself well taken care of down there in terms of grooming. You were actually looking forward to this one. Not just for how hot he was. Dean was a good person, and not to mention a man of his word. You were looking forward to seeing what he had to offer you in terms of owing you one.

 “Dean, you’re-“ you paused. “Fuck.”

 “Like what you see?” He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

 “Eh,” you giggled. “I’m not on the pill, just so you know. I do have condoms in my drawer though.”

 “Good to know,” he nodded. “Listen, don’t be afraid to tell me what you like and don’t like. By all means, tell me what to do and I’ll listen the best I can. I just want to make you feel good.”

 “The very same goes for you too,” you told him. “I wanna be able to make you come too.”

 “Trust me sweetheart, you are going to have no problems with that,” he assured you. “Now, are you sure you want to do this? I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

 “I’m sure I want to do this,” you confirmed. You smiled at his words. It was nice of him to ask you. He wasn’t forcing you by any means, or making you feel like you had to do this. It was actually really nice of him the more you thought about it.

 He carefully climbed on your bed from the bottom. Your eyes never left his body as he moved up the bed. His muscles flexed as he fit himself between your legs. His body hovered over yours, his cock pressing against your inner thigh. He captured his lips with yours almost unexpectedly, pulling your bottom lip between his, sucking down softly.  Your hands traveled down the length of his back. You could feel the arousal pooling in your core. A delicious ache you couldn’t wait to satisfy.

 His hand traced up your torso, his thumb brushing underneath your breast as his lips moved along your jaw, making their way to your neck. You let out a sigh, melting into the mattress beneath you. Your hands slipped into his hair as he kissed his way down to your breasts.

 “F - Dean,” you breathed out. His lips latched around your nipple, his warm tongue flicking over your hardening bud. His touch gave you goosebumps and part of you thought that it was because you hadn’t been touched this extensively in a long time. He was fucking woreshipping you compared to the rest of them. Dean knew exactly where to touch you without a hint of guidance. He ignited something in you that no one had before. Maybe you were going to get an orgasm out of this after all.

 “Feels good, don’t it?” he cooed, kissing along your abdomen as his hands soothed down your sides, filling your stomach with anticipation of what was to come.

 “Damn good,” you panted. Your heart rate was speeding up, and he had barely even done anything to you yet.

 He climbed off of you, taking a spot at the end of your bed. His hand gripped your waist, dragging you to the edge of the bed where he could begin the first real act of the night. He took his time and that was something you enjoyed about him. There was no rush like there usually was for you. His hand trailed along your inner thigh, tickling you in the best way, causing your core to clench around nothing. His soft, wet lips kissed along the opposite side of his hand and that drove you insane. You desperately wanted to feel him directly between your legs.

 “Dean, I swear to god if you don’t -”

 “Don’t what?” he chuckled. “Don’t rush a professional.”

 “Where’s the professional?” you giggled, earning a bitch face from him. “I’m kidding!”

 “Just sit back and enjoy the ride, sweetheart,” he winked, growing closer to where you needed him. He settled directly between your legs with a smirk playing on his lips. He pushed your legs open a little wider. The anticipation was killing you and he fucking knew it too.

 He inched forward, flattening his tongue against your folds, licking a long slow strip upwards, stopping just before your clit. God, did it feel good. His tongue was warm and wetter somehow. The initial touch sending a wave a pleasure through you. You threw your head back against the mattress, your fist grasping at the comforter. You wanted him to do it over and over again.

 “Fuck,” you whimpered.

 “Feel good?”

 “Yeah,” you nodded, staring up at the ceiling, awaiting his next move. You released the comforter, allowing yourself to relax. Dean did the exact same thing, this time going even slower and reaching your clit, causing you to jerk just a little. He kept up with that for another couple of strokes, and you could feel yourself growing more and more slick as he did.

 He pressed a kiss to your clit as his finger circled around your entrance. Your eyes clamped shut the second his tongue flicked swiftly over your little bundle of nerves. Your hips bucked upwards, needing more and more of his touch. You could feel him smirking against you. He knew exactly what he was doing.

 He pushed a digit inside of you and you let out a breathy moan. He curled his finger as his lips enclosed around your clit, sucking just enough to drive you insane. You arched your back, needing more of him.

 “De-Dean,” you groaned. “To the left.”

 “Your left or mine?”

 “Mine,” you panted. His tongue flickered over your clit to the left in a repetitive, but unpredictable motion that had your toes curling. Your hand reached for his head, your fingers fisting his hair tugging him in the right direction as he sucked down on you.

 You could feel that familiar burn pooling in your lower abdomen. You knew it was mere moments before Dean worked you into your first orgasm the night. He removed his finger from your center and moved both his hands underneath your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as his tongue worked it’s magic.

 “Fuck Dean, I’m gonna - I’m -” you could barely even get the words out before warm pleasure pulsated through you. You twitched against him, your fingers pulling at his hair to try to keep him in place, and he never let up. He worked your through it, making it last as long as he possibly could.

 He pulled away and you felt lifeless. You had no idea how to even move, let alone breathe. Dean wasn’t lying when he said he knew what he was doing. You tried to focus on breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

 “Y/N, you alive?” he asked you.

 “I- I think,” you answered, your voice high pitched as your eyes opened, meeting his gorgeous green orbs. “Barely but alive. Just give me a minute after that one. Fuck!”

 “Told you I’m good,” he winked playfully.

 “Oh shut up!” you let out a laugh, rolling onto your side, pressing your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hand instinctively reached up to your hip, drawing you into him as he kissed you. God, did this man know how to kiss. He had your toes curling at the thought of continuing like this. But you knew he had other plans for the night, and quite frankly, so did you. “Your turn now, Dean.”

 “You definitely don’t have to do that, Y/N,” he shook his head.

 “I know. I want to. It’s only fair to for one, and two, I really want to taste you,” you played. “You want to move up the bed a little more?”

 “Yeah,” he nodded. You managed to sit up, allowing Dean to lay in the middle of your bed. His hard cock rested against his stomach, and honestly, you couldn’t wait to taste him. You couldn’t wait to feel him on your tongue. Dean positioned himself so he was comfortable, and you gravitated between his legs. It was going to be easier for you to take him this way. You knew there was no way you were going to fit all of him in your mouth, but you were going to try your very best to pleasure him the same way he did you.

 You took his velvety length in your hand, your mouth watering at the sight of him. Dean’s eyes were on you, and somehow, that didn’t make you nervous. You stuck your tongue out, licking the tip of his cock, instantly tasting the salty, almost sweet, precome that pooled at the slit. Dean hissed at the contact and you knew you did something right.

 You moved down to his balls, flattening out your tongue before moving carefully along each one. Then you traced a line up his length, reaching the top, taking the entire head in your mouth. Your eyes flicked up, looking at Dean’s face directly and you could see that he was enjoying what you were doing so far. You sucked down lightly, spit collecting in your mouth as you did so. You released him, using your saliva as lube to slick up his cock, making it easier to pleasure him without worrying about hurting him.

 You took him in your heat, sinking down a little lower this time while your hand jerked off what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You could feel each ridge and vain along your tongue, and damn did he taste good. A taste you wouldn’t mind having more than once if it were up to you.

 “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he growled. His hands made their way into your hair, half holding it back, half kind of tugging. You circled around the tip, running swiftly into the slit before teasing over his frenulum. He let out a loud groan, trying his hardest not to buck his hips up.

 “Y/N-” he cried out as you took him deeper, the tip hitting near the back of your throat as your hand jerked him faster. You sucked down, causing him to moan once more.

 “Y/N - fuck, you gotta stop,” he urged you. You pulled off of him with a pop, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. He was panting, his chest heaving. You smiled, knowing you did a good job.

 Dean rolled off to the side, opening up the drawer of your bedside table, grabbing one of the condoms out of the box of twelve. As nervous as you were before, you weren’t now. Not even close. If anything, you were excited to be doing this with Dean. No pressure or unrealistic expectations. He cared whether or not you were enjoying yourself, and you were. But most of all, you were comfortable with Dean. Maybe it was for all of those reasons, or the fact that you had never trusted someone the same way you did your best friend. He wasn’t some random guy you met in a bar or a diner.

 “You sure you want to do this?” he questioned once more, playing with the condom between his index finger and his thumb. “We don’t have to. I can just pay you back some other way if you don’t want to.”

 “Yeah. I want to,” you nodded. “Do you want to?”

 “Yeah,” he said softly, ripping the condom package open. He took the condom out, rolling it down properly over his hard length. You lay down on the bed, opening up your arms for him to climb on top of you. He spread your legs a little wider as he positioned himself between them. You couldn’t wait to feel that stretch when he pushed into you.

 He took his thick cock in his hand, running it swiftly through your folds. You instinctively moved your legs further apart, your eyes meeting his, waiting for him to move. You nodded your head, reassuring him that he could proceed. He smiled softly. The tip of his cock lined up with your entrance. Your hands traced up his arms, settling on his shoulders. He pushed himself gingerly inside of you, stretching your walls more than you expected as they accommodated his length. You took a sharp intake of breath, your eyes shutting as your head pressed to the pillow beneath it.

 Dean positioned his hands on either side of your body. His lips met yours as he bottomed out inside you. His kiss putting you at ease. You wrapped your arms securely around his shoulders and bent your knees to give him more room to begin moving. He felt fucking perfect inside.

 “You good?” he breathed out, trailing his lips along your jaw.

 “Yeah,” you swallowed. “‘M good.”

 He drew his hips back before moving back in at the very same pace. You felt your walls fluttering at the new sensation of him. He felt fucking amazing when he moved. His length hit all the spots you needed him to, and all the spots you didn’t know you needed touched until now. His muscles tensed just a little when he moved, and his lips never left your skin, only added to the overwhelming satisfaction he was already giving you.

 “You have no fucking idea how good you feel around me,” he growled into your neck.

 “If it’s anywhere near how good you feel inside me then I think I know,” you groaned, your hand shifting into his hair, keeping him at the sensitive spot on your neck that drove you crazy. “Keep kissing there.”

 “Curl your fingers in my hair again,” he asked lowly, his hips pushing back into yours.

 His thrusts picked up the pace. You rolled your hips against his in tune with his and that familiar burn made itself known. Your breathing was getting shallower, and a thin layer of sweat coated your skin, especially in the places Dean’s skin was touching yours. The heat from him, along with the incredible aura you were creating together; it was bound to get a little hot.

 Dean was panting against your skin, and he had to adjust himself, leaving your neck. He held himself up on his hands once more, his chest abandoning yours. His eyes traveled up and down your body, drinking you in as his cock quivered inside you. You didn’t want this to come to an end. He made you feel so fucking high; like every other emotion didn’t exist. It was just pure euphoria.

 You readjusted yourself, hooking your ankles around his ass, giving him a different angle. He pushed into you and hit your g-spot dead on, you almost came right then. That coil in your stomach was growing tighter and tighter as he moved. You could feel every dip and ridge of his cock. Your mouth was growing dry as you struggled to breathe.

 “Dean, I’m so close,” you straggled out.

 “Good,” he panted. “Me too. What do you need?”

 “Faster!”

 He picked up his pace, pounding into you. You let out a loud moan and suddenly you were thankful it was only Dean’s apartment next to yours and no one else was next to you. Dean pecked your lips once more, and you could see the drips of sweat beading on his forehead and the top of his freckled dusted nose. His green eyes were damn near black, hooded with lust and pleasure that you had never seen before. You wanted to make him come. You wanted to hear him.

 He hit your sweet spot once more, throwing you over the edge. You arched into him as your fingers dug into the flesh of his back. He collapsed on top of you, and you buried your head in his neck, muffling your cry just a little. Pure ecstasy flowed through you, causing you to shake beneath him. Your walls clamped down around him so tightly, you were afraid he wouldn’t be able to move.

 “Fuck - Y/N, mhh,” he groaned, slamming his hips into yours as he spilled himself into the condom. He twitched, moving just a little as the waves of his orgasm worked through him. You were shaking, but at the same time, you felt completely lifeless. Like he had fucked every ounce of energy out of you, and in a way, he had.

 He pulled out of you slowly, holding the base of his cock where the condom was. You pointed to the tissues on the nightstand for him to use. He quickly discarded the condom into the trash bin next to your bed before he settled down next to you.

 “Fuck,” he breathed out. “That was better than I imagined it would be.”

 “You imagined it?” you let out a chuckle.

 “Of course I have. Have you seen yourself?” he let out a laugh. “In all honesty though, it was some good sex.”

 “It was,” you agreed, adjusting your head on your pillow as you glanced up at the ceiling.

 “Did you come?” he laughed.

 “Shut up, asshole,” you shook your head.

 “Oh I know you did,” he teased. “More than once. I’m just that good.”

 “Yeah yeah,” you licked your bottom lip. “You held up your end pretty damn good if I do say so myself.”

 “I’m glad,” he smirked. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems convincing my parents we’re together.”

 “Me either,” you breathed out.

 He rolled off the bed, reaching for his boxers on the floor at the end of the bed. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him as he tucked himself back in his boxers. You weren’t expecting him to stay in the slightest. It was a good time and it would’ve been awkward if he did.

 “So where and when for your mom’s party?” you asked, moving the pillow to cover yourself up a little.

 “Saturday night,” he said, pulling on his jeans. “I’ll pick you up at seven. It’s kind of fancy so you’ll have to wear a dress. I’m wearing a black suit if that helps you at all.”

 “I have a classy black dress that should work,” you nodded.

 “Perfect,” he nodded. “I am really thankful you’re helping me out. I don’t mean to fuck you and run, but I’ve kind of gotta get to the bar.”

 “It’s okay,” you assured him. “Not like we’re together, bestie.”

 “I know, but I like to treat my women better than that when we do something like this,” he frowned.

 “I’m your best friend and I know where you live. Trust me, it’s cool. I’m not really one for cuddling after sex and talking about feelings anyways,” you shrugged. “Thanks for making me come, not once, but twice. You treated me better than any guy. Now get out of my apartment and go to work.”

 “Yes ma’am,” he chuckled. “You could always come with?”

 “Nah,” you shook your head. “I’ve got plans with my one true love, Netflix.”

 “Sorry I’m getting in the way of that,” he let out a laugh. “I’ll see you later.”

 “That you will, Dean,” you winked. “Thank you for this. You do know how to satisfy a woman.”

 “You’re damn right I do.”

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

Part 2 coming Sunday!

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Your response is what keeps me sharing stories like this! I will not be sharing anymore without it. 

feedback is the most important thing you can do for a writer! 

[lovelyirony]

@unfortunatelyevent a late birthday gift for you! special thanks to ava and peachy for giving me this idea :) 

When Rhodey got accepted into MIT, he was fifteen, set to turn sixteen when he went there. His family held parties for it, his mama cried, and his dad called about every friend that he’d ever made to tell them the news that his boy was going to MIT. 

Outwardly, you couldn’t tell that he was fazed by anything. He got registered for classes, signed up for a random roommate, and kept track of getting his textbooks. His dad bought him a crewneck, told him to start saving up for “the brass rat” ring, and said that he was so excited to help him move in. 

Rhodey’s terrified. He doesn’t get sleep, has recurring nightmares about failing out, and he’s much younger than everyone else. 

“You’re only two years younger, honey,” Mama says, her hand brushing away flour on his face as he helps her bake cookies. “It’s not gonna be that bad.” 

It’s that bad. 

Everyone knows more than him, no one talks to him, and he’s nervous as all hell. 

He cries for two hours when his parents and his sister leave, telling him to remember to call or write. He thinks that’s the only thing that’ll keep him sane. 

He’s one of the younger ones in his engineering class, and someone asked him why he’s taking such hard classes. 

“Because this is...my major?” Rhodey answers, confusion written all over him. 

“Oh, we thought you played basketball or something,” the other guy says, as if that’s all he can do. 

Rhodey doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want them to know how much it burns to hear that, so he just nods and says his coordination is shit. 

His roommate also hasn’t moved in yet. Or he has. He has. His name is Anthony, but Rhodey literally never sees him except for when he’s a blanket-burrito in his bed or when he traipses in from spending all night at a frat party or studying at the library. 

They say hi to each other. Rhodey asks how things were. “Fine” is the usual response, followed by “I’m gonna go to bed.” 

He’s never felt more alone. 

He tries not to call his parents often. A lot of people get home-sick, right? But he doesn’t think that anyone else wants to call their parents every single day. 

“So, what fun things have you been up to?” Dad asks over the phone. “My boy been partying out all night?” 

“I’ve just been focusing on studying,” Rhodey mumbles. “Not a lot of time for parties.” 

“Your roommate okay?” Mama asks. “What’s his name again...Anthony?” 

“Yeah, he’s alright. I don’t see him much, he stays out late a lot.” 

“Even on school nights?” 

“Even then, mama,” Rhodey says. “Listen, I gotta head to lunch, but I’ll call you later this week?” 

“Be sure it’s not on Friday, we’re headed to Jeanette’s band concert! We love you, Jim!” 

“Love you too!” he responds, hoping to god they can’t tell how sad he is when their phone calls cut off. He misses his home, misses waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs in the morning, his mom kissing everyone’s foreheads as they rush out of the house to school or work. 

He hates it here. 

But he can’t leave. 

His chest gets tight when he imagines calling his parents or telling them at a holiday party that he doesn’t want to go there anymore, he’s not ready. 

Would his scholarship be guaranteed two years later? No. They would ask him why and he can’t tell them the real reason why. He can keep up with schoolwork no problem. In fact, that’s the least of his worries. 

It’s just so goddamned lonely. His roommate isn’t anywhere, no one talks to him, and he doesn’t know anyone in Boston. 

- 

He walks back into the room, and Anthony’s sitting on his bed. It’s the first time he’s actually seen him. 

His hair is everywhere, he’s looking at Rhodey for the first time and he looks so young. Just like him. 

“Are you eighteen?” he blurts out. “You really don’t look like it.” 

“I’m, um, sixteen,” Rhodey says. “And you...?” 

“Fifteen,” he says quietly. 

“You’re fifteen and you’ve been out every night?!” 

“I’m mostly at the library!” Anthony defends. “Friday is for the partying, but mostly the library!” 

“That’s good to know,” Rhodey says faintly. 

“And you’re in college, why aren’t you going to parties with me?” Anthony asks. 

“I don’t have time, Anthony!” 

“No,” he says. “You are not calling me Anthony, that’s so stupid. Call me Tony, everyone does.” 

“You know a lot of people at this school?” 

“More like they know me,” Tony says with a shrug. 

“How so?” 

“What, you haven’t seen my dad on magazine covers or anything?” 

“Uh...am I supposed to?” Rhodey asks. “He an actor or something?” 

Tony snorts, pulling out a magazine that he’d obviously nabbed earlier on. 

On the cover is Howard Stark. 

Rhodey looks between Tony and the face on the cover. 

“Oh. Shit.” 

Tony cackles. 

“Rhodey, I think I’m going to like you. How’d you get that nickname?” 

“Wouldn’t stop following my older cousins around, they nicknamed me that as word-play off of ‘roadie’.” 

Tony snorts. 

“That’s so lame. I love it. Hey, listen. I gotta go get a book for one of my projects, you wanna come with me? I know that one of your classes needs a book, right?” 

“Yeah, my writing class. Wants some biography.” 

“Come on, let’s go.” 

Tony...he’s a good conversationalist. For once since he’s gotten here, Rhodey isn’t letting the impending panic of being alone consume him. He walks easily instead of nearly on his toes around campus, and his eyes aren’t darting everywhere as Tony tells him about something stupid that happened in his early morning class. 

“You know who you’re doing your biography assignment on?” 

“Has to be someone who’s had a profound effect on your life. I don’t know who.” 

“Scientist or what? What are you studying?” 

“Aerospace engineering.” 

“Holy shit, you’re smart,” Tony swears. 

“Says the son of a genius billionaire.” 

“Yeah but I don’t touch aerospace with a sixty foot pole,” Tony says. “Jesus, you’re incredible. How did you even know you wanted to do this?”

“I’ve always liked the myths and stuff behind space, and I liked how we discovered more and more over time,” Rhodey says. “The moon was cool as shit.” 

“Or was it...faked?” 

Rhodey shoots him a look, and Tony’s cackling. 

“You did not.” 

“Who knows? I come from a very rich families. Rich families buy politicians and also cover up every single scandal. Who knows what I know?” 

 Rhodey looks over at him, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Oh my dear,” Tony says, holding a hand to his chest. “You have so much more to learn about your new friend.” 

Friend. 

That makes him feel better. 

He finds a book on Humphrey Bogart. 

Bogart has not had a profound effect on his life at all. Ever. He’s never even seen a movie with the guy in it, although it’s the only book that he can find that looks remotely interesting and the library is about to close. 

He reads about Bogart quite often. The guy’s...something. Grew up high society, his parents sucked, the typical Hollywood story. 

Although he said exactly what was on his mind, which made him popular with the press and unpopular in the business. 

It’s intriguing. 

It kind of reminds him of Tony, honestly. 

The paper itself isn’t due until the semester is over, and the book is over three hundred pages, so he has time to read it. 

- 

Tony and him become...closer. Tony hangs around the room more, and Rhodey stops being so lonely, although he still misses Philadelphia badly and calls his parents every week and occasionally talks to his sister. 

He always gets a strange look from his roommate, but it never lasts for very long. 

Finally, he gets a question from him. 

“Why do you always call your parents?” 

Rhodey looks at him in surprise. 

“I...miss them?” 

“Why?” 

“They’re my parents. I love them. What, do you not like your parents?” 

Tony blinks. 

“Uh, no I love them. I guess. They’re just...busy a lot.” 

Rhodey doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t have time as Tony charges forth and asks if he wants to help him present a rocket for one of his clubs. 

Halloween comes upon them quickly, and Rhodey has a gigantic test to study for the night of. Tony’s been trying to convince him to come to a costume party with him for the better part of a week, and he was so close until the professor sent out a letter that essentially said, “Surprise! Oops!” 

So Tony does something unanticipated: he stays home. 

Tony, the life of the party who wouldn’t miss one for the world. Tony, the one who has been talking about how much he loves Halloween parties. He misses it. 

“Like you said, I probably don’t need to be at parties all the time,” Tony says. “And I can make you watch Dracula with me. You’re gonna like Lugosi.” 

“Who the hell is Lugosi?” 

“Oh my god, I’m making you do a monster-movie-marathon. I’ll rent every movie I can find.” 

Rhodey shakes his head. 

“Okay, but I probably won’t be paying attention tonight. I have to know the difference between a robust and gracile australopithecine.” 

“One begins with ‘r’ and one begins with ‘g’, now come on and make the popcorn.” 

Tony’s...the best part about him is that he’s himself. He’s loud and sometimes annoying and by god sometimes Rhodey wants to launch him out of a window, but Tony’s also incredibly kind and far more insightful than he ever wants to admit. 

They fall asleep surrounded by candy wrappers and a blanket that was definitely too small slung over (mostly) Rhodey. 

-

They get into a good routine, Tony and Rhodey. Rhodey brews the coffee, and Tony doctors it to his heart’s content. It involves a lot of syrups, creams, and sugars. The occasional terrible one, although everyone in Rhodey’s morning lab are jealous when they can smell his coffee. 

They go to lunch together, and Rhodey gets the salads and fruits while Tony gets the slices of pizza or hamburgers that they’re so fond of. They argue about philosophy and call each other idiots while stealing the popcorn chicken off of each other’s plates and coexist peacefully. 

It’s not until Tony has to leave for some conference that his parents want him at that Rhodey realizes just how much Tony has affected his life. He makes two coffees, almost calls out and asks if they’re still going to get takeout from that should-be-shut-down pizza parlor five blocks off, and realizes he’s all alone. 

Again. 

So he reads about Humphrey Bogart. 

He’s kind of annoying, all things considered. Guy got steady work being the villain/bad-guy type and wants more. It’s steady, what more is there to want? 

(His mind whispers that he just views it that way because he has no idea what he’s going to be doing in the future.) 

Back to Bogart. 

The guy is...kind of interesting. Kind of. He’s still not sure what he has in common with him. He’ll figure it out later. Maybe he can ask Tony for help. 

- 

Tony comes back in a whirlwind of emotion, almost all of it rage at his father. 

Rhodey sends him a look. 

“Shut up about how much your dad sucks and come with me to get food for the week. I had to survive off of hummus.” 

“My hummus?!” Tony shrieks. “The garlic?!” 

“Yes, I’ll get you more you gigantic baby,” Rhodey says. “Also, what do you think Humphrey Bogart and I have in common?” 

“An h, an o, an e, and a y,” Tony answers quickly. 

“Besides the letters,” Rhodey scowls. 

“Well I’d say you go to different barbers.” 

“No shit.” 

Tony looks at him, and really looks at him. Rhodey tries to forget how much he loves his eyes, the kindness that’s in them. 

"You both like important things,” Tony says. “And you commit to something when you decide you’re going to do it. Just think of the Great Burrito Event of ‘89.” 

“We’re still in ‘89, genius.” 

“Exactly, still important and still making history as we’re currently living it a day at a time,” Tony says. “Now come on, I need more hummus since you were a monster and attacked the fridge. What, you wanted to be Godzilla for a day?” 

"Not Godzilla, just have a power dynamic. Come on, grab the keys. Missed you this weekend.” 

“Aw, you do care!” Tony cheers. 

“I always care about you,” Rhodey answers. 

He misses Tony stilling at the door, feeling the words circle his head like a damned message from Cupid. 

(Yeah, he was going to marry Rhodey.) 

-

The holiday season and finals season coexist, which Rhodey thinks is a cruel joke played by God in order to let mortals know where their influence lies. 

He’s currently on his fifth cup of coffee in five hours which is most likely dangerous, unsure of if he’s actually seeing the correct numbers on his study guide, and about to blow a gasket if he looks at one more problem. But he has to. 

Tony doesn’t study. 

He’s of the rare sort that just...remembers, at least when it comes to his important classes. Out of everything he’s had to study, Tony actually had to study something about wine cellars in France, which he hated. 

“I’m making you come with me to get ice cream.” 

“I don’t have time.” 

He’s about to tear his hair out. Everything is riding on these exams, it seems. If he doesn’t do well on these, what are Mama and Dad gonna say when he comes home? What are they going to tell people? He made it to MIT, but he has to make it count. 

Tony is looking at him in that way that lets him know that he will get his way. 

“You’ve been studying for six hours straight. You’re not gonna learn anything new, and you’re about to cry because you hate stats so much.” 

“You’re wrong.” 

“You literally have a tear streaming down your face,” Tony deadpans. He crosses the room, wipes it away with his thumb. “Your coat is at the table towards the front, I’m giving you five minutes. And for the love of god, please put on your cologne. You smell like anxiety and anger.” 

“Those have scents?” 

“Apparently so.” 

The cold breeze is a refreshing slap to the face as he walks, hat tugged low. 

“It’s cold enough, why do you need ice cream?” Rhodey asks, teeth chattering. 

“Never too cold for ice cream.” 

“Says the boy who vacations in Malibu for Christmas.” 

“Told you that you could come. Not like Howard would notice.” 

“I’d rather not take that chance. Besides, I’d miss a Philadelphia Christmas.” 

“That a movie or something?” 

“No, it’s where I live you son of a bitch,” Rhodey teases. 

“I hate you,” Tony says, no real heat clipped to his tone. It’s a back-and-forth they have, all this name-calling and accusatory behavior. “I’m going to request a new roommate next year.” 

“Like they’d stick you with anyone else. Or would anyone else cover for the seven fires you’ve nearly started this year?” 

“Six out of seven wouldn’t have been fires.” 

“They would’ve.” 

“Says the man who doesn’t work at all with fire, but with graph paper. Do want your Christmas gift to be a pocket-protector, by the way?” 

“Oh fuck you.” 

“You wish,” Tony says, winking. 

He gets peanut butter chocolate. 

When they get home, he makes a bowl for Rhodey. 

“Your tests aren’t until noon tomorrow. Get some sleep, babe.” 

“And what, you’re going to get some too, honey?” 

(Pet names are also a thing. And also more favorable to both, although neither knows the other’s thoughts on this subject.) 

Tony grins. 

“You want both of us to sleep?” 

Rhodey and Tony have figured out a nifty trick: soap operas or Seinfeld. Whichever one is on, they’ll watch that and fall asleep on the futon, which should be as uncomfortable as any futon is. 

(They both think the temporary backaches are worth it to be in each other’s arms.) 

Tony drifts to sleep, although he makes sure that Rhodey’s first. He pulls him over to his side, head resting on his thigh. 

“You this forward with every guy you bring home?” 

"Only the cute ones,” Tony grins. “Come on, get comfy. You’re gonna get sleepy.” 

“Like hell I am,” Rhodey says. “You’re gonna fall asleep...first.” 

Rhodey falls asleep first. Mouth slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“Like hell you are,” Tony murmurs, adjusting the blankets. (They’ve upgraded to fancy hotel ones that Tony may or may not have stolen.) 

Rhodey will be okay. He just has to convince himself first. 

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 13

13/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Christmas Eve 1994 | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

As Scully copes with her diagnosis, Mulder joins her for the Scully family Christmas dinner. Plus, Melissa's girlfriend meets the family.

TW for disordered eating, cigarette smoking, references to abduction/medical rape.

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

Self destruction is a natural impulse for Dana Scully, though she’ll try to deny it. Take one unexplained abduction, add a dash of premature menopause, and sift out time spent proving Mulder wrong, and you’ll get a struggling Scully.

She can tell she’s entering a bad mental state when food becomes a suggestion rather than a necessity. Every bite is either earned according to whatever trivial rules she’s set for herself in that particular moment, or is not deserved and therefore not eaten. It’s a game where she’s the coach, player, and referee, yet she still loses every time. Nourishment is both prize and punishment, feeding her hunger but vacating her control.

This habit started when she was a teenager and wracked with feelings her petite frame couldn’t contain. It felt much safer than the route her siblings had taken of sneaking out in the middle of the night or using fake IDs to buy alcohol or skipping church on the regular. As far as fifteen-year-old her was concerned, she wasn’t bothering anyone by foregoing some meals. Her mother disagreed and called her out every time, humiliating her into her second coping mechanism, smoking.

There were the times when Scully was really young and enticed by her sister’s cigarettes, but that was simple preteen rebellion. What developed when Dana was seventeen was something different entirely. A survival mechanism with poison inside, snuffing herself out while keeping her alive and sane. She would walk to the gas station and buy packs of Marlboros with coins from her piggy bank. The laws were lax in the 80s, the prices too. She would blow rings of smoke while walking home, then hide the pack in her bra and swish some mouthwash. She’d repeat the process to and from school, steadily acquiring a nasty nicotine habit. It continued until the summer before college, when she made herself go cold turkey so as not to take the habit with her. As far as she knows, neither her parents nor any of her siblings ever knew about it.

It resurfaces in times of stress, though normally for no more than a single pack. Lately she’s accustomed to keeping a pack and a lighter with her at all times. Her building is smoke free so she steps outside, but her car is off limits because she doesn’t want the smell to cling to her. It is a hassle, but then again, so are most things.

Missy knows about the poor eating habits--those are hard to hide from someone who shares the same space as you. Nevermind the fact that the scale shows six less pounds than before, and that adds up when the number’s not that large to begin with. Scully’s edges protrude now...that can’t be hidden.

Missy never says a word. She remembers Dana complaining about their mother’s condescending comments about her weight, and she knows the damage that does to a young psyche. Instead, she offers. Healthy meals, guilty pleasure meals, all her sister’s favorites. She cooks more than she ever has before, well aware that her sister will struggle to refuse her.

“I recognize what you’re doing,” Missy told her sister when she tried to turn away a caesar salad, of all things. “I’ve been known to do that too,” Missy admitted. “Eat. You’re hungry, you just think not eating will give you some form of control over your body, or your life...but wasting yourself away is letting the bastards win.”

And so she did, that time at least. Scully has enough shame regarding her habit to push it aside whenever confronted---that’s how she insists to herself that it’s not an eating disorder. She can stop on command. That makes it okay, right?

Getting back into the office helped her a lot---you can’t starve yourself and function as an FBI agent. Besides, she would dissolve into thin air if Mulder figured out what she was doing. He was the one who batted around the idea of Scully helping prep each case and supervising any tests he might need the crime lab to do while he’s in the field. He understood that in lieu of therapy, she needed something to take her out of her own mind.

It was as much for him as it was her; at this point, it’s almost incomprehensible to him that the X-Files had existed before her. Of course he was the laughingstock of the FBI! He had huddled in the basement by himself with UFOs and blurry Bigfoot sightings pinned on the wall like a shrine to his own delusion.

Her fall from grace was his absolution. He’ll make an angel of her, somehow. Even if it means he has to meet the devil.

Scully has no interest in becoming an angel, though she’d sure like to avoid hell, and that hasn’t worked out too well. Locker room jokes are one thing. Underestimation another. But assault? Rape? Trauma and torture because she is who she is doing what she does? She is not a quitter, and that is killing her.

Her barrenness haunts her because it was bestowed upon her as punishment, an implication that she only has worth as a walking womb. She wants to be seen as a person, not a pawn.

The arrival of the holiday season is another weight on her shoulders. It used to be Scully’s favorite time of year; now the sight of carolers makes her want to poke her eyes out. It’s the first Christmas without her father, and that is simply unimaginable. Her and Missy spent a quiet Thanksgiving with their mother---small portions and whispered thanks--in preparation for an elaborate family Christmas. Bill Jr. and Tara are flying in from California for the annual Christmas dinner and midnight mass. They will all try to move forward, pretend it’s just like any other year, but it’s not and it never will be again. Happy Christmases are over for the Scully family.

And yet, they will try to enjoy the moment. Missy told her mom that she’s bringing a friend, which is completely true. Trinity is her closest friend that she doesn’t share blood with. That said, she plans to use the occasion to introduce Trinity as her girlfriend, come what may.

Then there was the suggestion that their mother made, which caught her youngest daughter completely off guard. “Why don’t you bring Fox?” Margaret Scully proposed demurely during their weekly phone call. “I’m making a zoo’s worth of food, I could use another mouth to feed. I hate to see any of it go to waste.”

“Mulder’s spending Christmas with his family, I’m sure,” Scully had replied. “But I’ll pass along the offer.”

That was how Scully learned that Mulder’s family isn’t much for celebration, that he usually spends the holiday flipping between It’s A Wonderful Life and the 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story, and that he has a particular fascination with the idea of midnight mass.

“I just don’t get it,” Mulder mused. “You believe that a jolly old man with flying reindeer leaves presents in your house, but you think he waits until after you’ve gotten home from celebrating Baby Jesus’ birthday? Didn’t you ever look for his sleigh in the sky on the drive home?”

“No, Mulder,” Scully sighed. “I just believed that he knew when we were tucked in bed. Santa’s all-seeing, you know,” she teased.

Mulder chuckled. “Kind of presumptuous to assume he functions on your schedule, huh?”

Ultimately, Mulder said yes. He figured attending the Catholic equivalent of Jesus’ birthday party would be another check off his supernatural bucket list, though he did not say this part out loud for fear of Dana Scully’s wrath. Besides, what else was he gonna do on Christmas Eve? Shake the shoebox of junk he stuck under his mini-basketball hoop so he felt like he was getting a gift?

And so the fateful day arrives. Mulder flips his Garfield page-a-day calendar to December 24th, chuckles at the comic strip of the orange cat eating all his owner’s Christmas cookies, and makes his way to his partner’s increasingly familiar doorstep. The sun has already slipped behind the trees by the time he arrives. It gives up easily in the winter.

He rings the bell and hears Scully’s dainty footsteps on the other side. She’s snuck up on him enough times for him to have developed a keen sense of her light footing--no more jump scares for him.

“Hey Scully,” he stammers as she opens the door. She had told him to look “festive,” so he donned his nicest green sweater (a gift from his mom from J. Crew...he had never worn it) and slacks. Scully rounds out their show of holiday spirit with a velvet red blouse and black trousers.

“You look lovely,” Mulder says reflexively, unsure when he started using such a word. Scully pulls at her shirt, obscuring the bit of cleavage that has revealed itself. “Thanks Mulder,” she mutters, ushering him inside.

He holds up the shiny silver gift bag he hastily stuffed with tissue paper. “Some candy canes I picked up at the gas station. I figured the whole family could enjoy them.”

Scully nods, amused by his feeble attempt at gifting. “I’m sure they won’t go to waste.”

A fire crackles in the fireplace. It’s so hot in the apartment that Mulder is surprised it hasn’t melted the snow outside on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Melissa?” he asks, hoping they will hit the road sooner than later.

“She’s picking up her girlfriend from the airport. She couldn’t get an earlier flight.”

“Dulles?” He sure hopes not. It’s all the way across town.

“No, Reagan.”

Whew. Much closer.

“She should be back any minute now,” Scully continues. “Trinity’s flight got in at 3:30.”

Mulder rolls his sleeves up. “So your family doesn’t know about Trinity?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Do they know that Melissa’s…” He gestures, unsure which word to fill the space with.

“Bi? No.”

“So she shows up with Trinity, and then what?”

Scully shrugs. “She introduces her as her girlfriend. Mom already knows Missy is bringing a guest so she’ll have a plate for her.”

“You’re not worried about how the family’s gonna react?”

“Well, I’m sure Bill is gonna be a dick about it, but that’s normal. We only see him once a year, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Bill’s your brother?”

“Uh-huh. And Tara is his wife. They got married about a year and a half ago.”

Even as he pushes into his thirties, it still surprises Mulder that anyone close to his age could be married. He doesn’t even sleep in a bed.

“You think your mom’s gonna be cool with Trinity?” he asks.

“I think she loves her daughter enough to be.”

“Mmm.” Mulder sticks his hands in his pockets. If only he had dilemmas like this. He imagines him and Samantha speculating about their mother’s reaction to Sam’s nose piercing or dyed hair or...anything really. He would give so much to have someone to laugh about his uncle’s sideburns with.

His emotional deep-dive is promptly cut off by the entrance of Melissa and a brunette woman whose bangs graze her eyebrows, her hair falling just below her shoulder. “Hi!” she chirps, taking in the magnificence of Dana Scully. “Dana, I presume?”

Scully nods.

“May I hug you?” Trinity asks, hazel eyes shining.

“Sure,” Scully says, feeling the brisk air against Trinity’s coat as she’s pulled in.

Scully lets go first, and Trinity takes that as a cue to pull away. “You look just like Mel, wow,” she remarks, fighting the urge to run her fingers through Scully’s hair.

Scully smiles softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Trinity assures, exchanging a gooey gaze with Missy. Next, her attention falls upon Mulder, who does an awkward half-wave. “Hello!” She points between Mulder and Scully. “Boyfriend?”

Mulder chokes. Scully picks up his slack--”Oh, no. This is Fox Mulder, my partner at the FBI.”

“Ahh,” Trinity smiles knowingly. “Yes, I’ve heard about you. I didn’t know you would be joining us for Christmas.”

“Christmas is not exactly my family’s cup of tea, so I figured I’d get an authentic experience with the Scullys.”

“Same! I’m looking forward to Mama Scully’s ginger snaps. I’ve heard fantastic things about them.”

Mulder elbows his partner playfully. “Damn, Scully! How could you leave me in the dark about ginger snaps?”

Scully rolls her eyes but smiles. “I apologize, Mulder. Though for the record, the fruitcake is better.”

“Says no one, ever,” Mulder teases.

She grins. Now this is Christmas.

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

Taking a seat at Margaret Scully’s dinner table feels like existing inside a Christmas movie, in Mulder’s mind. Fancy china, green and red serving platters, paper mache snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and a porcelain nativity scene; the dining room has it all. Not to mention the heaping piles of food there for the taking...if this is Christmas, Mulder wants in every year.

Scully does not share his cinematic fantasy. She knows better, having actually attended one of her family’s dinners before. Bill will get too drunk and start saying whatever comes to mind, their mother will laugh along like he’s still a five year old babbling about nothing (as opposed to the thirty-something spewing bullshit that he actually is), Missy will attempt to debate him to get him to shut up (which never works), and she will sit there and wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. And all without their father to hold the reins and keep a fight from breaking out.

The night has gone smoothly enough, Scully supposes. Missy introduced Trinity as her girlfriend in a very non-ceremonial way, forcing Bill and their mother to nod and accept it, in the moment at least. Mulder received a hug from Margaret and a pat on the shoulder from Bill, so pretty much the highest token of approval. Mulder’s candy canes earned a place in the center of the dessert table, which gave him way more satisfaction than it should have, and he couldn’t help but feel that if they were to vote on favorite man at the party, he would win. A room with Bill Jr. in it is probably the only place he would ever earn this honor, and he’ll take that.

Yet everything unwinds as Scully suspected. Bill waits until everyone has packed plates and full mouths to unleash his particular hyperfixation for the night.

“Trinity?” he questions, raising his fork diagonal across the table toward her. “Is that your name?”

Trinity smiles and nods, oblivious to what she’s in for.

“And you know Melissa how…?”

She pats a napkin to her mouth. “We worked at the same restaurant in Oregon.”

He chuckles gruffly. “What was it, one of those gay bar things?”

“No, an Italian bistro,” Trinity continues calmly.

Missy, however, is not so calm. “Gay people can go places other than gay bars,” she retorts. “We’re not segregated. Though I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bill sets a fist on the table, clanging his silverware. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why the hell do you insist on being so politically correct all the time? I’d shoot myself.”

“Gee, maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Now Melissa…” Margaret Scully’s voice rises above the clamor.

“I have the right to defend my girlfriend and I against Bill’s thinly disguised homophobia,” Missy responds.

“You act like I give a damn what you and your friend do,” Bill sneers. “That’s not my business.”

“Then stop pretending like it is.”

“Oh boo-hoo, little Missy thinks the world revolves around her.”

“Bill, honey, I think that’s enough,” Tara says, laying a protective hand on his arm.

“You’re right.” He raises his can of beer toward Mulder. “Whaddya doin here, hot shot? Trying to seduce my sister?”

Scully frowns, but doesn’t say anything, pushing food around on her plate.

Mulder seems rather unbothered by Bill’s advances. He chuckles. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

Bill snorts. “That’s a likely story.”

“You don’t think I’m worth your sister’s time?”

“I don’t think Dana thinks you're worth her time. You’re not her type.”

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Scully says, staring daggers at her brother.

“Then tell us Dana! Is hot shot here your type?”

Her eyes brush Mulder’s face. His cheeks flush, reddening like a stormy sunset. She wishes she could read his mind. The safe answer and the true answer are not often the same. “I think Mulder is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to know him,” she answers stiffly, her annoyance aimed at Bill.

“Oh, the old run-around!” Bill scraps his fork against his plate. ”Typical.”

Scully grabs her now empty canned cocktail and sulks into the kitchen, leaving her chair pushed away from the table. Everyone watches her go, but Bill gives off the only visible reaction. He laughs. “Scared her away. Thought it would take more.”

Mulder and Melissa exchange a glance. She nods, granting him permission to play knight-in-shining-armor. Quietly, Mulder slips out of his chair and pushes it back into place. He catches the kitchen door as it swings closed behind his partner.

Her anger concealed from the rest of the family, Scully drops her can in the recycling bin with a bang. She ignores Mulder, instead opening the refrigerator and pulling out another cocktail, saying nothing.

“What is this, your fifth drink?” Mulder brushes his hand over her shoulder, and she recoils. “Leave me alone, Mulder.” She slams the fridge and tries to turn around, but he’s cornered her.

“C’mon Scully, Bill’s harmless. He doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s not fucking about Bill,” she fumes, alcohol fizzing through her bloodstream. She inhales, trying to keep it together in front of the man who has done nothing wrong to her. “Please get out of my way.”

“What’s wrong?” He frames her shoulders with his hands, creating their own little bubble.

“Don’t touch me!” she growls. Mulder knows as soon as hears it: he will never forget the pure anguish in her voice. As she retreats to the corner, he looks down at his palms, the stovetop that burned her...he would cut them off if he could.

Unfortunately, the commotion attracts the Scully’s like a dog whistle. Bill leads the charge into the kitchen, getting a full view of his sister hunched over by the back door while her partner stands by the fridge like an idiot. “Ooo, a lover’s spat!” he exclaims, only nominally concerned about Dana’s well-being.

“Shut up, Bill,” Missy hisses. To everyone’s relief, he does.

Mrs. Scully comes forward, maneuvering around Mulder to get to her daughter. “Are you alright, Dana?”

Scully keeps her back to the crowd. “I just need a minute.” She taps her pocket, confirms that she slipped her pack of cigarettes in. “I’ll be outside. Everyone can go back to dinner, please.”

She twists the doorknob and steps onto the back deck without waiting for any response. Mulder feels the tug of tears in his throat, like a dormant animal waking up in him. He is used to being hurt (though not by Scully, never her), but inflicting the hurt is a whole other beast. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but he doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, put there by what he thought was a harmless touch, made his heart tremble. He is frozen in place, grateful when Melissa appears at his side as the rest of the party returns to the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to upset her, I was trying to make her feel better about Bill…” he laments.

“I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s not you specifically, she’s going through a lot right now--you know.”

Mulder rubs his neck. “I don’t know if I do.”

“She hasn’t shared her diagnosis?”

His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Diagnosis?! Is she okay?”

Missy sighs. “I think you two need to talk. If she gets pissed, tell her I sent you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Tell me if she’s okay.”

“She’s okay. It’s not fatal or anything.”

“She would tell me, if it was...wouldn’t she?”

Missy bites her lip. “I don’t know, Fox---Mulder. I would hope so, but I was under the impression you already knew about this, and you see how that’s gone.”

Mulder turns toward the back door, desperation living in his voice. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta check on her.”

Missy nods. “Don’t let her weasel her way out of this one. I’m expecting a heart-to-heart, mushiness and all.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He turns the back doorknob and slips through the door, trying to imitate his partner’s ninja skills. The old wood on the door frame shakes as he shuts it. He winces--so much for the sneak attack.

Mulder follows the arc of the deck, winter’s bite colliding with him. He didn’t have a chance to grab his jacket, and now that he’s thinking about it, Scully didn’t either. He can grin and bear it but she is all skin and bones, now more than ever. It scares him to see her like that, but it’s none of his business, he feels, to comment on her body. He can break her fall, but he must not provide an extra push.

The wind has no friends to protect nor foes to defeat, so it will give away anyone. It carries the unmistakable tarnish of smoke to Mulder’s nose, an ashy haze that has come to remind him of Skinner’s office and the shadow lingering in the corner. He almost expects to find him there with his Morleys and his sadistic laugh. Instead, he finds a redhead and her Marlboros shrinking against the December cold snap.

“Bum a cig, ma’am?” He scoots up to her, ready to retrieve his own smoke from her long, slender fingers.

“Mulder!” She pulls the cigarette away from her, holding her last puff captive in her lungs.

He wiggles his fingers like an impatient child. “We’re all gonna die someday, right?”

Her jig up, she rolls her shoulders back and releases the smoke with a great rise and fall of her chest. It mingles in the air with the chill of her breath, becoming one and the same as they leave the contours of her body. Head tilted back and lips parted, she is alive with nicotine’s ease and intoxication’s freedom.

It is better than porn, according to one Fox William Mulder. He’ll keep this observation to himself for now.

“Did your parents never teach you that sharing is caring?” he rambles. “C’mon, give me a light!”

“It’s a nasty habit, Mulder.”

“I’m a connoisseur of those,” he replies loosely. “Now, you’re not gonna make me put you in a headlock are ya?”

Scully rolls her eyes. She’s never felt less threatened in her life. “You’re exhausting, do you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two.”

She pulls a cigarette from her carton and slips it into his fingers. They are warm; hers are ice-cold. “I wanted to be alone.” She hands him the lighter, watches as he generates heat from thin air.

He lights his cig and sticks the lighter in his pocket rather than handing it back to her. “According to my calculations, you should be very drunk right now. Other than your Oscar bait performance back there, you’ve got things pretty under control I’d say.”

Scully gestures at her cigarette smoking, teeth chattering self. “Yeah, I’m the picture of health.”

“Do you have some exceptional alcohol tolerance I should know about, because that’d make you very valuable in undercover work.”

Scully gazes out into the distance. She’d smile if she were to look at him right now, and that doesn’t feel right for the situation. “Those drinks have low alcohol content, Mulder. You can buy them at Dollar General.”

“You ever looked at their hand sanitizer? It’s like 95% alcohol.”

“Well, now I know where you go to get your fix.”

He chuckles. “You got me.”

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and he wishes, god he wishes, that he had grabbed his jacket. He’d take off his sweater if she wanted him to--stand there with his bare chest to the cold--but he has a feeling that would only exacerbate the situation.

He tries a more gentlemanly route. “Do you want me to grab your jacket? I won’t give away your trade secrets.”

She folds herself together. “No, it’s okay. It’ll make me get a move on at some point.”

They stand united in their rebellion, blowing smoke and freezing their asses off. Who needs Christmas cheer when you’ve got Christmas resentment?

Mulder sways a bit to keep his blood circulating. He is careful not to bump her. “You wanna tell me why you’re out-Scrooging Scrooge this year?” he prompts as gently as he can.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been the best year of my life.”

“I gathered that, yeah.”

“And it’s the first Christmas without my father…” her voice warbles.

“Shit, right. I’m sorry,” Mulder murmurs.

“...So it just doesn’t feel very celebratory.” She takes a long drag. Mulder can tell that this secret smoking habit is not new to her, and he wonders when she picked it up, how long she has kept it from him.

He takes a deep breath, watches as it is written in the air. “Melissa told me you received a diagnosis, and I think we’ve already established that sharing is caring…”

Scully looks him in the eyes for the first time since he joined her. It has the sudden intensity of a black-and-white film, Scully the 1940s scarlet and he the leading man who pales in comparison to her. There is no one he’d rather be overshadowed by.

“It’s humiliating,” she croaks. “Missy and my mom are the only ones who know.”

“I’ve got the monopoly on humiliation in this partnership, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, flicking some ashes to the ground.

“This is a particular form of humiliation you can’t experience, I’m afraid. Or at least, it wouldn’t impact you the same way.”

“Let’s hear it.”

She sighs. “My abductors removed all of my eggs, causing my menstrual cycle to shut down and me to enter perimenopause.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Jesus christ.”

“Uh-huh.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out, though it could have burned longer. “That’s fucking horrifying, Scully. You’ve got to inform the Bureau. We’ve got to catch these--whatever they are. We’ve got to make them pay.”

“No, Mulder. It’s too much. I don’t want to keep reliving it, I want to be able to move on with my life.”

“How can you move on when they’re still out there, probably doing it to more women?”

She shakes her head, feeling the snag of tears and holding them back for fear they might freeze on her face. “I don’t know, but I can’t think about it like that. It sort of...shatters everything, the idea that this could be a phenomenon happening to other women in secret. I wouldn’t believe it if it didn’t happen to me. I still don’t believe it.”

Mulder shudders. He can’t discern whether it’s from the cold or their conversation. “Do you think it was men who took you? Or do you believe Duane Barry?”

“It seems like a level of monstrosity that only man could achieve. It requires a certain understanding of society, gender roles...dehumanization that only humans could perpetuate.”

Mulder nods. Her reasoning tracks, but the thought of him failing to outsmart humans who stole away his partner is something he cannot fully process. It makes sense that he couldn’t find her if she was in space, but if she was on the face of the Earth, he had no damn excuse.

“You were just gone, Scully...you were just gone.” His aching is so palpable, his voice a cliff’s edge they could both tumble down.

“I know I was.” She takes one last puff, then lets her cigarette fall to the ground. She crushes it with her heel, her force premeditated and brutal. That pain is for the ones who took her, the ones who have obviously never loved a thing at all.

Head bowed, she moves toward the door, but not without grasping for Mulder’s elbow, assuring that he is following behind. He is and he will be, for as long as she lets him.

Inside, the home’s manufactured warmth hits them, unreal in comparison to the cold they have known. The kitchen is as quiet as it was before their ordeal, the dining room empty aside from Mrs. Scully clearing serving platters.

“Where did everyone go?” Scully asks, momentarily alarmed that she may have ruined the entire gathering.

“We’re going to drive around and look at lights before mass. Everyone’s getting ready.”

“Oh.” She looks to Mulder, as if to check that he hasn’t left her stranded. “I think I’ll stay here,” she tells her mother. “Make a cup of hot chocolate and relax for a bit.”

“Well, you’ll be missed. Fox, would you like to join us?”

He takes a leap, hopes he’s got the right idea. “I’ll stay here, but thank you.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Scully says with a slight smile. Mulder had never noticed her resemblance to her daughter until that moment. It was like looking at a sketch of a famous painting; the lines are there but the colors missing.

Soon enough the crowd leaves and Scully and Mulder settle on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa. Margaret Scully’s tree forms the centerpiece of the living room, and it’s hard not to admire its gold and red decorations and the shiny angel on top.

“That’s gorgeous. Does she do it every year?” Mulder asks, ignoring the steam rising out of his mug and going right in for the kill.

Scully nods. “Every year since we were kids. There used to be a lot more homemade ornaments, but I guess she swapped those for a more elegant look now that we’re grown.”

“Well, it’s beautiful.” He looks at her, curled up with the glow of the fireplace falling upon her, and he feels warmth and safety like never before. It would be so easy to slip in “and so are you,” it is practically begging to be said. But she wouldn’t believe him if he said it now; she would think it was a pity compliment. Instead, he mouths the words, and she is not looking, and that is okay.

She snuggles deeper into the cushions, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. She is the most at ease she has been in months--here in the house she lived in during high school with the fireplace crackling and her partner by her side--and that’s not what she expected from Christmas Eve. Heaven strokes her skin, and she blinks her eyes open to find Mulder tucking her in with her mother’s microfiber blanket. She smiles her soft Scully smile. “Thank you,” she coos, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket’s embrace.

“You’re welcome,” Mulder whispers into her ear. His fingers tangle in her hair as he pulls her toward him, his lips meeting her temple. She catalogues the feeling for her memory bank: chapped but carrying the hot chocolate’s warmth. She will spend the next while convinced that it was a dream, a fleeting image in the moments before sleep, but she will carry the feeling until she feels it again.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt. 9/25

Previous

The winter holidays were a chaotic affair for the wolf pack. Since their own families were a mess it had become tradition to come together as a team and spend the Solstice as one big found family. This year was extra special because it was Ciri’s first winter with them and her first without her own family. This year was Lambert’s turn to host and he was going to make damned sure it was the best Solstice that the team had ever had.

The only problem was his cooking skills.

Cooking had never been his strong point.

When he’d lived with his brother, Eskel had done most of the cooking in the house and had developed quite a passion for it. So Lambert, like any good younger sibling, had quite happily taken advantage of every second of it. Of course, once living together had reached boiling point and they’d decided it was best for everyone to move apart, Lambert’s quality of diet had dropped considerably. He now lived on ready meals and takeaways most of the time, unless Eskel took pity on him, which happened on a fairly regular basis.

He stared at the cook book in front of him. The woman on front was smiling brightly in a sunlit kitchen and holding a ridiculously picturesque pie.

“Fuck it.” Lambert growled as he flipped through the pages to the right section.

He’d brought all the right ingredients and he’d carefully written down all the timings for everything, just like he’d seen Eskel do in the past. He read through the recipe for the roast lamb a couple more times before tying an apron round his waist and pulling his hair back into a bun.

“Cooking. I can do this. Easy as pie!” He grumbled as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge.

Today was all about prep, chopping veg and potatoes ready for cooking tomorrow, baking cookies for snacks during the day. He was also making an onion soup to start with that could be reheated tomorrow. He grabbed his peeler and stared down at the sack of potatoes.

There were so many fucking potatoes.

He was going to be here all day.

He should probably ask for help. Eskel always called him and Renfri round to help chop shit up.

“Fuck off, I don’t need help.” He grumbled and got to work with the potatoes.

He was about three potatoes in when he decided he was going to die of boredom. He washed the starch off his hands and put on some music. The sound of acoustic guitar filled the kitchen. It was some unknown folk band that he’d discovered online by chance, called Dandelion and the Bards. The two lead singers Dandelion and Priscilla harmonised so perfectly that it was like they’d almost been born to sing together.

He spent the next hour or so dancing around his kitchen with the potato peeler and singing along to the songs. The music was so loud he almost didn’t hear the doorbell. He paused, turned the music off and dumped the potato in the bucket of water.

The doorbell went off another three times in quick succession.

Eskel.

“I’m coming you ass!” He called out as the doorbell continued to ring.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary and glared at his brother who was grinning back at him. Geralt was stood behind him with Ciri perched on his shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow at his appearance and Lambert looked down at his starch covered apron. He huffed but didn’t say anything, for Ciri’s sake.

“Ah Ciri! Hello little lion cub!” He waved the peeler at the young girl and then paused. “Wait. What day is it?”

“Don’t panic, you big lump. We’re here to help.” Eskel pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back.

“Oh. Yeah. Well I have it all under control.” He growled.

“Nice singing.” Geralt said with a smirk.

He felt his cheeks heat up, damned ginger complexion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sooo… what’s the plan of attack?” Eskel asked as he pushed through into the house. “Apart from putting the heating on. It’s freezing in here!”

Lambert shrugged. “Kitchen’s hot.”

The four of them made their back into the kitchen. Eskel pulled out a bundle of aprons from his rucksack and a cloth carrier that contained his set of actually sharp knives. It took about three minutes to delegate the tasks between the four of them. Eskel was in charge of marinading the lamb and making sure it was properly trimmed and ready to go in the oven. Lambert was to finish the potatoes and start on the veg. Geralt and Ciri would be on cookies. It was a tad cramped in his kitchen with all four of them working together and they almost crashed into each other at every turn but they were laughing and chatting away.

It was actually sort of fun.

He was starting to understand why Eskel enjoyed cooking so much.

They sorted out a game plan for the next day. Eskel went through his list of times and corrected any mistakes. Honestly, how was he supposed to know you were meant to let the lamb rest out of the oven after cooking. Surely that just made the food go cold. He hated cold food but Eskel insisted it would be ok but they had to make sure the plates were heated. In the morning Ciri and Lambert would make cinnamon buns together for team breakfast, Eskel would be in charge of the savoury snacks and salad, and Geralt would make the mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice for Ciri.

That way Lambert wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for the whole day and he’d actually get to spend some time with the wolf pack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa with a beer in his hand. Ciri was sat by his feet with a glass of chocolate milk and Geralt and Eskel were lounged out on the arm chairs.

“See that wasn’t so bad.” Eskel grinned.

“I would have been fine.” He growled back.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Seemed like you were having a party in there before we arrived.”

He shrugged. “I like to cook to music.”

Eskel almost choked on his beer. “You don’t like to cook.”

He growled. “I do too!”

“You never once cooked!”

“Only because I knew you liked it so much!” He shot back.

“I had fun!” Ciri announced loudly. “Even if Dad did drop flour in my hair.”

“Sorry, Princess.” Geralt grumbled.

“It’s ok! I blame Uncle Lambert! He crashed into you.”

Geralt laughed. “I blame Uncle Lambert too.”

“So what was the music you were listening to, Uncle Lambert?” Ciri asked as she wiped chocolate milk off her nose.

Lambert chuckled as she scrunched her nose up. She still managed to miss a huge smear of chocolate that was on her cheek. He wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get chocolate that far away from her mouth. Geralt sighed at went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to help her clean up.

“A band I found on the internet.” Lambert smiled. “You wanna hear some of their stuff?”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Dad get off!” She squirmed as Geralt attacked her with the kitchen roll.

“Mucky cub.” He laughed.

“I can do it myself!” She squealed and grabbed for the paper towel. Geralt let her take it and she scrubbed ferociously at her face until she was sure it was all clean. “Good?”

“Perfect.” He ruffled her hair fondly and she grumbled under her breath like an angry kitten.

Lambert went to get his phone so he could put his music back on. The melodic tones of Dandelion’s guitar filled the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Eskel chirped up.

“Thought you liked the heavy metal stuff.”

Lambert shrugged. “I’m a man of many tastes.”

“I like it!” Ciri agreed. “Sounds like Mr Jaskier’s playing.”

Eskel and Lambert both rolled their eyes at that. They heard enough about Jaskier from Geralt at work. They had almost forgotten that it was all because Ciri was just as fond of her teacher.

The first song was sung almost entirely by Priscilla. It was a soft heartbreaking number that always left him feeling emotionally strung out. It was only about halfway through that he remembered the cursing and he coughed loudly over the swear words earning a glare from Geralt. Ciri didn’t seem to notice though, thankfully.

The next song began just as quietly on the guitar but this was one of Dandelion’s. The moment he started to sing, Ciri began to scream excitedly and Geralt spat a mouthful of beer out onto the floor.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri shrieked.

“Calm down, Cub.” Geralt spluttered. “I’m sure it just sounds like him.”

Lambert and Eskel exchanged a despairing look.

“No!” Ciri stomped. “It is him!”

Geralt looked at Lambert with a fierce glare. “What the hell, Lambert?”

He put his hands up in defence. “Woah now. I didn’t know anything about Ciri’s teacher.”

“Jaskier isn’t exactly a common name.” Geralt challenged angrily.

“Exactly!” Lambert cried. “It’s not Jaskier!”

“It is!” Ciri demanded with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well what’s the band called?” Eskel asked as he scooped Ciri up into a hug.

“Dandelion and the Bards!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not Jaskier. The guy singing is Dandelion.”

“No!!” Ciri cried.

“Ciri, Princess.” Geralt said calmly and tried to smooth the young girl’s hair as she squirmed in Eskel’s arms.

“No!!” She repeated.

Lambert sighed and turned the music off. “I’m sorry Ciri. It doesn’t say anything about any Jaskier.”

But it didn’t matter. Ciri was having a meltdown. No matter what they did or said helped her to calm down and in the end Geralt had to bundle the screaming girl into the car with the promise that they would email Mr Jaskier about the band. Eskel left soon afterwards with the excuse that his goat needed feeding and Lambert was left alone once more.

“Ah blessed peace.” He sighed happily as he watched Eskel amble down the road towards his own house.

__________

For the second day in the row, Lambert’s kitchen was covered in flour. Ciri’s hair was now as white as her father’s and her fingers were covered in sticky cinnamon sugar. Lambert’s shirt was covered in tiny floury handprints from where Ciri had hug attacked him, her tantrum from the previous day now a distant memory. He’d reluctantly made sure to uncheck all of Dandelion’s songs from his Solstice playlist. He would miss the calming melodies of his favourite band but it was not worth another screaming match from the youngest wolf cub.

Ciri was dancing happily in the middle of the kitchen. She twirled and leapt about effortlessly with all the energy of a six year old. She was incredibly graceful and Lambert wondered whether Geralt had secretly enrolled her in some sort of dance lessons. That was a thing girls did right? He groaned as he thought about his present for Ciri. He’d probably completely fucked up. He’d bought her a wooden sword and matching bow and arrow set, something he’d always wanted as a kid but never had the good fortune to receive. Ciri would like that right?

He ran a hand through his own hair with a sigh. How the fuck was the White Wolf raising a daughter? It seemed like only yesterday they were all just getting pissed at the pub after every shift. Lambert had to admit. Geralt had guts. He would probably have had a meltdown if the task had been left to him but Geralt seemed to have taken to it pretty well.

“Uncle Lambert!!” Ciri giggled excitably.

“Yeah?” He scowled at her mischievous grin.

“You made your hair all white!” She pointed up at him.

He looked down at his hands in horror and sure enough they were covered in sticky floury dough.

“Fudge.” He caught the swear just in time.

“You look like Dad!” Ciri exclaimed as she spun round in a pirouette.

“So do you!” He shot back.

“Do not!”

“Do too!” He argued and scooped her up into his arms. “And I’m right because I’m the adult!”

“That’s not true!” Ciri countered. “Mr Jaskier says even adults make mistakes!”

“Mr Jaskier hasn’t met me.” He growled.

Ciri laughed. “Yes he has! See you made a mistake!”

“I was testing you.” He grumbled and flushed as he realised the young girl was right. He had met Jaskier at the school back in October.

“Suuure.” Ciri sang. “Now let me down! I want to open my presents!”

Lambert chuckled and dropped the girl gently back on the ground. She sped off out of the kitchen like a blur. It was almost certainly a mistake letting her dip her fingers in the butter and sugar. He grinned. The sugar crash was Geralt’s problem. He was the fun uncle and got to enjoy eating sugar out of the pot. He squatted in front of the oven to check on their creation. The warmth seeped right into his bones and he hummed contentedly. It had been a cold couple of weeks and there was just something unsurpassable about the glow of a warm oven, especially when it contained baked goods. The kitchen was full of the smell of baking and cinnamon, the perfect scent for the winter holidays.

“Wolf!” Vesemir barked from the doorway sternly.

Lambert looked up sharply and almost toppled over from his squat.

“Exactly how much sugar did you give the cub?” Vesemir muttered wearily. “She’s bouncing off the walls.”

Lambert shrugged. “It’s Solstice. Give her a break.”

“Smells good.” Vesemir nodded at the oven with a softening smile. “We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”

Soon enough the oven timer went off and the kitchen was crowded by hungry firefighters. Vesemir ordered them to queue up properly and in no time they were all crammed into the living room. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Ciri stared into the flames, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns of the fire licking up the chimney. Lil’ Bleater was curled up next to her licking at her hands. Geralt had put on a pan of mulled wine and a smaller pan of spiced apples juice for his daughter and the spicy scents had permeated the air. It was warmth and homely. Lambert grinned as he looked around at his family. He’d never felt so at home in his house before.

“Presents!” Ciri demanded as she tore her gaze away from the fireplace. Her face was now covered in icing and crumbs, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance in the light of the fire.

The sound of laughter filled the air. Renfri and Vesemir got to work distributing the presents until everyone had a pile. Naturally the young girl launched towards the biggest present but Geralt had her in his arms before she could tear the brown paper off.

“Dad!” She whined and struggled to get free.

“That one is last.” He ordered. “Promise me?”

She glared furiously at the floor but mumbled an agreement under her breath.

“Good.” He let her go and she picked up the smallest present instead. She looked up at Geralt to make sure it was ok and he nodded with a small smile.

Ciri tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. She opened it with an adorable confused expression on her face.

“Did you check who it was from?” Vesemir asked.

“Sure.” Ciri growled but Lambert didn’t miss the way she sneaked a glance at the shreds of wrapping paper on her lap that were already being chewed up by Eskel’s demon goat. “Auntie Yen!”

“What is it, Princess?” Geralt asked.

“A necklace, with a bird!” She held the box up to Geralt.

“Looks like a swallow.” Geralt mused.

“That’s what Uncle Vesemir calls me!” Ciri exclaimed happily. “Help me put it on!” She thrust the box into his hands.

Geralt fumbled a bit with the clasp but wouldn’t let Renfri help him and eventually Ciri had a beautiful silver necklace around her neck. The swallow pedant was embedded with what looked like emeralds, and knowing Yennefer, they actually were emeralds.

Most of Lambert’s presents were new pieces of gym kit which suited him just fine. His old boxing gloves had sorely needed replacing so he was very pleased with Renfri’s gift. Although he knew it was probably so they would have an excuse to spar again without him blaming his gloves every time he lost. Vesemir had bought him a new set of guitar strings and a subscription to his favourite boxing magazine, Eskel and Geralt had come together to get him a brand new set of weights, one’s he’d been eyeing up for months but hadn’t been able to justify the costs. Yennefer’s gift was bottle of very expensive vodka that he’d had once in a bar on holiday and had never forgotten. Ciri had bought him a DVD of a film they’d watched together in the summer and a box of his favourite chocolates.

Vesemir had a brand new collection of history and gardening books. He was settled into his arm chair closest to the fireplace with his nose buried in one the books. Next to him was a crystal whiskey glass that Yennefer had bought him. The damned witch seemed to be intent on showing them all up this year with her fancy job and her even fancier salary but who was he to complain?

Eskel had his arms full of new goat supplies from most of team. He turned round to show the little bastard his new stuff when they realised he was missing.

“Where’s Lil’ Bleater?” Eskel frowned as he looked around the room.

Lambert shrugged. The last he’d seen of the goat he’d been munching on brown wrapping paper. Ciri leapt to her feet and started looking for clues to track the goats movements. Something she’d seen on one of her tv shows.

“How about the kitchen?” Geralt suggested. “Goats like food right?”

“Everyone likes food.” Renfri poked the silver-haired man in the arm. “We sort of need it to survive.”

“Goats really like food though.” Geralt insisted.

“Goats eat anything.” Lambert countered. “He could just as well be in the bathroom by that logic.”

“Well I’ve looked under all the wrapping paper and sofas so he’s not in here!” Ciri chimed up from where she was buried half under cushions and half under brown paper. “Oooh what if we track his smell? Lil’ Bleater stinks!”

Eskel gasped at the accusation. “He’s a very clean goat! I take good care of him.”

“There’s a reason Vesemir bought you fancy pet shampoo.” Lambert smirked and punched his brother in the arm.

“Shut it.” Eskel grumbled. “He’s a handsome boy.”

“Who stinks!” Ciri agreed.

“I still think we should try the kitchen.” Geralt insisted and then paused looking at Ciri thoughtfully. “I think I can smell goat from that direction.”

Ciri squealed and ran into the kitchen. “Fucking liar.” Lambert hissed under his breath earning a smirk from Geralt.

They trudged after the young girl. There was no obvious sign of the goat but Lambert could hear a strange scuffling sound coming from the oven.

“He wouldn’t jump in a hot oven would he?” Lambert asked.

Ciri yelled at him for that and hit him squarely in the chest with her wooden sword. Lambert seized the opportunity to fall dramatically to his knees, pretending to be fatally wounded. He let some of his weight fall onto Ciri who shrieked underneath him.

“Uncle Lambert!”

“You got me real good, little lion cub.” He groaned as she tried to hold back his weight. He was still supporting himself enough that she wouldn’t get hurt but she didn’t need to know that. “This might just be my last day in this world.”

“Get off!” Ciri growled. “I didn’t hurt you!”

“I am wounded!” He fell to the floor and pulled her down on top of him.

“You’re an asshole.” Ciri grumbled and there was an echo of shocked gasps from the adults in the  room. “What? It’s not a swear!”

“And it’s true.” Eskel added.

“It is true.” Geralt agreed.

Lambert glared at them both. “Screw you.”

“You’re awfully loud for someone who just died.” Renfri pointed out and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t swear colourfully at her.

“Yeah! I told you I didn’t hurt you!” Ciri poked his chest.

A loud bleating ended the argument there.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel cried happily.

Seconds later the a fluffy horned head poked out from under the oven. Lambert hadn’t even realised the gap between the oven and his kitchen floor was big enough for the goat to hide under. He was only a little goat but still it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.

Eskel picked up his beloved pet and swung him round in a big hug. “I missed you buddy! No hiding under ovens again, alright?”

The goat bleated.

“I know, I know. The oven smells of yummy food but you could have been hurt!” Eskel continued.

“Melitele save us.” Renfri sighed and topped up her mulled wine from the pan before stalking back into the lounge. So they could finish unwrapping the presents.

Eskel clipped on Lil’ Bleaters brand new collar and kept the mischievous goat in his lap as he unwrapped his last present, petting his sandy white fur absentmindedly.

Lambert had bought his brother a new cookbook that he was absolutely not allowed to open in front of Ciri. The names of the recipes were all very crude and there were pictures to match. Eskel had barely removed the paper before bundling it into his bag. His face flushed with embarrassment as Lambert cackled until his stomach began to ache. Ciri obviously asked what the big joke was and Eskel grumbled some lame excuse that made no sense. Luckily Ciri seemed content to let it go as long as she could open her next present. Vesemir had bought her a collection of new books after hearing so much about her love of school and reading. Some of them were a little hard for her age but Geralt would be able to read them with her.

Renfri only had two presents. Ciri had bought her a leather bracelet with wolves stitched into the band chasing each other’s tails all around the strap and howling at some unseen moon. The wolf pack and Yennefer had all teamed up to get her a decorative dagger that she’d seen at a craft fair over the summer. It was a beautiful blade, engraved with some kind of fantastical elven language and there was a stunning moonstone embedded into the hilt. It had been extortionately expensive but between the lot of them they had managed to afford it. Renfri’s eyes had lit up when she’d ripped the paper off the box, not quite believing it until she’d carefully lifted off the lid with shaking hands.

“There’s no way.” She whispered and then pulled them into a group hug. Even Vesemir put his book down to pat her awkwardly on the back. The blade fell from her lap with a clatter but thankfully she hadn’t quite managed to unsheathe it.

Ciri pouted at the sudden outburst of emotion but Renfri pulled her into the hug as well. “Your’s was better obviously! You’re the only person to get me their own present. These guys cheated.”

Ciri preened at that and stuck her tongue out at the rest of them.

The hug fell apart when Lil’ Bleater head butted Eskel in the back and they all toppled in a pile on the floor, much to the oldest wolf’s amusement. After that it was Ciri’s turn to open another present. Renfri bought her a new colouring book with glittery pens that Ciri loved. She had a strange obsession with anything glittery. The young girl declared it was because glitter was obviously magical and the rest of the team just couldn’t understand its power.

Geralt’s presents were all of a practical nature, a new toolbox from Vesemir, a couple of new shirts from Yennefer with a letter telling him that he had to wear them or else she would know. Ciri giggled at that but Geralt just looked at the freshly pressed black shirts in disgust. He was definitely more of a baggy t-shirt kind of guy but at least Yennefer hadn’t strayed from his usual colour scheme. Renfri had bought him some new stirrups for Roach. Lambert had bought him a new pair of boots after Geralt had complained about his old ones leaking following a particularly rainy shift at work. Eskel had made a picture frame filled with photographs of their little family. He’d even included a picture of Ciri with her parents and grandparents. The whole team had gotten a little sniffly at that one. Ciri was still yet to get off of Eskel’s lap and had promptly decided that he was the best uncle.

Geralt also had another present in the form of an envelope that he tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Lambert raised an eyebrow at that but Geralt just shrugged it off.

After Geralt’s presents Ciri was the only one with any presents left. She got a new wolf onesie from Eskel, further cementing his place as favourite uncle, much to Lambert’s displeasure. He vowed to make up for it on her birthday. He hated it when Eskel got one up on him.

And then it was time for Ciri’s last present and the last present of the day before they had to get busy in the kitchen for dinner.

She pulled at the paper excitedly and screamed when the guitar case fell into her lap.

“You got me a guitar!!” She shrieked.

Geralt winced at the high pinched tone of her voice and Lambert didn’t blame him. He was sitting across the room and even his ears were ringing. Geralt shook his head. “I got you a Ukulele.”

“A ukulele?” Ciri scrunched her nose up. “Does Mr Jaskier play the Ukulele?”

Geralt nodded. “He can. He thought it might be a better fit for you. It’s like a mini guitar and you’ve still got little hands. There’s some music in there too. Once you learn you’ll be able to read it just like Mr Jaskier.”

“Will he teach me?” Ciri asked brightly and Geralt shook his head.

“Jaskier won’t have much time outside of class to teach you but he has recommended a friend of his.” Geralt explained but Ciri was already scowling.

“I want Mr Jaskier to teach me!” She pouted.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely he can show you some things at school?” Eskel suggested.

“And you wouldn’t want to upset his friend.” Vesemir added from his place at the fireplace.

“Her name is Priscilla and she’s very excited to meet you. You’ll be starting lessons after school when term starts.” Geralt pulled his daughter into a hug.

Lambert almost dropped his mug of mulled wine.

“Sorry what?”

Everyone turned to face him with matching confused expressions on their faces.

“Lessons are after school?” Geralt repeated, raising his eyebrow at Lambert.

“No no… What was her name?” Lambert’s hands were trembling around his mulled wine.

“Priscilla?” Geralt repeated slowly. “He didn’t mention her last name.”

“Fuck!” He cursed.

Ciri gasped and pointed her finger accusingly at him and everyone in the room glared fiercely at him.

“Dandelion is Jaskier!” He yelled out to try and defend himself.

Ciri squealed happily and all the colour drained from Geralt’s face at the revelation.  

“What the fuck, Lambert?”

______

Next

[lovemesomesurveys]

[143running]

What do you waste your time doing the most? I’ve wasted so much time these past few years doing absolutely nothing. :/

Have you ever been backstabbed? If so, what for? Honestly, nothing major comes to mind.

If you could be anything, what would you be? A healthy, functioning, happy person.

If you could be any TV show character, who would you choose to be? Hm, I don’t know.

If you switched genders for one day, what would you do? The same things just as another gender.

What power would you choose to have if you were superhuman? Time travel would be cool.

What stereotype/clique would you say you are more like? Loser, freak, loner, nerd, etc. <<< We can be in a clique together.

How do you handle being under pressure? Not well.

What does your phone cover look like? It’s clear and has Winnie the Pooh sitting inside a big “hunny” jar underneath a beehive that’s hanging off a branch and a few little bees flying around him on it. It’s cute.

Have you ever done anything illegal? If so, what was it? Downloading music and stuff like that. Big rebel.

What is the perfect weather to you? Fall and winter weather.

If you were a stripper, what would your stage name be? I don’t know.

What is your favorite holiday, why? I just love everything about Christmastime.

What is your least favorite bug? Um, I don’t like ANY bug.

What is your favorite thing in the opposite sex? Hmm.

What is your biggest fear? Losing my loved ones, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life...

What is something your looking forward to? Nothing at the moment.

If you could live on any planet, which one would you choose? Earth works for me.

What is your favorite junk food? Chips and dip, ramen, sweets.

If you could have any animal as a pet, which one would you choose? I like having a doggo. 

What is your favorite time of the day? When I have my first cup of coffee and late at night when I do my nightly routine of scrolling through Tumblr, doing surveys, and listening to ASMR.

What name do you wish you had? I’m fine with my name.

What would your dream home be like? A beach house for sure.

What is your favorite color? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow.

Where is your favorite place to be? In bed, at the beach, Disneyland.

What is your favorite fruit? Bananas. 

What is something you’re embarrassed about? My appearance and who I’ve become these past few years. Just myself in general, really.

What is one thing you’d like to be the best at? I don’t need to be the best, I’d just like to be skilled at something useful at least.

Ever been on Chatroulette? (; Yeah.

What is the song that you know every single word to? There’s several. 

Most painful memory? Losing my grandparents and my dog, Brandie are definitely at the top. 

If you could be anywhere, where would you be? I’m good being in bed right now.

What is your favorite place in the whole wide world? The places I listed before.

A word that to you is impossible to spell? Onomatopoeia is always a hard one to remember. <<< For me too and I don’t know why.

What’s something that you collect? Giraffe stuffed animals and knickknacks.

Listener or Talker? Listener.

Thing you hate the most about the opposite sex? I don’t group or generalize like that. There’s things I don’t like that people of any gender might do. 

Could have anything you wanted right now, what would you have? To feel better.

Scariest movie you’ve ever seen? Hmm.

What is the most awkward moment you’ve been in? My life.

A memory you’ll never forget? Many good memories with my grandparents who have passed away.

One of your quirks? Constantly picking/biting my lips.

What type of phone do you have? An iPhone 12 Pro Max.

Favorite quote or saying? I have several.

Something you wanna do before you die? Live, I guess seems like the acceptable answer. <<<

What is a habit of yours? I check the time a lot. Look around you.. What is the thing you like the most around you? My adorable little Baby Yoda plushie next to me on my bed.

Favorite possession? I love all my stuff.

Favorite shirt? All my graphic tees.

Something you own that means a great deal to you? The things I own are important to me.

What is the name of your best friend? Yolanda.

What is your favorite shoes? My Adidas.

Least favorite singer? Hmm.

Something you love and hate at the same time? I’m blanking.

Are you one of those people who don’t like to admit when their wrong? No, I’m quick to admit I’m wrong and blame myself for everything.

Girls who try to much are annoying.. Aren’t they? Anyone who tries too hard can be annoying.

What color makes you relax? A color doesn’t make me relax.

Are you an awkward type of person? Yep, that’s me.

Is it hard for you to make friends? Yes, but also I don’t really try either.

How would you like to leave this earth? Painlessly.

What do you find stupid but most people like? I’ll never understand why Crocs became trendy and then to make it wore they started making accessories for them and I’m just like wtf??

What is a hobby you have? Doing surveys.

What’s your plans for next weekend? Nothing. Have any big dreams? What are they? No. :/

Restaurant that is horrible. Hm.

Have a fetish for anything? No.

Do you like long or short surveys? I like long surveys.

What age did you stop playing with dolls or action figures? Around 11.

Do you think your more mature then most of yours friends? I don’t have any friends.

Like labels? For some things they’re useful.

Does your school have cliques? --

Do you enjoy running? No.

Something that you are horrible at but wish you were good at. I wish I had some artistic ability.

A sport you think is dumb? I’m not into any sport.

What is your favorite food? Ramen, breakfast burritos, biscuits and gravy with scrambled eggs, boneless wings, chicken tenders, pizza, chicken quesadillas, pasta salads, sandwiches, sweets, chips, spaghetti and meatballs...

Ever think about what it would be like to be someone else? Yes.

Night owl or Early Bird? Both since I’m usually still up early in the morning. Lately, though, I’ll doze off for a little while and wake up early.

What celebrity would you not mind meeting? I certainly wouldn’t mind meeting Alexander Skarsgard. ;)

What’s your favorite TV channel? TV Land, CMT, The Hallmark Channel, MTV.

Have texting? Yeah.

You have 3 wishes. What are they? Good health, financial stability, and... more wishes. ha.

What did you first think about when you woke up? I haven’t gone to bed, yet.

What’s the last thing you thought about before you went to sleep? ^^^

Something you would change about this planet. Can be anything. Make it more clean. <<<

What do you want to be when you grow up? Or what are you? I’m nothing.

Like cartoons? Which one is your favorite? Some of them - I miss Doug, Hey Arnold, Rugrats, As Told By Ginger... <<< Check out Paramount+ if you can! Also, I like those as well. Plus, Winnie the Pooh the animated series and Arthur are two I watched recently and still like I don’t care how old I am. I really wish some streaming service would add Braceface.

Do you watch what you eat? Nope.

Have a favorite number? What is it? 8, because I like the way that it’s shaped. <<< Yeah, it’s been my favorite since I was a kid.

Are you quiet or loud? I’m a quiet person.

Were you an annoying baby? That’s not what I’ve been told.

Worst subject? Math was always my worst subject.

Best subject? English.

What’s your favorite brand of shoe? Adidas. 

What’s your favorite month? Why? October-December. I love the holidays and the weather.

Favorite season? Fall and winter.

Least favorite holiday? Hmm.

Do you try new foods or do you stick with what you know you like? These past few weeks I started eating more than just the same few things I had been eating for the past few years. Not new foods necessarily, though there has been some of that, but revisiting some foods I used to eat and seeing if I can eat them or not now. It’s been a good experience so far. I have to really try and put on weight and get my health and strength back up, so that’s what began this whole thing.

Love pictures or hate them? I love pictures. Not of myself, but other things.

Have you ever thought about going to Fiji? I wouldn’t be opposed.

What’s your favorite movie character? I have many.

Have any nicknames? What are they? Sis is my most common.

Who do you miss? Loved ones who have passed away. <<<

Someone have your heart? Someone of your heart but doesn’t know? Just me.

Have any sports you love? What are they? Nope.

Do you keep to yourself or are you out there? I very much keep to myself.

What’s your outlook on life? Not good. :/

Have any moments that took your breath away? Yeah.

What is the prettiest object/person/landscape/anything that you have seen? I like beach scenes and woodland scenes. Waterfalls are also nice, or mountains/hills. <<< Yesss.

Do you wear your heart on your sleeve? My emotions have definitely taken control over me and I can’t hide them.

What’s your style? Very casual and comfy.

Did you like this survey? Cause I might make more! Sure.

[heyyouwiththeassbutt]

The Christmas Gift (Part 1)

Summary - Christmas with your super-soldier friends had become a tradition. Until one of them can't make it and everything changes, thanks to an early Christmas present. Part 1 of 2.

Pairing - Steve Roger x Reader

Warning - Major smut in future chapter and just a little bit in this chapter. Dubious consent (kinda sorta sex pollen??). Cursing. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count - 3,536

A/N - Part one of my two-part Christmas fic challenge. All mistakes are my own. Feedback is greatly needed and appreciated.

-----------

December 24th, 2019

10:21

"This had better be important." You huffed out, the grave tone of your voice more than a hint that you had been deep in sleep before your phone had begun to ring. The laugh on the other end of the phone had been far too bright and airy for this early in the morning. "Just calling to let you know I've landed, Doll. Grabbing a cab and should be there within half an hour." Steve's words bounced around your head for a few seconds before you sighed and pushed yourself into an upright position on your far too comfortable bed.  For the last four years, you had welcomed the famous Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes into your home for Christmas. It had been an offhanded comment about how you spent Christmas by yourself since you couldn't get the time off work to travel home to your folks, but you were more than happy when you opened your front door that first Christmas Eve to see your two closest friends, arms filled with bags of Christmas food and gifts.  You were a lowly techie within the Stark tower, but after crossing paths with the boys only a few times, they'd taken you under their wings and your friendship with them became one of the most important things in your life. Throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of comfy shorts, you listened as Steve told you about their most recent mission, how he had worried it was going to last over the Christmas period, and how Sam had threatened to murder Bucky twice, just for being Bucky. "I'll talk to him when you get here, he needs to learn how to talk to Sam like a regular human." You laughed softly as you left your room and headed for the kitchen to throw on a pot of coffee.  Silence greeted you at the end of the line. "Stevie? Have I lost you?"  "No... I'm still here. Did Buck not tell you?"  "Tell me what?" "He's, ah, he's not coming this year." 

10:59 Steve was leaning against your kitchen counter, sipping on a cup of coffee as you angrily paced back and forth. It wasn't even that he wasn't coming that had bothered you, it was that he hadn't even told you. "It's just downright rude. I bought a turkey! And that bread sauce he likes!" You groaned out, sitting at the kitchen island, a pout on your lips.  Steve nodded, a small smile on his face as he looked up from his coffee cup, "If it makes you feel better, I like bread sauce too."  You rolled your eyes, but a smile settled on your face. At least Steve was still there. You'd make sure to text Bucky your annoyance later, but for now, you focused on the fact your friend was here for the first time in months.  Things had been crazy for a long time, between Steve and Buckys missions and the new project Tony had you working on, you'd missed far too many of your usual catch-up coffees and late-night movie marathons with your friends. It was almost a sense of relief that flooded you at having your friend back. You hopped down from the chair and walked over to him, a grin on your face, "What ya get me for Christmas?"  Steves smile faded and he shook his head, pointing a finger at you accusingly, "No. You do this every year, I'm keeping it a secret until tomorrow."  Your pout returned as you wrapped your arms around his waist, his large hand resting on your hip and your chin resting on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes, "Please Stevie? You know I hate waiting..."  There was a long pause where neither of you spoke, just looking at each other. Steve stood still, one hand clutching the coffee cup, the other frozen on your hip. You peered up at him questioningly before he seemed to pull himself out of whatever he had been thinking of and cleared his throat, removing his hand from you and setting down the coffee cup. He moved out of your reach as he muttered that he needed the bathroom, vanishing down the hallway. You stared after him. That was new. 

14:33 Elf was playing on the TV as you and Steve relaxed on the couch, him laying halfway across it as you lay with your legs across his.  This morning's weirdness had faded, but it still stuck in your mind. You had always been affectionate with the boys, and them you. It wouldn't have been unusual to find the three of you cuddling in your bed after they failed to get you out of bed on one of their visits, you pulling them down onto the comfy mattress until you all found yourselves drifting back to sleep.  It had become normal for you to hug each other for extended periods after a long, stressful day when you just needed the touch of another person.  Steves odd behavior this morning had confused you. It probably didn't seem that strange to anyone else, but you couldn't get past the knowledge that if you'd done the same thing when Bucky was there, Steve would have probably grabbed you into a hug, trapping your arms as Bucky snuck up behind you, tickling you until you were squealing and relenting that your gift could stay a surprise.  You had missed most of the movie as your brain worked a mile a minute. Maybe Bucky was the reason it had been weird. Steve was a gentleman. It was possible he didn't think it right to be showing you that effection when the two of you were alone. Come to think of it, you couldn't really remember a time when you and Steve had spent much time together alone.  A small squeeze on your ankle brought you back to the present, your gaze shot to Steve as you blinked slowly.  He was watching you with a smile on his face, "I asked if you wanted lunch, Doll." You hadn't realized how hungry you were until he said it, having only had a slice of buttered toast this morning.  "Food sounds good, I have lasagne in the fridge, made it special." You grinned as you swung your legs off the couch and made your way to the kitchen. Steve paused the movie and followed you, him lifting plates out of the cupboard as you switched on the oven to reheat the food.  You fell into your familiar pattern, talking about nothing in particular as you grated extra cheese for the top of the lasagna and Steve started on the salad. By the time the oven had pre-heated and the dish was in, you were in the middle of a light-hearted debate about why Bucky had canceled on your Christmas tradition. It reminded you that you still hadn't texted him and you grabbed your phone from where you had abandoned it on the kitchen counter earlier. You lent over the counter, your elbows braced on it as you began to type a seething text message. You were vaguely aware that Steve stood behind you, reading over your shoulder as you crafted your message. Hello Bucky, if that even is your real name. I don't feel that I even know you anymore. Not only did you not let me know you wouldn't be coming this year, but you also didn't tell Stevie that you hadn't told me. I'm not mad, Bucky. I'm just disappointed. P.S. Steve is utterly devastated to be without you, and has a notion that you have in fact canceled as you are so in love with him that you cannot stand to be with him another holiday without letting your true feelings be known, but it is fine, as we all know you wanna fuc- Steve grabbed the phone from your hands as you dissolved into giggles. He held you tight by the waist as he began to delete the message, you struggling in his arms as you attempt to reach for the phone. "Don't delete it, please, it's my masterpiece! He needs to know, Stevie!" You were still laughing as you struggled against him, your back pressed tightly to his body as he held the phone out of your reach, a grin on his face.  He deleted the message and looked down at you, redness on your cheeks from your fit of laughter and the strain of attempting to free yourself from his grip. He froze again. You almost tumbled to the ground as he released you, turning to check on the lasagna and leaving you unsteady on your feet as you stared at his back. 

19:12 Your phone buzzed as you received a text. As per your tradition, you were mid-way through putting the last of the decorations on the tree. Your tree had been up from the 15th, but you had only put the lights on, leaving the decorations until you were all together.  "Could you see who that is?" You called over to Steve, who stood by the fireplace, fastening the golden tinsel to the mantel.  He lifted your phone from the table in front of him and laughed softly before he read it aloud, "Sorry to miss Christmas, babe, duty calls. Steve has a present from me in his bag, you can open it whenever you want. Love, Buck."  You rolled your eyes, then jumped up and rushed over to Steve, your eyes bright, "So I do get to find out what my present is?"  Steve shrugged as he headed towards the hallway where he'd left his things, "I didn't know he'd put anything in my bag."  "Some super-soldier you are." You joked as you followed after him.  After a few minutes of Steve looking through his bags, he pulls out a small, box. He hands it over to you and you smile smugly before the smile fades and you bite your lip. "What if its a trick and he's going to shout at me for opening it before Christmas?"  "I won't tell if you won't." Steve laughed, his eyes on the present, as curious as you are.  You shrug and pull open the lid, pausing as you look at the sachet inside, labeled in Buckys' handwriting, 'Super special hot chocolate for my super special best friends'. You laughed softly and showed Steve what was inside the box. He lifts it out, an eyebrow raised as he reads it. He lifts out a second sachet that you hadn't seen, this one filled with mini marshmallows. The three of you always had hot chocolate on Christmas Eve, but you did find it slightly odd that this was what he'd given you. Shaking off the strange feeling, you put the sachets in the kitchen, sending off a quick thank you message along with a few confused emojis to Bucky before you went back to decorating the tree.

22:35 Throwing the empty Chinese takeaway containers into the trash, you stretched your hands above your head, your back making a satisfying cracking noise after several hours of laying awkwardly on the couch watching movies with Steve. Your gaze fell on the sachets on the kitchen counter and you smiled softly.  "Wanna see if this hot chocolate is poisoned?" You called to Steve as you pulled the milk and whipped cream from the fridge.  He answered in an affirmative grunt which made you laugh. You were pretty sure your laziness was rubbing off on him. Three minutes later, you handed him his mug, adorned with whipped cream, marshmallows and a drizzle of chocolate sauce you'd remembered at the last second. He smiled up at you as he took it, settling his free hand on your lower leg as you once again stretched your legs across his.  Falling into a comfortable silence, you took a drink of the hot chocolate and went back to watching whatever movie Steve had put on.

23:07 You felt weird. It wasn't a bad feeling, just... strange.  Peering down at your empty mug, you couldn't stop a hint of worry from creeping into your mind.  The thought wouldn't leave you as you tried your hardest to focus on the movie. It only lasted a few minutes, before you couldn't stand it and leaned over to the coffee table and lifting your phone. Quickly tapping to call Bucky, you became aware of Steve's hand running gently up and down your bare leg.  "Opened your present yet?" Bucky's voice in your ear pulled you back from a sudden, wandering thought that had thrown your mind into overdrive.  Clearing your throat, you tried to keep your tone even, "Yeah, we just drank it... Thank you. So, um, what made it so 'Super Special'?"  Steve made eye contact with you as Bucky laughed. You knew from how close he was, Steve would have been able to hear him even without his super hearing. "Just a little something I picked up on a mission. Did you like it?" "It was nice. What kind of something?" The hand Steve was running up and down your leg was extremely distracting, so much so that you had to ask Bucky to repeat what he'd said. He laughed again and you could hear the smirk in his voice, "You'll find out soon enough, Babe. Happy Christmas."  Just like that, the line went dead and you found yourself staring at the darkened screen. You looked at Steve and shrugged, setting your phone back on the coffee table as you tried to put your attention back to the television. His hand was warm on your lower thigh as Steve turned his gaze back to the movie. You felt him shift slightly, straightening a little bit as his other hand came to one of your socked feet, gently massaging the sole of your foot. Steve had given you a foot rub before. It had been nice, relaxing. This time felt less relaxing and you felt your cheeks heat up as his thumb dragged gently across the skin of your thigh.  You stayed that way for a few minutes, almost stuck still as your eyes wandered to his hand. Trying to keep your breath even, you made eye contact with him.  His gaze was searing, the blue of his eyes almost hidden by the deep black of his pupils.  Within seconds, he had pulled you onto him, straddling his thick thighs as your breath caught in your throat. You wondered as he looked up at you if your pupils were as blown as his.  You didn't have much time to think about it as his hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss.  Body pressed tightly against his, your hands landed on his shoulders, pulling him somehow even closer. His hand on your neck gripped tighter as his other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.  The kiss deepened, your body alight as his tongue brushed across your lips, seeking permission. You weren't ashamed to say you moaned as you allowed him access, your tounges battling for dominance and if it didn't feel so good, you might have relented to him.  You ground yourself down on him, your body working of its own accord as he let out a hiss, breaking the kiss and dropping his head to pant across your throat, dropping kisses and sucking on the skin there as he did.  Small gasps left your lips as you continued to grind against him. He was hard and ready pressed against your core through his jeans and your shorts.  You whimpered as he pulled away from your neck, annoyance on your face as his hand on your waist gripped you harder, stilling your movements.  Guilt washed across his face as his forehead lent against yours, his eyes still blown black and his lips swollen from your kiss.  Leaning in to catch those full lips again, he made a noise deep in his throat as he kissed you back, softer than the first time. It was over too quickly as he pulled away,  "Stevie, please." You could hear the whine in your voice as you begged. You peppered kisses across his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, all while he stayed silent, his eyes closed tightly as he seemed to be having an internal battle with himself. His hand came up to your cheek, pushing you just far enough away that he could look into your eyes. "You don't want this, Doll. Bucky put something in the hot chocolate. You aren't... We aren't ourselves right now." The words wouldn't register in your brain. You didn't understand. Your gaze dropped to his chest as you bit your lip.  "Do you not want me, Steve?"  He growled again, low and frustrated, "You know I do. I want you so badly. But you aren't thinking straight."  "I am thinking straight, I want you," you argued, tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks as you were met with a furious wave of rejection, "I'll be so good for you, Steve, I promise." Steve's hand on your waist tightened as he threw his head back, looking to the ceiling and blowing out a long breath. You could tell he was fighting his want, and you used it to your advantage and you rolled your hips on him again.  All at once, you were lifted off of him and set on the sofa as Steve stood. Steve was pacing across the room, his hands running through his blonde hair as his t-shirt lifted just enough to catch a glimpse of the deep V of his stomach. Your mouth watered, even more so when you saw the pronounced bulge in his jeans.   Staying silent, you sat there, watching him, waiting for him to make up your mind, but there was a voice in your head telling you how much you needed him that was quickly taking over all other thought.  Stilling, Steve looked at you as he pulled his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans. You didn't need to see the screen to know who he was dialing as he lifted the phone to his ear. 

23:49 Steve had been out of the room for at least 10 minutes, and you were fighting the overwhelming desire to seek him out. 

You sat on the couch, your kneeling with your feet under you as you had been when he left, you hadn't moved an inch.

The ache between your legs was more than uncomfortable and you knew if he didn't come back soon there was a very real possibility that he'd come back to you with your fingers rubbing at your swollen clit. 

As your will power was starting to fade even more so, he marched into the room, his face unreadable as he stopped not even a foot in front of you. 

You longed to reach out and touch him but he held a hand out to stop you as if he could read your thoughts.

"I spoke to Bucky." You nod in understanding, focused on the curve of his plush lips.

"He said that it's temporary, it'll be gone by morning." He continued. "What does it do?" Your voice shook slightly as Steve stood above you. So close, but you knew if you reached out he wouldn't let you touch him. An exasperated sigh left him as he ran his hand through his hair, "It doesn't matter. He's not even 100% certain." 

Tilting your head, you read the lie on his face. You'd gotten good at telling when Steve was lying, having learned his tell after many evenings of Poker with your boys.  He looked down at you and knew he was caught, your eyebrow raised as you said nothing, but continued to stare him down.  "He said... It was a desire thing. Unlocks... something or allows something. It was hard to focus on what he was saying."  Looking at the bulge still prominent in his jeans in front of you, you fought the urge to smirk. Yeah, you were sure it was hard.  "Is that enough proof?" You said slowly, now pulling yourself up to stand in the small space in front of him. He made no attempt to move back and for the first time, you thought about how he must be feeling the same way that you did. But he had stopped it. What a gentleman.  "Proof?" He swallowed. "If it... unlocks or allows... something... It has to be something you feel already, right? Is that not enough proof I desire you, Stevie?"  The resolve on his face was slowly dissolving as he looked down at you.  "I want you, Stevie. Please."  Just like that, his hands were on your ass as he lifted you into his arms, your arms and legs wrapping around him as you crashed your lips to each others.  You were vaguely aware Steve was walking, the two of you somewhere, but you honestly didn't care where so long as his lips stayed on yours.

[latibulx]

booyoung and byul ( not a lot of interactions between the two but i do be curious :O )

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME! ㅡ open ㅡ @pathwae

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - I think they might have a few break-ups here and there; probably because of the distance between them that makes it difficult to maintain a romantic relationship. And also, perhaps because they both end up quite busy with their own work/passion. However, if they manage to find their rhythm and work on their own selves, I can see them growing old together.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Okay, my headcanon is that they met through friends they have in common and they immediately hit it off and became friends rather quickly. Falling in love came naturally as they got to spend more time together and got to know each other better, most likely realizing how well they were fitting each other. I imagine it happened over the course of several months because neither Byul or Booyoung wanted to rush into a relationship and take the risk to ruin their friendship.

How was their first kiss? - I imagine that Booyoung would have invited Byul to see her perform because he had promised her that he'd come see her at least once. And, after the performance, instead of going back to their own place, they decided to have a late dinner together and take a walk by the Cheonggyechon river. And, Byul probably made her laugh while they were sitting, their feet in the water, and they were flirtingㅡ a little more than usual, both high on how perfect that night feels. And then it just came naturally, his hand on her cheek and her face leaning towards his; their lips meeting in a sweet, and a timid first kiss.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Byul, because he knows that Booyoung is really romantic and she would definitely want a sweet proposal.

Who is the best man/men? - Byul's best friend or someone from his family he is close to.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Booyoung's best friends and music partners!

Who did the most planning? - I can see them planning together but Byul being a bit lost at some point with everything there is to plan and take care of, haha.

Who stressed the most? - Byul, maybe? Booyoung would be mostly excited and all over the place because!! they're getting married!!

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 - I don't see them having a very fancy wedding and instead something more intimate, with only they people they care about. But because Booyoung's grandparents are attached to tradition, they still would have to wear hanboks and get married properly.| 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Acquaintances and friends they only hear about once a year, probably.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Depends of the mood! Mostly Byul, I'd say, but sometimes Booyoung ends up on top.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Once again, it depends of the mood. Once they've gone past their hesitations and embarrassment, they'll probably feel comfortable enough to show the other when they are in the mood.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 - I think that when they are not countries apart, they want to make the most out of the time together and it does involve regular sex. But then it happens that even when they're in the same city, they're both busy and they have to work on finding a balance on their personal lives and their work. | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 - I see them as a rather vanilla couple who enjoy trying out new positions and maybe use some toys to spice things up but they mostly enjoy the connection making love brings between them. | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - It depends if they're tired or not. Or if they take their time or not. Perhaps between 30 min and one hour?

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Yes! I feel like it's important to them that they both give as much as they've received.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time - while they might spice things up every so often, I feel like they are rarely rough in bed, because it doesn't really fit their personalities. | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 - every opportunity is a good opportunity to cuddle! especially when they haven't seen each other in a while. | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - they initially wanted to stop at two children, but then Booyoung unexpectedly got pregnant with twins, so they've got four children!

How many children will they adopt? - once their children will be all grown up, I definitely can see Booyoung suggesting that they consider adopting. So, maybe they'll have two more children, or maybe three.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Byul! He's a very helpful father and doesn't hesitate to be on diapers duty.

Who is the stricter parent? - None of them are really strict.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Byul, because Booyoung is the one to encourage them to go on adventures, pft.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Booyoung, because Byul is the one dressing the kids for school. (If that was Booyoung, she'd undoubtedly make their kids wear hanboks!)

Who is the more loved parent? - no differences in this house, they all love each other very much

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - both, they both want to be here for their children in every moment of their lives, including stressful PTA meetings.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Byul, because he's remembered how far he has come since he has himself graduated and he feels incredibly happy to be able to see his own children graduate.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - I can see Byul doing that too! But, let's be honest, Booyoung would do anything for their children too.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Booyoung. She's good with her hands, and her grandmother has taught her how to cook since a young age.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - None of them are very picky, they even have similar taste so it's easy to choose what dishes they'll eat.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Together as often as they can, and if one is busy, the other will go alone.

How often do they bake desserts? - Rarely, they prefer to buy them directly at the bakery. At least they're certain to not be disappointed!

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat lovers.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Both! Booyoung is a romantic and definitely remember their anniversaries and would cook something very nice for dinner, but I also can see Byul making an effort and actually cooking dinner for Booyoung to surprise her.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Maybe Booyoung, especially on days where they are too tired to cook but don't want to order take-out food. And she'd always say that it always feels like they're going out on a date when they eat out.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentaly while cooking? - Byul? I'm not sure, haha. None of them.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Both, we like sharing chores in this house!

Who is really against chores? - Both, too. They both have their days where they absolutely don't want to clean so the other finds a way to motivate them. Maybe with little smooches and sweet words.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Byul, probably. Booyoung isn't against it but she always manages to convince him to do it instead.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - None of them, they like their house clean!

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - They don't really stress out unless Booyoung's grandparents are visiting and in that case both are stressed!

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - I can see Byul in that situation, haha.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Booyoung, especially because she's always having a little concert while she's showering, haha. And if they're bathing together, it lasts even longer!

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Both of them because it's relaxing to be walking outside together with the dog.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Booyoung loves tradition so... Every time there's a holiday coming around, you can be sure that the house will be decorated!

What are their goals for the relationship? - Communication and respect and love. I think they want a healthy relationship in which they aren't afraid to tell each other how they feel, even when they aren't feeling good.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Before they become parents, both. Then, none of them. They forget what it means to oversleep, haha.

Who plays the most pranks? - Both! Honestly, they can be such kids at times, I can see them running around the apartment having a water fight or a tickle fightㅡ or even a random pillow fight when they're supposed to be watching something on TV.

[spnsmile]

Insert, Cas

Monday: Jealousy

written for  #SpnStayAtHome challenge  @pray4jensen @bend-me-shape-me  @helianthus21​ @verobatto-angelxhunter​

Remember that episode where Dean Winchester wears his favorite nightgown? Where they celebrate the last holiday season 15 ep 14?  Yes, that! Jealous Cas and Jealous Dean over some nightgown!

written for #spnStayAtHome Challenge

To say he was a little behind of everything was an understatement. Castiel comes home that morning from another trip to find the household in a post-celebration state judging from the leftovers on the table. Candlesticks he’d never seen before are on top of a white thanksgiving mantle and a plastic Turkey making Castiel feel he missed something out, especially when he hears laughter from the kitchen with everyone still hyped up in its wake.

He finds Sam and Dean with Jack inside the kitchen, all still talking merrily over coffee and vegetable salad. The three are huddled together on the table discussing something that brings smiles at the corner of their lips. Smiling to himself, he follows the sound, smiles even more at finding his little family happy.

Dean saw him first and says something about the ‘missing gay angel’ to which he tilts his head as he steps inside to join them. Sam offers him his chair, saying something about early research while Dean brings his empty cup and Sam’s plate on the sink, leaving the attentive smiling angel with Jack.

He doesn’t need to ask. Jack bombards him of details about how last night was the happiest all-holiday-night he’s ever had. Castiel squints. Apparently, they had a very special visitor last night—someone magical and warm and good. Castiel has to glance back from the boy to Dean then back at Jack who was becoming such a passionate storyteller.

“…she’s a wood nymph living in the Bunker-"

Castiel gapes. Dean shrugs from where he stands. "She's a resident, Cas."

"Wood nymph? Here? But I would've known-"

"Maybe from a local neighborhood?"

Castiel shakes his head, more questions than getting enough answers until Jack is talking again.

"Cas, you should’ve met her. She was very nice and very lovely and kind. The food she made was so good and delicious! Even Dean said it’s the best thing homemade he’s had after Mary’s.” Jack pauses with a blink, then smiles.  “She was so fun to have. She treated us with all these holiday meals and it was amazing. We were so happy last night, I wished you could’ve been here.”

Castiel smiles, not sure it was in his best interest to be here last night to be happy.

Then he feels the heated gaze first before he hears Dean speak.

“Yeah, where were you?” Dean snaps, making Castiel lower his gaze not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I was trying to call you last night, you kept me on voice mail, man. What did I say about not picking up the phone?”

“I’m sorry. I was caught up in a small hunt. It was necessary I took care of it.”

Dean turns thoughtfully.

“Was it dangerous?” he likes to know.

 “Well, I’m in one piece,” Castiel says drily.

“Geez, just asking.” Dean grunts and Castiel doesn’t argue with him because he didn’t want Dean in a bad mood early in the morning. But then he guesses the god mood would stretch on the way Dean easily lets it go, still humming by the sink.

Jack continues his monologue about how the woodnymph was living in the Bunker for a long time, not disturbing the living folks because that’s what fairies do until Sam tells her there might not be a Bunker in the future so she decides to give them a sendoff party, calling it their last holiday on earth.

“You’re not supposed to smiles saying that, Jack,” Castiel says gently to the still smiling boy.

“Well, it didn’t stop Dean wearing his nightgown—”

“Nightshirt, kid!” Dean hisses and whatever he is doing by the sink, Castiel no longer cares. Dean is blushing, that’s enough distraction for him to not interrupt. “So, it’s soft and fluffy and looks straight from Peter Pan but she’s my Tinkerbell, what was I supposed to do?”

“He told her that.” Jack muses, “She’s very smart, Cas. She figured the best way to keep her family safe is to stay in Men of Letters and then Sam and Dean too… very pleased with us. She said she didn’t expect Sam and Dean to be too less human…I don’t think she meant it in a bad way. You would’ve loved her, Cas. Dean does.”

Dean turns at the angel about to say something funny because Dean always thinks it’s hilarious, except he stops at the heavy look Castiel throws his way. The hunter freezes.

“What? Something on my face?”

“What?”

Castiel ignores him turns to Jack. “Is she still here?”

“No, she had to leave to look for a safer place after we told her the Bunker is a possible target of Chuck.”

“Oh.”

“It’s her home.” Dean wipes his hands with a towel as he walks to the table. “She’ll come back.”

“She liked your nightshirt and nightcap too so maybe she will,” Jack adds and Dean flushes, embarrassed the tip of his ears turning red. Castiel stares and listens more until Jack says he’d like to help Sam with research and then he’s off with feet sound of feet disappearing along the corridor.

Dean only shrugs when he and Castiel are left behind. Hanging the towel by the sink, he asks Castiel if he wants a beer to which the angel declines.

He follows Dean with his eyes imagining the violet nightshirt he could swear Dean ordered from Amazon Primer after their short adventure in the Scooby-doo realm. Dean is no longer wearing said soft article but is now back at his regular lumberjack and hard jeans-wearing his boots that showed no softness whatsoever.

Castiel frowns. He doesn’t wait for Dean to close the cold storage; the angel shoots up to his feet that Dean bumps right at him when he turns.

The can of beer slips from Dean’s hand but the hunter got it right on reflex catching it midair.

“Cas!” he exclaims a little surprise when they stand face to face, “What—are we not going back to old habits? Geez.”

Dean slips past him with petulant glare Castiel is already so used to. When Dean turns and finds the angel on his tail again, the hunter finally pauses and studies him.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out. What?”

Castiel opens his mouth, unsure what to say but Dean rolls his eyes.

“Cas, if you’re going to bitch at me for something I don’t remember doing—hell—we barely even see each other for me to actually screw you.”

“I’m sorry, I should have your calls.”

There’s a pause between Dean opening the can of beer and stopping. Castiel shifts at Dean’s gaze so he snatches the can and opens it for Dean. He pushes it back on the hunter’s hand, not quite looking him in the eyes. He knows Dean must be looking as perplexed as he is.

“Okay, what’s happening, Cas? You gonna talk or I’m going to make you?”

That gets him squinting up. “Make me? How?”

Dean takes a step towards him and Castiel itches to remind him of personal space. Except unlike Dean, he doesn’t really mind staring up so closely when he can enjoy the numerous counts of Dean’s freckled cheeks under the fluorescent light.

“What’s got your wings all ruffled?”

“You can’t see them.” The angel snaps.

“Cas.”

Castiel licks his lips.

“Oh, she’s my favorite.” Dean sighs.

Castiel sinks on his chair and glowers.

“Why?” he asks flatly. Dean shrugs.

“She’s my Tinkerbell.”

“Is she tiny?” Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean’s eyes dances.

“You’ve no idea—”

“I haven’t. I wasn’t here.”

Dean pauses as if catching on the dry tone. Castiel rolls his eyes and stares hard at the edge of the table with clasped hands not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Well, who’s fault is that?”

Castiel looks away unwilling to admit on any fault because it wasn’t his. So, he was needed outside, he had things to do outside and keep as much distance from Dean when such proximity could threaten his existence and leave the Winchester and Jack at the hour of dire need. Dean makes a

“What am I supposed to do, Cas? You’re always out of the Bunker, always out on a mission. It’s like you can’t even stay put one second here—I mean, is it me, or are you just avoiding me?”

Castiel startles.

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are! Do you think I didn’t notice ever since Purgatory? Finger count the number of times you’ve been home, Cas. I barely remember your last words to me—”

“It was the day before yesterday, I said—"

“Two words! Cas, go figure! You’re avoiding me!”

“Am not.” Castiel grits his teeth, keeping his grip on Dean’s shirt, “Dean, you know I stay here as much as you do—”

“To babysit Jack, I get it— ever think of the last time we drank together? Only two of us? Yeah, that long. And whenever you’re around, the time spent is you on your phone with some sleazy Russian-dude I barely know who probably wants to do bad things to you—why are you always on the phone with that guy, huh?”

“We talked about this, he’s a resource.”

“You talk to him on the phone more than you talk to me!”

Castiel bristles.

“Dean, I don’t understand the relation why you have to bring him up when you’re the one who flirted with a nymph who likes you in a nightgown because you are likable in anything you wear! If anyone should be jealous, it should be me.”

Dean blinks. “W-who says I was jealous?”

“I didn’t.” Castiel glares. “I said I am.”

So, he was and it was the truth. Dean needs to hear it because hinting doesn’t work with Dean even if he is the most suggestive human Castiel has ever endearingly met. The angel looks up in time to see the black of Dean’s irises expanding round leaving the greens like a halo around his pupils.

“Y-you’re jealous?”

“I am.” Castiel looks away.

“Jealous of what?”

“Nightshirt.”

“You want to wear my nightgown?”

Castiel stares down the floor, face flushing at Dean’s stupid antics. He knows Dean understands—or maybe not.

“I want to see you in the nightshirt!”

And thankfully Sam comes bounding back with Jack on his heels so Castiel is saved from saying anything further as I love you. Dean doesn’t let him go easy though. He tugs Castiel back by the wrist once Sam is done with the timely announcement.

“Oh, so I know your kink,” Dean whispers when his brother is out of earshot. “You wanna see me on my nightgown?”

“It’s a nightshirt. Move your ass, Dean.”

And the morning is filled with a very flirty Dean Winchester lacing their fingers together or bumping their shoulders even when seated.

Castiel doesn’t discourage him but he doesn’t do the opposite either. At least Dean satisfies himself with something so little while Sam drones on some intel about Chuck. Then Dean doesn’t stop giving Castiel that look between smiling and flirting like Castiel is the best thing inside the Bunker. And all this is because of one confession— all Dean knows is that Castiel is jealous and that’s enough for him to live by.

Castiel can’t believe Dean has no idea of their stand.

Every single time he was out of the Bunker listening to Jack telling Dean’s lame joke repeatedly the same day, said over and over until Sam is grimacing and Jack retelling his own version. The sound of Dean’s laughter so achingly familiar over the phone while Castiel speaks to Sam on the phone asking for information while a hundred miles away.

It hurts.

Every single time he is out of the Bunker.

He is jealous of Jack spending time with Dean.

He is jealous of Sam spending time with Dean.

He is jealous of the Wood Nymph who made Dean the best food. He wants to see Dean on the nightshirt. He is jealous… so jealous to the point he thinks being happy is out of reach and it’s a sacrifice he was willing to take.

Would still keep doing if it meant he can stay with them all the while figuring out a way to get out of the deal with his own hand.

He wasn’t going to make the Winchesters suffer unnecessarily on his behalf when he can do something about it before it happens. But for now, he will keep from Dean, stay jealous… will forever be jealous of all the time not spent with Dean and his family…

Dean stills grin at him knowing finally that the angel does care about his own absence in Dean’s life. Dean holds their hands under the table with their knees pressing, their elbows nudging at each other's space. Dean makes him smile in those little moments they share.

So, he stays jealous.

Dean can convince him to stay and maybe one of those days he will with fear in his heart. Someday though, he’ll see Dean happy in his arms, see Dean in that dress, watch Dean enjoy his Thanksgiving without holding back his feelings. Stay by Dean’s side because that’s what he wants the most.

It wasn’t going to be their Last Holiday, not without Castiel inserted there somewhere right beside Dean.

END [in need of episode 14 haha]

AO3 

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Homesick (BC)

Genre: Angst, Idol AU

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: Heavy heartbreak

Summary: Home is not always a place because sometimes it is a person. They are the one who have created an unrivalled atmosphere to linger in.

This home was found by an extremely lucky accident and explored in the city of the bridge that might one day fall.

And it hurts like Hell to be cast out of it.

Author’s Note: Based on personal emotions in regards to the cancellation of the SKZ concert in London and this letter. Indeed, this essentially might be a self-indulgent piece, but know there is a clear line between fact and fiction.

And I know exactly which is which.

Masterlist

Lonely.

That is perhaps the best word to describe the feeling of waking up in the morning in the heart of London. Normally, as happened on that miraculous night exactly a year ago, Versace Eros Homme would linger in the sheets and the running shower fill the tranquil Westminster air with the sound of falling water. 

Now it is cold.

The tears streaming down the cheeks to stain the sole warm pillow were shed first by him at the first goodbye at Heathrow. Then they could be stopped by the promise of meeting again perhaps during the summer, but that wish had to be postponed due to touring. A new promise was made by agreeing to meet in London, the prospect slightly stilling quivering full lips stuttering out the words “I miss you” to their lucky beloved.

Another dream destroyed.

With a single phone call two months ago.

‘I’m so, so sorry, babygirl. They cancelled the Europe dates for the tour.’ Breaths noticeably became shorter as the consequences of the management’s actions in regards to health and safety sank in. Fingers started to tremble, shaking the phone as well as trying to cover a mouth endeavouring to not sink helplessly to the floor with a broken heart.

But the mutual sadness crashed in simultaneously, distorting the conversation on either side with gasps and sometimes successful attempts at forming words.

‘I- You- I’ve already booked a week- weekend in Lon- London.’

‘Can you,’ composure clearly had to be regained, leaving an interval of a couple of seconds before unsteadily continuing and failing at the first word, ‘can-’

It took a difficult swallow followed by an awkward clearing of the throat to finish the inquiry spoken in a lovely Australian accent, ‘cancel it?’

‘I could. But I- I don’t have the money. I’m still a poor student.’ Breathing in felt like swallowing sandpaper, but the pain was enough to evenly smooth out speech and nullify the sobbing stuttering. ‘So I’m still going.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Westminster, close to Hyde Park.’

‘Which hotel?’ Without hesitating, the name and address were given so Chan could find out where the hotel is located, slender fingers audibly typing on the keyboard of the laptop likely used for composing new songs. After a wee while, a relieved sigh sounded on the other side, voicing approval of the accommodation. ‘Good. That’s a safe neighbourhood. I’m not letting you stay in Stratford again.’

The risk of danger there forcefully removed an ordinary travelling student from the Ibis Hotel, her favourite wolf transferring her to a safer area in the metropolis. Even if it would raise questions among the members and the public if we were to be seen.

None of that mattered.

As long as we were safe from harm.

‘Chan, I... I really don’t wanna go.’ This is where the waterworks really opened and the sobbing began in earnest. ‘Not alone.’

‘You’ve been working hard. Too hard. You deserve a break, babe. Go.’

‘I hope you and the lads will stay safe, I really do. But you can’t expect me to walk the streets without the memory of you. To sit in the coffee corner of the Waterstones at Piccadilly Circus, overlooking the National Gallery without thinking of how I chased you after you kissed me on the cheek in the basement of the shop. How you kissed me in the square in front of the gallery.’

‘Of course I can’t expect that.’ A sad snicker and creaking of the bed told of sitting down like the girl across the pond, on the edge of what cannot be shared. ‘And I would have done it again. Would have- Would have treated you to breakfast, kissed you again, made love to you.’ A rasping breath tore the heart further into fragments, emphasizing the impossibility to reach out and crawl on the lad’s lap to cling to the muscled chest like a koala. ‘I miss you.’

The same words are now repeated to the empty spot, remembered by puffy eyes barely wearing any makeup portrayed in the mirror when preparing to head out for a coffee at a nearby Costa.

Clothes befitting a guest of the four-star hotel are put on without listening to Stray Kids, instead opting for the soundtrack of Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate to remain in a British humour. It is the same music which has been on constant repeat while aimlessly wandering around the city.

Taking strolls in Hyde Park and St. James’s Green.

Hands were entwined while exploring lush green and by the waterside, enjoying an impromptu picnic with food from the nearest Tesco or Sainsbury’s.

Walking the length of the Victoria Embankment and parliament district.

Chan offered the last of his water against the warmth, unwavering in his argument that it should be allowed to take care of a significant other regardless of personal costs. However, to repay the kindness, the little wolf acted rapidly to make sure the order of two lemon ciders was paid before her taller counterpart could draw a debit card when retreating from the heat in a cooled cafe. 

Surveying art in galleries.

The ancient conflicts between a modernist and classicist somehow found their way into the relationship early, though neither of us actually knew what we were futilely howbeit amusingly ranting about.

Browsing in the various bookshops.

The kangaroo boy did not allow way less muscles arms to carry the various paperbacks that were collected when not grabbing a title from the top shelves for a girl with small people problems.

Hiding the secret tears fading in the shadows of Camden Lock, covering themselves with the unique fashion and amazing food to be found there.

The personal serving of cookie dough had to be shared because a hungry buff koala with a slight sweet tooth could not stop stealing bites.

Reminiscent of that devastating phone call.

‘I miss you.’

The three little words whispered to oneself over a large cup of cappuccino while looking out over the square where it happened a little less than a year ago.

What luck had found two souls.

What tragedy has befallen them.

‘I hope you’re okay.’ A hand wipes away the stray tear leaving a salty trail over skin, nose turning runny and teeth biting down on the lower lip when the absence across the table becomes tangible. Outside, the umbrellas have one another as they trod the grey pavements beneath the gloomy heaven. The books on the shelves are nestled against each other, the way panting lovers cuddled after their first time together and multiple intense rounds after until the evening of parting came.

Initiating hiatus.

London rain.

A broken promise.

‘I hope all of you are.’

Weary feet eventually leave the seat by the window after drinking what will likely result in a caffeine overdose. On the way to the underground, a stop is made at the nearby Sainsbury’s to buy a cheap three pounds meal deal. A student on a budget and low-calorie diet has to survive somehow and fortunately, if lucky, the convenience store offers what is wanted for a low price. Thus, with a bottle of water, fruit salad and egg salad sandwich alongside a couple of protein bars, the journey to the hotel is continued.

Vision becomes more and more watery as the stuffy underground station is left behind, slowly coming closer to the temporary accommodation that was supposed to be shared.

‘Why are you crying?’ A familiar voice that sounds like low purring when drowsy makes dark Puma sneakers turn around on the glistening marble tiles, overjoyed with the sound of home. Pale strong arms smelling of a romantic Italian holiday and dusted by thin black hairs pull the waist into a tight embrace as a thumb wipes away the droplets gracing skin. Love shines bright is warm chocolate eyes refusing to tear up in joy too. ‘Hey, babygirl.’

That is what wants to be heard.

Seen.

Felt.

But all there is, is the chic lobby.

The posh elevator leading up.

The cold sheets of the empty bed.

A lonely room.

And the unheard cries of a broken heart.

‘Fuck, I miss you.’

[bat-famzine]

Happy Thanksgiving to our followers in the US! We hope you can enjoy some hearty food and fun time with friends and family. 

How does the Batfam celebrate Thanksgiving? What are their favorite foods? Check out the incredible @preciousthingsareprecious‘s take on a Batfam Thanksgiving celebration below the cut! Don’t forget to preorder a copy of the  zine here to read more of her work, as well as amazing art and writing from our other contributors!

Jason’s attention was split. A small speaker rested on the counter behind him, the rising and falling voice of a narrator flowing from it as they read The Andromeda Evolution to the room. Below him on the counter he worked dough, kneading it with growing confidence. His apron, the counter, and the floor were all dusted with flour, spread in a mess he was not looking forward to cleaning up. 

As the narrator moved into a long technical explanation Jason’s mind wandered back to the dough under his palms. It had been a long time since he’d made rolls from scratch, or any bread beyond quick easy ones-- like those that were just a batter thrown in a loaf pan and baked-- so he’d been nervous when he’d decided that if he was going to do this, he’d do it right. Still, his hands and arms remembered the repetitive push and pull of working the dough, even if the last time he’d done it was when he’d been a kid. 

When he’d lived at the manor, it had become somewhat of a tradition for Jason to help with the rolls. He figured Alfred set him to them because kneading took such energy, but he’d loved it all the same. He loved cooking in general. More than that, he’d loved that it seemed to bring everyone together. He and Alfred, and then on holidays where there was much to be done, Bruce would join them for the easier tasks and chatting. 

He smiled at those memories, holidays had been much quieter when he was Robin than what he was expecting today. The family had grown so much since then. 

His smile turned down and he rolled his eyes, they were all still idiots though, nothing would change that. If not, he’d be in the kitchen at the manor helping Alfred cook and not settled into his own apartment with far too little counter space for all his needs. 

The narrator moved from their technical description back to the team in the jungle and Jason let thoughts of family past and present fall away as he listened. He rolled the dough into a loose ball and moved to get his greased bowl, depositing the dough into it, and covering the whole thing with a towel before setting it aside to rise. 

As Jason set it down, the doorbell rang. He tapped pause on the app playing the book and wiped his hands on his apron before moving to the door. When he opened it a burst of chilly air washed over him. 

“Heya, Squirt.” Jason said to a somewhat anxious looking Damian standing at his doorway. 

He scowled at the nickname, anxiety falling away as his obligation to be irritated with any name beyond his given taking precedence over worries. His arms were crossed across his chest against the cold, making him look small and alone in the doorway. 

Jason stepped back, smiling at the kid, “Come on in.” 

Damian hurried inside, and stopped short, looking around the apartment utterly bedecked in pumpkins, leaves, and crackling candles. Jason let his grin grow at Damian’s surprise. 

“What, did you think I’d invite you over for Thanksgiving and not roll out the red carpet?” 

Damian turned on him, “I was under the impression that most people do not decorate for Thanksgiving.” 

Jason shrugged, closing the door, “I’m not most people. Besides, it’s not every day I’m the one having family over for a holiday.” 

“Then you did not only invite me?” It was a question, sharp enough to say he knew the answer. 

He wagged a finger at Damian, and moved back towards the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, I didn’t have you come early so you could loiter at the door.” 

“Todd.” Damian demanded, stomping after him, “What kind of plan have you cooked up this time?” 

Jason was already busy, pulling an assortment of fruit out of the fridge to set on one of the counters, “I’m going to need to you slice all of this into bite size bits for the fruit salad.” 

“Jason.” 

It was the use of his name, and the worry in Damian’s voice that made Jason turn his full attention onto his youngest brother. The anxious look Damian had on his face when he’d been at the door was back, more obvious this time than last. 

“If you have invited everyone then I will not be able to--” 

“Stop that.” Jason said, interrupting him, “This is why it’s me hosting this year, because you lot all got it in your heads that it would be better if everyone celebrated without you.”

“You lot?” Damian asked, brows knit, “Do you mean to say that I was not the only one to have claimed alternate plans to Father?”

Jason nodded. He’d called Alfred a week ago to confirm Thanksgiving plans and see when he was expected to arrive and learned that everyone had mysterious ‘other engagements’. A few calls later and Jason had learned that each and every one of his siblings had opted out of the holiday festivities in an attempt to make the day better for someone else, leaving Bruce and Alfred alone. The lot of them were self sacrificing to a fault. On Thanksgiving of all days. The idiots. 

“Thanksgiving is about family.” Jason said, tossing an apple at Damian, “Peel those before you slice them,” he added three more to the growing stack of fruit on the counter, “Family and time spent being thankful you��ve got them in your life, and I’m not letting any of you skip out because we’ve all got the conversation skills of rocks.” 

Damian still hadn’t moved, apple cradled in his hands, “If I had known...I did not wish Father and Pennyworth to be alone.” his voice was tight, slightly strained like he was fighting with emotions. 

Jason moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright. It’s sorted and everyone’s coming over.” he grinned at Damian, “Alfred and I will make sure of that. I’ve got the adults bringing stuff, so pull your weight and help me out.” 

They worked in tandem, Damian following Jason’s instructions as he gave them, and showing a lot of promise in the kitchen. Jason made a mental note to have the kid help him more often when the opportunity presented itself. To avoid too much silence Jason switched the book on his speaker to something he knew Damian was interested in. They listened and worked together as a new voice filled the room, spinning tales of fantastic events. 

When another knock at the door resounded above the narrator’s voice, Jason paused it. 

“That’ll be Dick. Get the door for me?” he said, checking on now risen dough. 

He smiled to himself as he heard Dick’s surprised exclamation and rolled his eyes at Damian’s playful complaints of being “worked to the bone”. The two chatted with animated voices while Jason finished rolling individual rolls and setting them aside for their second rise. He turned just in time for Damian to lead Dick into the kitchen, the man carrying a large bowl of mashed potatoes. 

“Now I see why you told me to bring enough for ten.” he said, grinning, “What’d you do, team up with Alfred to plot all this?” 

Jason grinned at him and winked, making Dick choke on a laugh, “I should have known. Careful or you’ll be hosting every year.” 

It was a warning Jason wasn’t sure he’d heed. Even with the few of them there, the feeling of the day was warm and comforting. He found himself looking forward to the chaos sure to fill his little apartment in a way he hadn’t looked forward to anything in a long time. 

Everyone else filtered in slowly after that. Tim, Cass, and Steph came together having bumped into one another on the way bringing drinks and stuffing. Then Duke with a casserole looking much like something Alfred had made. 

People milled around, Tim hijacked Jason’s speaker and started playing music, and Damian (now protective of the kitchen and his place helping) shooed out anyone trying to sneak an early bite of dinner. It was a tight fit in Jason’s apartment, but comfortable. And everyone was smiling, despite all the worries of “If I’m here I’ll fight with them” and “It would be more peaceful if I did not come”. Jason fully expected some kind of spat to happen at some point, but what was a family gathering without a little bit of mess?

Jason left his youngest brother stirring the gravy to greet Bruce and Alfred when they arrived. Each carried one of Alfred’s famous pies. Alfred had a delighted twinkle in his eye and Bruce looked startled but happy. 

“I never doubted you for a moment.” Alfred said, patting Jason on the shoulder before taking Bruce’s pie from him and moving to the kitchen to leave them together. 

When they were alone Bruce cast his eyes around the group, “You got everyone together?” 

“Alfred helped.” Jason said. 

“But you spearheaded it.” 

Jason shrugged, at a loss for words. Which was silly, it wasn’t like he’d done anything huge or dug them out single handedly from rubble or something. He’d just tricked everyone into coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. 

“Thanks.” Bruce said, and tugged him into a hug, “It’s good to have everyone together.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Old Man.” Jason said clearing his throat of the sudden tightness there, “Alfred threatened not to bake at all if the whole family didn’t come.”

This made his dad laugh, “Nothing motivates like Alfred’s pies.” 

“We should try bribing criminals with them.” Jason said. 

“Todd!” Damian’s head poked from the kitchen, his nose was smeared with what could be either mashed potatoes or whipped cream, “Your assistance is required in the kitchen.” his eyes caught onto Bruce, “Oh, hello, Father.”  

“Damian.” Bruce nodded, “You’ve got a bit of uh.” he motioned to his nose. 

Damian’s eyes just about crossed to look at his nose before he wiped a hand across it, “It is Drake’s fault. Both of you come, or the whole meal will be ruined.” 

Jason waved him back in, and turned back to Bruce, “That’s our cue, ready to go save the day?” 

Bruce nodded, “Lead the way.” 

[springday-aus]

Boba Boy!AU with Minhyuk

moodboard link

Group: Monsta X 

Member: Lee Minhyuk 

Genre: fluff, romance

Type: Bulletpoint AU 

Word Count: 1.5k 

→ Inspired by the AU Prompt: “I come to this cafe pretty much everyday and by now you know my order by heart and even wave at me when I come in”

so there’s a bubble tea place in the center of this collegetown 

meaning it’s busy, but not always busy 

and our lil Minhyuk is the main drink maker 

straight up he is there just most of the time 

some people think he owns the place

others think he has no life 

but no, he’s just a person who needs money 

don’t we all tho 

he’s super friendly with customers 

no one ever complains about him 

and honestly who would bc this boy got the sweetest smile and always uses his manners

unless Monsta X comes in–customer service who? 

Kihyun: breaths 

Minhyuk: “sir, you are disturbing the customers and I need to ask you to leave” 

seriously tho, most of the customers come back bc he’s so nice

lowkey would give out free pastries to the regulars 

but also because he wants to hear them spill the tea

it’s the most entertaining part of this job 

anyways 

he works at this boba shop to make some extra cash 

originally he was just gonna work from the spring to the summer but then he actually really liked it so he stayed for the rest of the year

and now it’s a regular job 

y’all want me to elaborate? 

that’s another story 

moving on 

he’s really good with the mixed teas 

like mango green tea 

coconut milk tea 

taro milk tea 

Thai tea

the original black milk tea 

god I really want boba 

anyways 

he’s really good with them 

primarily because he likes shaking the little cocktail mixer 

Minhyuk: “look at how fast I can shake this” 

another worker: “oh my god” 

sometimes he helps out with the pastries, but he’s more of a drink guy 

speaking of which 

his boba 

h i s b o b a 

it’s fucking perfection 

literally, no one knows how but his boba always turns out fan-fucking-tastic 

it doesn’t turn out small 

it isn’t too soft on the outside 

it isn’t too hard when you chew it 

they’re the perfect size 

and nice and chewy 

he always puts the perfect ratio in the cup (unless asked for extra) 

Minhyuk: i.e. the perfect boba man 

so you are a regular 

when people say boba problems 

that’s you 

you are a sparkling definition of boba problems 

congrats 

anyways you probably come like every other day and probably have tried half of the menu 

but then after trying this one specific drink 

it’s become the regular order for you 

so now you order it every time 

honestly you spend like five minutes at a time in the shop but 

almost every staffer knows your face 

as well as your order 

including Minhyuk :) 

every time you come in, you always see him at the other end of the counter 

he remembers your order, so he always punches it in once he sees you 

and all you gotta do is pay 

it saves time and you always tip 

speaking of which 

remember that thing about giving out free pastries? 

yeah you get the most of that since you come in every other day

highkey he’s the only one who gives you them 

especially since you come here so often and tip nearly every time 

you can’t help it 

he’s so friendly that if you don’t tip him, you feel like a monster 

anyways 

that’s as far as your relationship goes with him 

it’s friendly but def at the acquaintance level 

he’ll wave whenever he sees you come in and you two would just have some small talk 

that is until you see him at the farmers market 

you were with a friend and then you thought you heard his laugh 

he was at this one old lady’s tea leaves booth, laughing at something she said 

you didn’t really know whether or not you should say anything since you’ve only seen him at the boba shop 

but then you make eye contact and he waves at you 

just like he does at the boba shop 

you smile and wave back at him 

he grabs his bag and thanks the seller

and then heads over to you, practically skipping 

Minhyuk: “hello!!!” 

You: “hi Minhyuk” 

your friend: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

you try to ignore your friend and look at Minhyuk 

You: “odd seeing you here, I’m so used to you from the waist up” 

Minhyuk laughs: “it’s good to see you outside of the shop though, what are you doing here?” 

You: “I’m with my friend—we need tomatoes and I only trust local farmers, why are you here?” 

Minhyuk: “I was checking out new tea flavors and maybe we can have some new creations on the menu, especially since it’s holiday season” 

You: “ahhh, I get it, we’re gonna bounce soon” 

Minhyuk: “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

you smile at him, waving him goodbye as you and your friend leave 

your friend: “WHO was that???” 

You: “he works at that boba cafe that I go to” 

your friend: “CUTE” 

You: “........... yeah” 

your friend: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

oddly enough, that wasn’t the only time you saw him out of the cafe 

you just started seeing him on the daily at the farmers market 

eventually y’all started chatting even longer 

and now your conversations last a lot longer than before 

they typically start with “how are you?” “what are you doing?” 

but then like they just change dramatically and drastically at such a short time span 

or long 

again 

y’all have LONG conversations 

after like the 20th time of seeing him, you exchange numbers 

you still go to the cafe 

AND at the cafe, y’all just chat until a customer comes in 

bc he has to do his job

at the farmers market, y’all just walk around, talk, and get the stuff you came there for 

you started to write lists because you get so distracted talking to him 

You end up forgetting what you were even there for 

but it’s cute bc all the sellers think you’re a couple 

y’all don’t go to just the one farmers market 

now y’all go market hopping 

that’s not a thing for normal people but it’s a thing for y’all 

some people think they’re dates 

are they????? 

are they not????? 

you don’t know either 

you enjoy spending time with him 

and talking to him 

he’s such a good listener 

and he’s interesting to talk to 

because he ACTUALLY wants to talk to you 

your friends keep telling you to just do it so 

you do 

you two were at the night fish market 

the old ladies were telling him how handsome he is and how lucky his partner would be 

you were just kind of looking at him 

and I mean REALLY looking at him 

he is handsome 

and nice 

and funny 

and now you have no idea what your relationship to him is 

about an hour later, when he’s imitating one of the lobsters in the tank, you just ask him 

You: “what are we????” 

Minhyuk, confused: “people???” 

You: “we are not having another existential crisis conversation again Minhyuk” 

Minhyuk: ???? “I’m confused” 

You: “SO AM I” 

Minhyuk: “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???” 

You: “ARE WE OR ARE WE NOT DATING?” 

Minhyuk: “DO YOU WANT TO?” 

You: “I GUESS” 

Minhyuk: “I GUESS WE’RE DATING THEN”

You: “OKAY” 

Minhyuk: “OKAY” 

and thus the beautiful beginning of your relationship 

dating boba master Minhyuk is super cute 

he’s 100% in love with you 

and is 100% unafraid to show you and everyone else  

EVERYONE knows y’all are dating 

he’s super affectionate

you know what that means 

lots and lots of pda 

Changhyuk: “right in front of my salad????” 

Wonho: “I think it’s sweet” 

Shownu: “you’ll understand when you’re older” 

Jooheon and Changhyuk: ???? 

anyways 

speaking of Monsta X 

they love you 

y’all are adorable 

and they ship it super hard 

even though they complain about the pda 

they will love and support y’all 

moving on 

before, y’all went to farmers markets right? 

now you both go to other tea shops, boba cafes, and other drink places 

there’s also the restaurants, supermarkets, karaoke, mall/window shopping 

Minhyuk basically makes a date out of anything y’all do 

OH OKAY 

SO 

perfect boba man right?

this man will make you the drinks during your home dates

that order? 

the one you get nearly every time? 

yeah, he makes it at home 

FOR FREE 

at some points, Minyuk thinks you’re only dating him for the free boba 

You: “babe, that’s too much time and effort” 

Minhyuk: “so, if I stopped making you drinks?” 

You: “I would end you” 

Minhyuk: ………….. well damn 

and whenever he shakes your drink to mix it up 

he found all of these online tricks to impress you 

it’s cute 

(until the drink spills bc he forgot the lid) 

(or until he drops it for the nth time) 

(or until he gets dizzy from this one spin trick that he tried to do from Youtube) 

it’s cuuuuteee 

he’s always trying to make you smile 

even if he ends up looking like a dumbass 

because he loves making you happy 

and that’s all he really wants 

[xxsovereignsarayaxx]

Supernatural - Road to Revenge Chapter 5

Authors Note: I want to thank my darling @evilispretty-dead for helping me finish this chapter and reassuring me that it wasn't a load of crap. As always if you want to be tagged to keep up to date with the series let me know or is you have a request pop me an ask. After spending some time on this chapter I really do like this one and it might have been my favourite so far to write.

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: Blood, Torture, Implied Sex, Angry Dean.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

“Well, well, well.” Said the unknown voice.

It’s true when they say that once one of your senses is removed, your other remaining ones are heightened. All I could see was darkness but that was because I had something covering my face, a bag or blindfold perhaps. But the room itself was cold and had wooden floorboards judging by the creeks it made when I shifted about in the chair that bound me. The odd bit of breeze passed me as I presumed my captor circled me like a bit of prey. 

“I heard you were looking for me, but looks like I found you first. I’m Actaeon but you already knew that. You don’t seem to be wanting to put up much of a fight, it's a shame really. Your sister Nia was it? She was much more entertaining.” The voice continued in a sickerning tone. I could feel the breath right in front of my face.

“Well being trained by ‘The Men of Letters’ we were taught many things, being captured by demons happened to be on the teaching itenary. Just in time before the summer holidays.” I sassed back. 

The object covering my eyes was ripped off, the thin piece of fabric fluttered to the floor, this was the first time I had looked my captor in their eyes. Making sure to steady my breathing I didn’t want him to think that I was scared, to think that I was weak. That I knew I was not. My eyes quickly darted to parts of the room. Even though it was dark I could see the faint trickle of light coming through the door frame. I tried to twist my bound wrists but to no avail. 

“Now, now little one, it is a shame really though. I saw what you were becoming all those years ago. Cold and heartless ready to take a life when you were told to. Pity that once you fell into the clutches of John Winchester and his boys you gained the one thing I despise.”

“And what would that be?” I asked.

“Compassion.” Actaeon sneered, walking towards a table covered by the shadows. He picked up something I couldn’t see what it was but I knew that he wanted to inflict some form of pain. 

Actaeon held the knife close to my features. “You had so much potential and you wasted it all. I’m disappointed Nicole I really am.”

I shuddered slightly. “I killed your kind! Demons, monsters and ghosts you name it I was sent to kill it.” I spat.

“And who do you think helped give the locations of some of those cases you had? I needed someone to hunt down certain people so I could get a higher position in hell.”

“Yet it was Crowley who helped me track you down. He wants you gone. What was it he said to me? Oh yeah...Bad boys get punished...” I said trying to struggle away from the knife. 

“But look at the predicament you're in, a knife to your throat. No way out and even if you free yourself of your bounds you don’t stand a chance against me. But aren't you curious why I murdered your sister?” 

“I’m not stupid Actaeon you want to bait me. So I lose my temper, so you have the upper hand, you want me to cloud my judgement with my emotions. Even though it pains me to say this, Nia was an easy opportunity; she was a simple throwaway toy for you. But with her you could also kill two birds with one stone. Yes you wanted the scroll from the painting but the thing you wanted more was me. You wanted me to suffer because I killed your love. Cecilia. She was my first demon kill and what you hated the most was the fact I was just a child.” I replied to him. My voice was strong and dominating. I showed no weaknesses towards him.

“So you do remember then?” Actaeon asked me, bending down to my eye level.

“I always remember.”

Night was always the easiest to work, there were always less people about which meant less witnesses. As I ran at full speed through a puddle water droplets splashed on my face I turned the corner and I knew that my trap had worked. I clutched my angel blade in my right hand and the remains of some holy water in my left. 

“Chirsto.” I shouted and the demon fell to her knees. She looked in pain and blond curls fell over her face. 

“P-please don’t” She begged.

“You are a demon...Demons don’t deserve to live. You have taken the lives of so many people but it is ironic that you will die by my hand. A child’s hand no less.” 

I stepped closer so that I was literally inches away. I splashed the remaining water I had on the face of the demon. She screamed in agony. 

I screamed in agony, something that I was now sharing with my first kill. The knife Actaeon held moved upwards to my cheek and he dragged it down towards my neck and past my collarbone. The knife was cold as the metal touched my skin but as the blade tore through me it brought me back to reality.

“Now this is getting me excited, little one.” Actaeon said breaking the torture he lifted the knife to his lips licking the blood that dripped off the edge of the blade.

“Just do what you want to me, get it over with. You’ve killed my family and Dean and Sam? They won’t miss me when I’ve gone.” I said sheepishly. Whatever confidence I had before melted away I knew deep down I wasn’t going to leave alive. 

Actaeon continued the assault. My clothes had been torn and now covered in blood. My face, neck, torso and arms were littered in cuts. I was now nothing more than a shell of my previous self. Hell bent on revenge. And what I told Dean in the past. And when he repeated my own words to me I knew he was right.

With each cut I cried out for help.

“Revenge is a dangerous road to go down Dean! Your head gets filled with emotions and then your judgement is clouded, you don’t think straight and then that's when you get reckless. Trust me I know.” 

Recalling another memory I hung my head in shame. I knew I wasn’t the person ‘The Men of Letters’ tried to mould me to be. I was my own person. I forged my own path thanks to learning the Winchester way. You look out for those who you love. Because a wise salty hunter with a phobia of salad and lover of bullets, booze and bacon once told me that family, don’t end in blood. But it doesn’t start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them, family’s there for the good the bad all of it. They got your back even when it hurts.

“Come now little one, the fun is just beginning. Now where to find your anti-possession tattoo. Shall you tell me or am I going to have to just rip every single piece of clothing from your body to find it?” Actaeon said breaking my train of thought. 

I struggled once more on my bindings, I made a mistake going after Nia’s killer alone. I needed my family. I needed Dean. Actaeon grabbed my chin tightly. “So you finally want to plead for your life?” 

“My name is Nicole Marie Williams and today isn’t my time to die.” I shouted and kicked Actaeon in between his legs. He might be a demon but even demons felt that. My blow caused him to fall to a knee and I used that time to try and wiggle free. Fresh rope burns went over the older ones but all of a sudden the door to the room flew open and two figures stepped through. 

“You’ve been a very bad boy…” Crowley says dripping with sarcasm. 

Within seconds a blast sent Actaeon across the room and pinned to a nearby wall. 

“Shall I end him Fergus?” Said the ginger haired witch I loved but hated at the same time.

“Not today mother that job belongs to Fawn here.” Crowley says slicing through the rope with his angel blade. As I shrugged out of the bindings I picked myself up, I wobbled a little and my head swam because of the blood loss from my injuries but I took the blade from Crowley and made my way over to the demon pinned by magic. 

“I can see the look in your eyes, you're scared. Now you know some of the pain my sister felt and all of the others you have murdered for sport. I hope you get what you deserve you son of a bitch!” And with that I plunged the blade into his heart. The magic that once held him vanished and his body dropped to the floor in a heap . I turned to face Crowley and Rowena.

“Thank you…” I whispered to them. 

“Well I suppose you should get back to your boys, I mean I sent them halfway across the country. Their worried sick Nicole dear.”

“I know I have a lot of making up to do, but I want to make us even.” I said as I bent down and searched for the scroll in the fallen demons pockets.

“This should make us even.” I told the demon and witch as I handed the scroll that started the whole ordeal.

“Is that...The souls of Gabriel?” Rowena asked with her thick scottish accent. 

“That mother it is.” 

“Nicole dear, I sent Dean and Sam to Oregon two days ago. If you leave now you might make it back before them.” 

I nodded my head slowly and with a small smile I handed Crowley his blade and left the building. 

The drive back to Kansas was long and grueling, I had no idea what to say to Sam nor Dean but I knew I had to come up with something. We were a family and with my actions I felt I had almost destroyed it. When I got back to the bunker I needed to patch myself up. I needed several stitches for the wounds that Actaeon had inflicted but the one thing that I had set my mind to. Cas would not be healing me, each scratch, each mark I will be remembering and if I would be left with scars then so be it. 

I pulled into the bunker late in the evening, I remember leaving where I was being held at night but I felt like I had something stuck in my throat as I saw the Impala parked in the drive. My muscles ached from everything I had been through. 

As I heaved myself from the old battered car I had ‘borrowed’ I made my way to the door. I supported my right arm with my left hand due to the deep wound. But I just stood there looking at the door handle. I was nervous...No petrified was more like it. My breathing intensified and I started to sweat and my body shook in fear. I had no idea what was happening to me but I wanted it to stop. I felt tears leak from my eyes and they made my face sting as the droplets rolled into some of the cuts on my face. With a shaky hand I reached for the handle and opened the heavy metal door. I felt like bambi on ice as I took small steps and carefully took to the stairs. I looked down to see both brothers stare at me in pure horror…

“It’s done…” I muttered as I took the last final steps to the ground. Dean had gotten up from his seat and left leaving me with Sam.

“Nik what happened?” He asked, guiding my frail body to the chairs in the library.

“What needed to be done, Actaeon is gone.” I whispered, not looking at Sam. 

I sat in silence as Sam started to patch me up, I felt the burn of the rubbing alcohol as he cleaned each one of my wounds. I felt each time the needle went in and out of my skin. But I refused to mutter a word. In the past I had been shot at, stabbed but this time I felt more pain than anything else I had experienced. 

About twenty minutes had passed and Sam had finally finished the last stitch, he tried to get some small talk out of me but I stayed silent. I looked down seeing the vast amount of bandages on my arms and the large one on my collarbone and neck. Stretching my arms I looked up seeing Sam place the unused first aid items away and throwing the used wipes and wrappers in the bin. He looked at me offering a small smile. 

“Nik, it’s ok please talk to me.” He offered as he tried to reassure me.  

I opened my mouth but then shut it just as quickly. I looked down at the floor. 

“How bad is it?” I asked softly.

“Dean’s...He...He’s angry Nik. He’s angry that you left him to deal with this on your own. That whatever was in your past you felt the need to keep from us. That you don’t trust us enough to know what happened.” Sam responded.

“What about you? How do you feel?” I whispered.

“I kept the thing about ‘The Book of the Damned’ a secret so we’re even but you never hide things away from my brother Nik, he is also pissed that you punched him.” Sam said ending his sentence with a chuckle.

“I didn’t want Actaeon to use Dean or me as leverage for one another, but I also didn’t want Dean finding out who I really was all those years ago. I thought it would scare him.” I said honestly.

“Speaking of that, what did you mean when you told Dean about running away from your old home?” Sam asked hoping you would speak to him.

“Let me get things right with Dean and I’ll tell you both everything. I promise.” I murmured 

Sam nodded. I got up from the chair and steadily headed down the hallway. Using the walls to steady myself so I wouldn’t fall. I stood in front of our bedroom door and I paused for a moment. I felt the rush of the nervousness and fear once more. With a shaky hand, I knocked on the door softly with my knuckle. Then I reached for the golden doorknob and opened the door slowly. I saw Dean sat at the edge of the bed hunched over resting his forearms on his knees. He didn’t acknowledge me as I entered the room. Cautiously walking over I sat next to him. Feeling the shift in the mattress as I sat he immediately got up heading over to the desk in the room.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked with a growl.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!?!” Dean shouted.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt.” I started letting out a shaky breath. We didn’t argue like this often. And I knew that a storm was brewing.

“I thought you trusted me? I thought we were partners?” Still keeping his voice raised.

“We are.” I attempted.

“Really? Then why did I wake up with a killer headache, flat tyres and you missing only to see one of your guns next to me and your phone smashed to bits.” 

“I had too! I...I...I...I didn’t want Actaeon using either one of us as bait for each other, he relied on emotions but I didn’t want you seeing what I was doing, I didn’t want you to see me stoop so low. Yes I made a mistake doing it alone and I released it far too late. At one point I thought I was going to die. But the reason why Nia was killed in the first place was because of me! I wanted to try and right a wrong. You of anybody should understand that. I could have made a demon deal, I could have tried magic to bring her back but I’m not you or Sam...I’m not that lucky. But what about the times when you left Sam to do your crusading. The times you left both of us even though we agreed to do it together….”

“That was different Nik and you know it!” Dean interrupted.

“How is it? How was it different?” I pleaded.

Dean just looked at me dead in the eyes. I could tell he wanted to object to what I just said but he couldn’t, from looking at him I saw how tired his eyes were, that he hadn’t had a shave in days, the stubble appearing on his jawline and features. 

“What I did was no different to what you would have done, we’re so alike and at times it's scary but it’s what makes us work! But now that this has happened and that my past is out there coming to get me I need to be honest with you and your brother and I’m going to tell you it all, yes I’m frightened by this and I’m scared at the fact you both might push me away but I also know either of you won’t do that because we’re a family. But I want us to be good before I do that. I am so sorry that I left you in the middle of nowhere, I’m sorry that you had to resort to asking Rowena for help.”

“You saw me when I was a demon Nik, you saw what I was. Hell I tried to kill you and Sam that day in this place. And yet you still loved me. You still cared. Whatever your past is it can’t be any worse than that.” Dean said softly, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“At times I think that it is.” I said softly getting up from the bed moving to Dean’s side. 

“Look what he did to you.” His fingers ghosting over the bandages.

“Head to the library I’ll meet you there, I just need to get something first.” I told him planting a kiss to his stubbly cheek and made a move to the door. But I was stopped in my tracks. 

Dean grabbed a hold of my wrist and pulled me to him, I let out an excited breath before I was then devoured with kiss after kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair and tugged on a few of the strands, Dean span round and lifted me onto his hip moving backwards to pin me against the wall, his lips moved to the exposed parts of skin on my neck planting small kisses up and down my neck and left side of my collarbone. Using his much larger hands he brought my arms just above my head and held onto them, the action hurt but in a good way and Dean knew it. I was feeling on top of the world right now thanks to the mix of dopamine, oxytocin and painkillers.

“Sam can wait…” Dean breathed.

[aromanticwhore]

You and I ;) -🥚

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs (We would make a shitty couple tbh, you'd bully the hell out of me. But I feel like if we were fictional characters we would totally get shipped)

How long will they last? - We'd break up after a week because we disagreed on which episode of Phineas and Ferb to watch

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I would after two hours and you wouldn't notice cause you're an oblivious hoe

How was their first kiss? - I kissed your nose and you kneed me in the stomach

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Probably me, and you said "Yeah, sure" cause you were zoned out and didn't actually hear what I said

Who is the best man/men? - Our dogs, piss baby™ was the priest or whatever it's called. They read the words.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - All of our pets and some random people off the street

Who did the most planning?- I planned everything but then you actually saw my plans and saw how shitty they were so you scrapped most of them and we redid it all together

Who stressed the most? - Me obviously

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. (I feel like we're gonna get married in a swamp or a bog but that wasn't an option)

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Me

Sex: (You're ace so uh rip. We gonna skip most of em)

Who is on top? - You, duh. Have you even seen me.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. (You know I'm clingy as hell, it's gonna happen. Eventually you'll give in and we gonna snuggle)

Children

How many children will they have naturally? - Fuck that

How many children will they adopt- Either none or 8

Who gets stuck with the most diapers?- Me cause I'm chill with it and I'd probably notice first

Who is the stricter parent? - You tbh

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - I don't think either of us would

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - I always pack them but then you end up emptying and repacking them

Who is the more loved parent? - It could be either of us tbh

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?- I would definitely go, you might go just to bully all the Karens

Who cried the most at graduation? - Me, definitely

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Either of us would but you have more money

Cooking

Who does the most cooking? - If I even think about stepping in the kitchen you'll throw a knife directly at my liver

Who does the grocery shopping? - Probably me but you'd have to make me a list

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - You but it's because everything kills you

How often do they bake desserts? - Every fucking night babey

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - I'm more meat but I think you're more salad, so I honestly dunno. I'd probably just eat whatever scraps you leave me

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner?- Me but it would be shit

Who is more likely to suggest going out?- Both of us tbh

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Absolutely me

Chores

Who cleans the room? - Me

Who is really against chores? - Neither of us

Who cleans up after the pets? - Both of us but you'd probably remember more often

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - I feel like you would

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Me

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Also me but you stole it

Misc

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Me because I'm singing an entire musical in there

Who takes the dog out for a walk?- We fight over who gets to

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - We go fucking wild on Halloween, it's the rules

What are their goals for the relationship? - You hope to kill me and become a dramatic goth widower at my funeral

Who is most likely to sleep till noon- You, I'd sleep until 5pm

Who plays the most pranks? - Probably you

[greekowl87]

Fic: When the Spirits Call

For the @xfilesfanficexchange​ October challenge for @BWJournal over on A03. Here is the @xfilesfanficexchange​ post here. This is a repost on Tumblr.

A/N: I had tackled this subject a bit before during a fic workshop. I almost forgot it. You can read that here. But for @BWWJournal, I tried to do something completely new. I hope you all like it. Thanks to @luiperlanegra​ over on Tumblr for giving me some great information about Dia de Los Muertos, including that lovely little legend about the holiday. Thanks to @clover-covered-hills​ for doing a quick beta for me. Sorry if the ending seems rushed. This was a challenge to write. 

Prompt: Dia de Los Muertos // between s9 and IWTB // Lighthearted, if you wanna get romantic that's great, would love maybe something along the lines of HTGSC type of mood, whimsical but with some reflection // MSR // DRR

It was Halloween eve in South San Diego and Scully found herself fidgeting in the chair as Mulder slide into the opposite chair across from her. He untucked the newspaper from under his arm and flapped it open. She crossed her legs and wrapped her arms around herself. “Well? Where’s the car?”

“Oh,” Mulder said. He tapped the palm of his hand sarcastically against his temple. “Four days.”

“What? You said the SUV had a loose spark plug. It shouldn’t take three days.”

“Four days,” he corrected quickly. “You know I’m not a mechanic anyways. But we’re in sunny San Diego. What could be bad about that? Hey, did you order food yet?”

“No, just water. You know what this means now, Mulder, right?”

“Yes, I do. What about this California King Burrito? We can split it, Scully. It comes with a guacamole salad on the side.”

“Mulder, why have to find a motel.”

“Already did.” He glanced at her and smiled. “We’ve been driving too much. Maybe a little air by the sea will do us some good, Scully. I can get you in one of those hot little bikinis.”

Scully rolled her eyes as he motioned for a server. A young woman came up with a smile on her face. “Finally decide on something, ma’am?”

“Yes,” he answered for them. He could feel Scully’s scathing glare. “We’ll have two margaritas and we’ll share the California King Burrito.”

“Excellent choice,” the server said. “I really would recommend the extra queso cheese. Makes the burrito even better.”

“We’ll have that on the side,” Mulder answered for both of them. “And oh, can I get a water as well?”

“Certainly. Ma’am, would you like a refill?”

“Please,” Scully answered tightly.

Mulder titled his head like a puppy. “What?”

“I don’t want to be here, Mulder.”

“We don’t have an option. Besides, I think I’m safe since your brother got transferred to Germany earlier this year. I’m not endangered of being drowned at sea.”

“That’s not it, Mulder.”

“Why? Are you worried about sticking out? We can dye your hair again if that is what you want?”

“No, no.” She sighed and pinched her nose. After a year of being on the run and dying her hair various shades, she was tired of being someone else. Somewhere between New Mexico and Arizona, she went back to being a redhead. “Mulder, I just have a feeling about this place. Our past few times in San Diego haven’t been ideal.”

He paused in thought. “Well, why don’t we do something? Tomorrow is Halloween. I’m sure you know some cool haunted house or something.”

“I don’t want to, Mulder. Remember Christmas and how well that turned out? No. I don’t want to deal with any angry ghosts that threaten to question our relationship or make us spend eternity with a murder-suicide. I already know we have forever and I don’t need us murdering each other to prove it.”

Mulder did not know whether to be touched or worried. She reached across the table to take his hand. “I’m not going to poison while you sleep.”

“That’s a relief,” he laughed. The server appeared with their drinking, skillfully setting them in front of Mulder and Scully. She also placed down a basket of salsa, chips, and the white sauce. Scully reached for her margarita and took a long sip. “Someone's thirsty, Dana,” Mulder said, using her given name.

It caught Scully off guard and she quickly averted her eyes. Not only a few sips, the margarita already working its magic

“My name is Luisa if you all need anything by the way,” the server said. “So, are you in town for a few days? You couldn’t come at a better time.”

“Halloween,” Mulder smiled. “We know.”

“Also it’s El Dia de Los Muertos starting tomorrow as well and it goes on through November 2nd. There is a lot of celebrations going on that are worth checking out if you’re in town for a few days.”

Scully was silent. “We’ll look into that,” he answered.

“Well, I’ll be here all week. Let me know if you need anything.”

Their server left and Mulder grinned at his partner. “That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

“Whatever you say, Mulder.” She picked at their chips. “Whatever you say. Just no haunted houses.”

**************

It was near midnight as Mulder and Scully lay together in their seaside motel room. The lights were off except for the illumination of the television. She had her back to him and was gently playing with the golden cross that had only left her neck a few times. Scully jumped when she felt Mulder’s warm hand run up her back lightly and back down the length of her thigh. “Talk to me,” he whispered.

She shook her head and removed her hand from her cross. “I’m fine.”

“Scully, you and both know when you are fine and when you are fine.” He kissed her shoulder and encouraged her to turn so they could face each other. “Talk to me,” he repeated.

“It’s being here. I don’t know.”

“Or is the holiday?”

“What holiday?”

“We never had a case that involved the Day of the Dead. Why don’t we see what there is to see? Maybe there some celebrations we can go visit.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I know you don’t believe in that stuff but as that server said, it’s the Day of the Dead. Why don’t we partake in the holiday? It’ll be fun. I know we never had any cases connected to it but I thought it could be fun. You don’t have to answer right now. Just think about it.”

She shrugged and turned her back to him but turned back to face him. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered to him after a moment

Mulder held her close and closed his eyes. He scanned over his photographic memory of fables, legends, and paranormal knowledge to find a story to tell her. “I remember reading somewhere, long ago, about the legend of the cempasúchil flower.”

“The what flower?”

“The cempasúchil flower. Marigolds.” He sighed and began to rub her back slowly. He felt Scully’s breathing slow. “I just know they play a role in the holiday but do you know the legend about the flower isn’t a ghost story? It’s a love story.”

“What were you doing memorizing Aztec legends?”

“I read a lot as a kid, just like you. Do you want the story or not?”

“I’ll be quiet then.” She snuggled closer and pressed her ear against his chest, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat. She hugged him. “Aren’t you going to tell the story?”

“Ms. Impatient,” he teased softly. He kissed her fiery locks. “Okay, let’s see if I remember this.”

Scully closed her eyes and tried to will the thoughts over her deceased daughter and a lost son and listen to his voice. Mulder’s hand reached for the remote and turned off the television. He could make Scully out from the light reflecting from the parking lot.

“Okay, let me see if I can remember this.” He was silent for a second before starting again. “Okay, the lovers were named Xóchitl and Huitzilin. I’m pretty sure I am mispronouncing those names but anyways, they would travel up to the mountain and give flowers as an offering to the sun god. The god also showed his appreciation for his sunny weather.”

“I’m sure the legend doesn’t refer to ‘sunny weather.’”

“It’s been a while. Who’s telling the story, huh?”

She chuckled.

“Anyways, one day, it was particularly nice and they swore to each other that their love would last forever. Everything was good for a time but then war broke out. Huitzilin had to leave her to fight and protect their lands.” Scully winced slightly, thinking back to Mulder’s abduction, the months of uncertainty, and the pain of his temporary death. He rubbed her back to get her to relax. “But as most stories go, Xóchitl soon learned of Huitzilin’s death and she was devastated.”

“Mulder, I don’t think I want to hear anymore.”

“Let me finish at least.” Scully sighed and nodded against his chest. “She walked back up the mountain and begged the sun god to join her love for Huitzilin. And the god, moved by her words, turned her into a flower with fiery colors bathed in the sun’s rays. A hummingbird then appeared and touched its beak into its petals. The flower unfurled its pedals in all its glory. The legend goes that as long as the hummingbird and marigolds exist, the lovers will always be together.”

She smiled sadly. “It’s a lovely legend, Mulder. I wonder what it means.”

“It’s just the next step of the journey. Who knows, we might come back as a pair of dung beetles.”

“As long as we’re together.”

He laughed. “Go to sleep.”

*******************

Halloween. After a rousing breakfast of microwaved burritos, drip coffee, and a stale muffin, Mulder and Scully walked along the beach to gather their thoughts before the day officially began. It had become a morning ritual for them when they first went on the lam and they’d kept it up since then. “So,” Scully started, “what do you want to do today?”

Mulder took a deep breath, inhaling the sea air. “Why don’t we walk around downtown. Maybe go to little Italy? We can make our way back to where we had dinner yesterday. Maybe that waitress has someplace we could visit.”

“It’s Halloween,” she reminded him looking at him. “It’s probably going to be crazy tonight. People will be getting drunk, cops will be out, and I think the attention is something we can do without.”

“That hardly sounds like any fun. Did you grow up in San Diego? I bet you know all the cool spots to hang out and cause mischief.”

“You know I wasn’t that type of person, Mulder.”

“I know,” he chuckled. Scully looked away and focused on the distant horizon. “Scully? What is it?”

“Nothing, Mulder.” She smiled. Although she was a convincing actress, her eyes betrayed her. “Let’s head back to the motel, okay?”

“You can go ahead. I’m going to find a grocery store and pick up a few things.”

“We’re only going to be here for a few days. Why should you pick up a few things? We can just go out to get what we need as we need it.”

“Still, we both know it makes any drab motel room feel a little like home.”

“You can do that,” she told him. “I’m going back to our room.”

Mulder did not push the subject and simply settled for a chaste kiss on the cheek as she gathered her things and walked up the beach back to their motel room. He sighed and began to walk down the block towards the grocery store. As he got closer to town, he noticed the Halloween directions mixing with the skulls and skeletons from Dia de Los Muertos. He smiled as he entered into a small shop, the little bell by the door announcing his arrival. A woman smiled and greeted him. “Morning!”

“Morning,” Mulder replied. He took a basket and began to patrol the aisles in search of their food.

“Can I help you find anything, sir?”

“Um, I think I should be okay,” Mulder added after a moment. “What’s with all the skeletons?”

“Ah! Halloween and Dia de Los Muertos go hand and hand around here. We are right next to the Mexican border after all. Today marks the beginning of the day of the dead. On the 31st, children make little altars to invite the spirits of the children to visit. Families spend the time to clean up and tend to the graves, making little altars, and leaving gifts and offerings, including marigolds. The first and second of November are symbolic as well, the first being for adult spirits, and then the second the families go to the graveyard.”

“Sounds like a wonderful holiday.”

“It is. You’re not from here?”

“Um,” Mulder bit his lip before replying, “my wife and I are visiting the area. She grew up out here as a teenager.”

“Any family?”

Mulder was silent, berating himself for forgetting. “Not anymore. Hey, how late are you open till? We’re staying in a motel right down the block. The Sea Horse Inn.”

“Ah. Bill’s building. It looks like a shithole but it is a quaint little place. And it’s right on the beach. Yep, we’re open. We even got a deli offering delivery starting at lunch till close to there.” She produced a menu from behind the counter. “Here ya go, hun.”

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything you are looking for in particular?”

“Um, the basics but could you tell me more about the day of the dead?”

*********************

Scully drew the curtain to their motel room, closing her view of the Pacific Ocean. She did not know what it was being stuck in San Diego again that bothered her. Maybe it was the holiday. Maybe it was just being on the run for so long. All that she knew was that she felt uncomfortable and exhausted like she had been at sea for too long.

With the curtains drawn, Scully turned on the lamp near the little table that functioned as a desk and a dining table. She reached blindly for the television remote that she knew had placed there minutes before. But her hand grabbed only empty air. She frowned to see the television remote moved at the opposite end of the table. She frowned and quickly turned the channel trying to find something lighter. She settled on the Home Garden Network. As the hosts drowned on about finding the perfect house, Scully let her thoughts drift to Christmas 1997 and the daughter she never really had.

Emily.

Momentarily, she let herself believe it could have been possible. To be a mother. To have a daughter. She let herself dream of the possibilities that were far fetched. But those dreams were snatched away. In the same town of San Diego where her first nephew was born, her daughter had died at the same time. She remembered that night after the orderlies had taken Emily away to perform the hastily done funeral plans. Mulder had been there right by her side. First to hold her as she pounded her fists against his chest at the unfairness at all. He was the only there to hold her on her brother’s couch as she cried silently into his chest. Awkwardly, he was the only one at Emily’s funeral to have a proper boutique of flowers for her and he was the only one to never let her go.

But then came William.

William. Their miracle child. The child that represented all their hopes and dreams. The prayers of normal. She abandoned him because she didn’t know what else to do. She did not know how else to keep their son safe. So she gave him up.

She gave up on them.

Scully jumped when their motel door open with Mulder dragging one of those rolly carts that old ladies had when they did groceries. “Jesus, Mulder.”

“Scully! Did I scare you?”

“Yes! Be glad I didn’t have my weapon on me!”

Mulder chuckled and shut the door behind him. “I’m borrowing this cart from Louie.”

“Louie? Who’s she?”

“Louie is short for Luisa.”

“Must be a common name. So, if you run off with a woman with that name…”

“You have no fear because I have the same fear about you.”

“Haha. What did you come up with?”

She could smell the marigolds before he even walked in. Mulder produced the flowers, a Mr. Potato head doll, and some supplies for them. It was the child’s toy that made Scully flinch. “Why did you buy that, Mulder?”

“We’re in San Diego. I haven’t forgotten.”

“She wasn’t your daughter.”

“She should have been, Scully. She was close enough. She’s William’s big sister. She was my daughter too, even if I never had a chance to say it or prove it.”

At the mention of both of their lost children, she cried. He frowned and felt helpless. This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting at all. He thought this would be something lighthearted that they could but now, he only felt bad for making her pain worse.

****************

Later that day, Scully finally summoned the courage to agree with Mulder’s plan. They walked along the beach with the sunset, drawing on each other’s strength, before they decided to take a taxi to the graveyard near Holy Mother Catholic Church. As the taxi sputtered away, Mulder dropped the plastic bag on the cement to take both of Scully’s hands. Her eyes were focused on the graveyard ahead. “Look at me,” he commanded.

The voice that had called her out of the darkness numerous times did so again. She forced herself to look into his hazel eyes and hold it. She drew in

“I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

She nodded and disengaged herself. She tried to find some semblance of the FBI agent she used to be but failed as Mulder took her hand. But she failed. Her face crumbled as she bit her lip in a vain attempt to keep a straight face. It was rare for her to let her emotions get the best of her in public.

“Scully, it’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head. “And we’re not going to honor just Emily. This holiday is also about honoring family. We’ll honor our sisters as well, okay? From what I learned, Halloween is for the children's spirits. The rest of the holiday is for the adult spirits.”

Scully hummed in acknowledgment, her eyes fixated on the many headstones in front of them. She tugged his hand and with renewed strength, they made their journey to Emily’s grave.

*****************

They spent the rest of the afternoon in silence in front of Emily’s headstone. They decorated with marigolds they had brought from a local store in honor of the holiday. Mulder had left there briefly and returned carrying a small Mr. Potato Head. Scully cried even more. That evening, they collected a pizza as parents began to emerge on the streets with various miniature versions of pirates, superheroes, and everything from all walks of life. She stopped made a second stop at a small convenience store to pick up a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Are you sure that is such a good idea,” Mulder asked softly. Scully’s raised eyebrow shut down any other pending conversation. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay.”

“I just need to take the edge off,” she whispered. “Today…”

“I know,” Mulder acknowledged. “You ready for some pizza and bad horror movies?”

“Sure,” she whispered.

Mulder frowned. Maybe visiting Emily’s grave was a mistake. Maybe celebrating the whole Dia de Los Muertos was too. Scully was just withdrawing into herself. By the time they got back to their motel room, the pizza was barely warm and Scully stuff it into their mini-fridge. She grabbed one of the plastic little cups near the empty ice bucket and poured a hefty serving of Jack Daniels. Mulder kept his mouth shut as he watched her sit at the edge of their bed and flip through the channels.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you, Mulder?”

“I don’t know. Have I done something to warrant Scully wrath?”

“You okay, Mulder.” She sighed and downed the whiskey in one gulp. “I just don’t want to feel right now.”

“We could…”

She shook her head quickly. “Not even that.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just hold me? Watching crappy movies and pretend we have a normal life where William is passed out from trick or treating and we watch Plan 9 from Outer Space.”

“I can do that,” he answered.

The pizza was forgotten and left in the fridge. Scully changed into a pair of sweats and one of Mulder’s tee shirts and he left his clothes on. She poured another shot of Jack Daniels and downed it, making her Irish ancestors proud. They always excelled at wordless communication and they crawled into their respective sides of the bed. Mulder opened his arm as she knew how to melt against his side. He pulled up the blanket around them and whispered, “Comfortable?”

“I got a good buzz and you. The only thing missing is a bad movie.”

“I promise we’ll have a normal life one day, Scully.”

“I know, Mulder.”

“I love you.”

She looked up and kissed under his chin. “I know.”

Mulder hugged her close and switched on the television. “What do you want to watch? Friday the 13th or House on Haunted Hill?”

“Which version?” She mumbled.

Mulder smiled. “Which one do you want to watch?”

“Vincent Price. That 1999 version reminds too much of one of our cases.”

“You got it, Scully.”

As the black and white movie played, Scully listened to his heartbeat and let the alcohol ease her off to uneasy slumber. Mulder hugged her close and sighed, switching the channel to something else when he sensed Scully had drifted off to sleep.

***************

Scully knew from the instant that she opened her eyes that she was dreaming. The beach looked like something she had visited a long time ago from childhood. The sand was too white and the ocean too blue. It was too perfect. But she also knew something was off when she noticed Mulder standing next to her with the same confused look on his face. He looked surprised to see her. “Are we sharing a dream again?”

“We didn’t eat any hallucinogenic mushrooms did we?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I think we are.”

Scully sighed. This was the last thing she needed on Halloween. “Fantastic. I thought this ended after that whole acid trip. I don’t recognize this beach.”

“I do,” he whispered.

Mulder looked down at his bare feet and glanced over to Scully. She was wearing jeans rolled up to her calves and a light tee-shirt, also barefooted. “Why is it that we are dressed for the beach?”

“I dreamed of this beach when I was locked in the hospital and you were in Africa. I saw our little boy here. I dreamed of him.”

Scully crossed her arms, unconvinced. “Then why are we dreaming of it now? What’s changed?”

“I don’t know.”

Over the crashing of the waves, they heard laughter from a nearby sand dune. Automatically, Mulder moved to stand in front of Scully as if to shield her. “Mulder!”

Over her protests, the laughter died away and a young woman with dark brown curly hair appeared on the dune. She couldn’t have been more than 15 years old. Mulder found himself star struck. “She looks like Samantha.”

“Mulder, Samantha died.”

“I know...how could we be dreaming this, Scully?”

The teenage girl laughed and retreated down the dune. “Mulder, it can be any number of things. Maybe we ate something or we were drugged.”

“Maybe it’s just Halloween and the spirits have come to call.”

“Mulder! There has to be a logical explanation for this.” She placed her hand on Mulder’s arm. “Maybe the mold in the motel room…”

From the direction of the sand dune, another voice called. Someone familiar. “There goes Dana, always finding a rational explanation for something.”

Scully stilled and her grip tightened around Mulder’s arm. Her blue eyes watered with unshed tears and she looked to Mulder to ground her. He shook his head, unable to come up with an explanation. “She’s dead. Mulder, that can’t be Missy’s voice. She’s dead.”

“I know.”

“This is a dream.”

“I don’t know at this point,” he replied.

Scully shook her head violently. “Mulder, this is a dream,” she insisted, stressing each word.

“Dana?”

It was Missy’s voice again but it was much closer this time. As Scully turned around to find the source of the voice, she screamed bloody murder. As he turned to see what his partner screamed about, he stood face to face with Melissa Scully looking the same as she did in 1994, vibrant and full of life. She smiled warmly. “Hi, Dana. Hi, Mulder. Happy Halloween, huh?”

“This isn't possible,” Scully repeated, backing away. “Mulder, tell me you are seeing this.”

“I am,” he replied. He stepped forward in front of Scully unconsciously as if to protect her. “What do you want?”

The Melissa Scully in front of her laughed airily and shook her head. “I knew you two would make a cute couple. Didn’t I tell you, Dana? It was only a matter of time.”

“Melissa! Are you tormenting Fox?”

The same teenaged girl from earlier appeared behind Mulder and Scully causing both of them to jump. “No, Sam, well not much.”

“I have to admit, Fox,” the teenage Sam sang, “I bet this is slightly better than dealing with those demented Christmas ghosts that tried to get you to kill each other. Kind of romantic though.”

“You would say that,” Missy countered.

“Well, I’m not the one going around saying Fox and Dana are cosmically connected.”

Neither Mulder or Scully could find a word to mutter between them and their deceased sisters carried on as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Did you leave my niece alone?”

“She’s my niece too,” Sam countered. “Maybe not by blood but she does call me Auntie Sammy. She’s fine right now.”

Scully took Mulder’s hand and pulled him away discreetly. “We need to wake up,” she whispered. “Mulder, we need to wake up.”

“I know but there isn’t a magical button.”

As Missy and Sam bickered, there was a chime somewhere in the distance. Both of the deceased sisters stopped and smiled at the confused pair. “That’s our time,” Melissa replied. “Till tomorrow night. Sam, why don’t you gather up Emily? It’s time for us to go.”

“Emily?” Scully whispered, not believing her ears.

“Of course, Dana. Don’t forget you invited her too.”

“Fox,” Sam smiled, shaking her head. “Till tomorrow.”

Mulder and Scully, speechless for once in their lives, watched their deceased sisters climb back up the dune and disappear over it.

***************

Scully woke up with a jolt, hearing a siren blaring over the distant crash of waves outside the seaside motel room. It took a moment for her to become aware of her surroundings after she realized she wasn’t on the beach anymore. The television was still on, playing an infomercial about indestructible knives. She heard someone outside their door. Mulder instinctively hugged her as he took a deep breath, waking up himself. He rubbed her back and whispered, “It was just a dream. It’s all right.”

“We dreamed the same thing, didn’t we?”

Early morning Scully was too blunt for his tastes. “I don’t know. I think so. Maybe.” She let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. We can forget about it.”

She did not reply right away but instead closed her eyes. “Were we asleep long?”

“Um? Maybe? I don’t.” He let her go and set up in bed to check the clock. “It’s at four a.m. Do you want me to make the coffee?”

She shook her head and drew him back to bed. “No, I just want to try and go back to bed.”

“Do you want to talk about the dream?”

“You already know what it was about.”

Mulder knew better than to push her to talk and he lay back down beside her. “Do you want me to turn the channel?”

“Do you think they have those music channels?”

“Like MTV?”

“No,” she yawned. “Like those channels that play music.”

“I don’t know. The alarm clock has a radio though.”

“No,” she shook her head sleepily. “Leave the tv on then. I just don’t want to think.”

“You’ve been on edge since we’ve come to San Diego,” he told her. She curled back up beside him and he readjusted the blankets. “Visiting Emily’s grave…”

“I know,” she whispered.

Mulder sighed in frustration. When Scully withdrew into herself, trying to get her to talk was worse than breaking into Fort Knox. He learned long ago she would talk to him when she was ready, Scully would talk. The most that he could do was be there for her in the meantime. He sighed and nodded. “What do you want me to do, Scully?”

“Just…” She sighed. “Just be here for me?”

“You know that. Of course.”

With her finally comfortable, he snaked his hand up underneath her pajama top and caressed her bare skin. She sighed contently. “Never could turn down a good back rub, could you?”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “Never.”

“I could…”

“This is good, Mulder.”

Okay.

“Will you ever talk about it?”

Scully hugged him and sighed. “Let’s see if we share another dream.”

He’ll take that. “Okay. We still got a few more hours…”

“Sleep, leftover pizza, walk on the beach, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

He hugged her tightly. “I love you.”

She was caught off guard by his sudden proclamation. Usually, they weren’t as vocal in regards to the vocal sentiments and each time it surprised her. She closed her eyes and tried to will herself back asleep. She was safe with Mulder and any dream that she had.

**************************

By that afternoon, Scully let herself enjoy the San Diego beach near their seaside motel room. Mulder was in town somewhere, probably procuring more food or checking in on the status of their car. All she knew was that she was ready to leave San Diego and move on. But then, she was also tired of doing that too. Running. Driving. Whatever it was she was doing with Mulder.

Scully sighed and pulled back the beach blanket slightly to bury her feet in the warm sands. The sounds of the beach lulled her into a false sense of security. Even though it was officially the first day of November, she could see surfers in the distance down the shoreline. “Is the sea whispering its sweet secrets to you?”

She jumped as Mulder sat down next to her and offered her a sip of the drink he had. “You’ve been awfully morose for the past few days.”

“What do expect me to be?”

“I just noticed ever since we came to San Diego, something’s been off.”

“Oh, really? What was it? Visiting my dead daughter’s grave? Us hallucinating the same dream about dead relatives? The better reminders of how I failed as a mother with our son?”

“I didn’t say any of those things, Scully and know I never would.” He was silent. “Are you not telling me something?”

She shook her head.

“Okay. You can be like that. Or you could tell me.”

“I don’t know what to say. Or believe. The dream…”

“Is probably nothing. Why don’t we go back and finish celebrating Dia de Muertos? We won’t have to go back tomorrow if you want. Our car will be ready by then.”

“Where?” she asked. “Some other town where we can’t be us?”

“Is that what is bothering you?”

“Maybe.”

“Scully, you got to open up sometime.”

“I’m tired of running. Seeing Emily’s grave...it’s just a reminder.”

Mulder nodded in acknowledgment. “Why don’t we go one last time. Pay our respects. We can go out to dinner one more time and start the drive back east to Virginia. We can talk about settling down.”

“You would do that?”

“We’ll make it work. We always do, Scully.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she nodded. “I just want to stop running, Mulder. They haven’t come after us in three years. We got the message from my mother that I am not of interest anymore.”

“We’ll talk about it then. Let’s go visit her grave one more time, okay? Then we’ll grab dinner somewhere okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*****************

Scully slid the keycard into the motel door lock, swinging the door to their room open. Mulder was right on her heels, his hands resting lightly on her hips, lightly kissing the crook of her neck tenderly. She relaxed against him. “You feel different,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Lighter,” he murmured. “I noticed you seem to be at peace.”

She pulled him closer, thinking about their last visit to Emily’s grave. Her headstone was not the only thing that had been decorated. There were other families there honoring their deceased family memories. She remembered overhearing other families talk about the holiday, how death wasn’t necessarily the end but rather a continuation of the next step in life. “Um, just a change of mind,” she replied. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the holiday. Maybe it’s something you said.”

“What did I say?” He asked curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispered.

“You know, we could do something a bit more adventurous.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered.

“You keep shutting me down,” he teased.

“I find cuddling you right now just as good.”

“Cuddling. Did you go and become a nun when I wasn’t looking, Saint Scully?”

“Humor me. I’ll make it up to you when we leave San Diego.” She turned in his arms and pulled him back into the room. “I can’t explain it.”

“So, more scary movies, leftover pizza, and maybe?”

“Maybe,” she teased.

Mulder shifted suggestively against her and she laughed. He shut the door behind them and Scully turned on the television, changing it to HBO. She disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the shower running. He smiled to himself and quickly changed into a t-shirt and pair of sleeping pants. He took a moment to reflect on the past few days as he grabbed two cold slices of pizza for him and Scully. The past few years on the run had been thought between them, testing and pushing the boundaries of their relationship. William and her decision haunted each mile they traveled together. The pain that Emily’s loss had caused seven years earlier never healed either. But now, maybe a chance to lay things to rest and do what Scully wanted, settle down and start a life.

He heard the shower turn off and Scully emerged dressed in one of his tee shirts mismatched with a pair of her pajama pants. “Dinner, Mulder? You shouldn’t have,” she laughed.

“It’s just pizza.”

“Quit being a Debbie Downer.” She paused after a moment and glanced at him. “Are you hungry?”

“You need to eat, Scully.

********************

“This is the same beach,” Scully stated after a moment.

The sun was blinding the moment they both opened their eyes. In the distance, they both heard the waves crashing against the shore and a young child’s laughter in the distance. Mulder took Scully’s hand tightly. “I doubt the pizza is causing this.”

“We didn’t eat the pizza, remember?” Scully admitted. “Or maybe it’s something else.”

“Bout damn time you two got back. I was thinking you were avoiding falling asleep at all costs.”

In the distance, Melissa Scully wore a light sundress and sunglasses. She looked as beautiful as she did in 1995. Mulder could hear the children's laughter in the distance and he instinctively placed his hand over the small of Scully’s back. Melissa Scully waded down the sanddune and hugged Scully enthusiastically. Mulder watched her stiffen before returning the hug half-heartedly. “It’s the holiday,” Missy explained. “Makes it possible for the world to do whatever it is they do.”

Mulder arched an eyebrow reminiscent of Scully. “Sam was, uh…”

“The beauty of this world,” Scully’s sister answered, “we can appear as we want. Well, the dead anyways. She’s always changing. Something about a child’s spirit. Now Emily…” She laughed. “Keeps calling Mulder daddy.”

Scully held up her hands, having difficulty to process anything. Mulder licked his lips. “I’m going to leave you two. See my sister and… Emily,” he added carefully. Scully’s eyes burned into him. “It’s okay.”

Mulder ventured down to the beach where a younger version of his sister and Emily played in the surf. Scully glanced at Missy. “You would do this.”

“What?”

“Make a big entrance.”

“I didn’t go to medical school and make dad proud. Walk with me, Dana.”

“You don’t know how wrong this is.”

“Poor skeptical little Dana.” She laughed. “This is very much real. You know, Emily talks about watching over her brother...as much as a three-year-old can. I never thought you and Mulder....he looks so much like dad, Dana.”

“Do you think?”

“I know And I see Mulder as well in him. He’s safe, Dana. I loved too many people caring about him on both sides. Come on. Let’s watch them. Enjoy this memory.”

Melissa guided her sister to the tallest dune where Mulder chased his younger sister and Emily through the surf and Scully smiled, holding her elder sister close. “I know all this seems impossible but….”

“Let go of the skepticism and enjoy the moment.”

Both sisters sat on the dune and watched Samantha chase Emily. Halfway through, Mulder stopped his antics and looked for Scully. She waved half-heartedly. He bent down and whispered something to his sister who nodded in agreement. With Emily’s hand within hers, an eight-year-old Samantha Mulder appeared in front of her with Emily. Both of them smiled. “Thank you for not giving up on me, or Fox, Dana,” Samantha said.

Scully licked her lips, unable to answer.

“Love you, mommy,” Emily added with a smile. She tugged on Samantha Mulder’s hand with impatience of a three-year-old. “Sam, let’s go back to the beach. Come on!”

“Okay, beat you there!”

The two of them raced back to down to the beach past Mulder who was hiking back up to the Scully sisters. He took his partner’s hand and sat next to her. Melissa Scully smiled. “They’re okay. We’re all okay. Dad is too,” she added with a laugh. “But you know it’s him watching over mom. But unfortunately, the buck stops here you too. Our time is almost done.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s November 3rd,” Missy replied as if it was obvious. “Time for you to wake up and move on.” She smiled. “You always did make a cute couple.”

“Melissa!” Scully shouted.

Mulder grinned and acknowledged it with a sensual kiss to Scully.

“And here I was thinking the cosmically connected one,” she laughed. “You all need to move on, build and create the life you both deserve. You’ve suffered enough. Remember the past but don’t let it define you.”

“We were just talking about that,” Scully whispered, glancing at Mulder.

“Then you need to get a move on.”

“Think of it, Scully. We can go back to Virginia, buy that home we’ve talked about, and do stuff.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “I will admit I do miss some earthly pleasures. I bet he’s fantastic, Dana from just looking at him.”

“Both of you stop it,” Scully laughed.

*****************

Two weeks later, halfway across the country in a Farrs Corner, Virginia, Mulder wiped the dust off a picture frame that had been in storage at Mrs. Scully’s home for the past three years. With their newly purchased unremarkable home, everything seemed possible. His partner smiled as she saw the picture of his younger sister and him. “Look how handsome you are,” Scully teased.

“I was mutant while going through puberty,” Mulder replied. “Unlike that cutey right there.” He pointed to a family portrait of the Scully siblings with Dana Scully smiling with pink hair and braces. “She’s gonna be my girl.”

Their newly purchased house promised a new future free of their painful past and fear of any government officials coming to arrest Mulder. They finally had a life they could start to build they wanted. Scully wiped the wooden shelf above their fireplace with Pledge and settled one of the few pictures of William they had and next to it, one of Emily. Mulder smiled and moved the picture of him and Samantha next to it. “Looking good,” she told him.

“We have a lot of work ahead.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” She admired their work. “Remember the past as Missy told us.”

He hugged her from behind and rested his chin on the top of her head. “What do you say we make a future, Scully upstairs?”

She smiled and hugged him close. “Love you,” she whispered.

“Now and forever,” he added.

-End.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (6/15)

Exhausted and somehow also invigorated, Sarah has the presence of mind to put her hair up, brush her teeth, throw on clean clothes, and even pull on fuzzy socks after her shower. A pressure has been lifted, one that has itched at her since she was initially committed. She’s needed this, almost. To have ownership of her body again. Her feet slip on the wood with socks on now, guiding her towel over wet spots she’s left. She’s lighter right now, but it only lasts a few precious minutes of putting towels into the cupboard and pushing her boxes against the living room wall before she’s tired again. But she’s done something, and in spite of how small it was, it feels like a world of difference. Before she lets herself relax, however, she sits at the breakfast bar and opens the seaweed to look at the shells. They’re slightly damp, somewhat sandy, but beautiful nonetheless as she arranges them in a neat line, some face down to show the convex curve that reminded her of the ocean earlier, others face up to reveal their beautiful insides. There’s a metaphor here, albeit one she can’t quite come up with.

Sarah glances at her clock and knows she should be heading toward dinner next door soon. Since she arrived, she realizes the only food she’s had has been from Maggie and Olivia. She almost feels bad, but her craving for kindness overpowers it and she finds herself on their doorstep again, relegated to the kitchen table to entertain Noah while they finish cooking. They weave around each other like an intricate dance only they know. Love blesses the air around them heavily, and it’s good. It’s good. 

Before long there’s a full plate of food in front of her, chicken and vegetables and a salad and a slice of buttered bread, and it’s the sort of family meal she’s always missed out on. 

“Hot,” Olivia tells Noah as she pulls apart pieces of chicken to set on his tray. 

“Ah!” Noah answers, and grabs one in his small fist to shove in his mouth.

Maggie laughs, and as they dig into dinner, Sarah’s still thinking entirely about Ava, and she almost has no choice but to ask about how they all know each other, why she stopped appearing in photos. The question spills out without permission, and she has an apology ready to follow it when Maggie reaches out to take Olivia’s hand in reassurance. 

“After she separated from her pod,” Maggie starts, rubbing her thumb gently over Olivia’s knuckles in a tender gesture that comes so naturally to them, “she washed up on the beach. She was really young, and we were new here, and didn’t know we could ask for help. She had been hurt bad by something- she never said what- and we cleaned her up, caught fish for her until she was feeling better and could start hunting on her own. We kind of adopted her for a while. On holidays, we’d come down and celebrate with her. We’d usually eat dinner together. She was like our daughter…” Maggie’s voice cracks.

“And a couple years ago,” Olivia says, jumping into the space Maggie can no longer fill, “the adoption agency called us and said that a woman nearby was giving up her baby as soon as they were born. We were so excited because we loved- love- Ava, but we’d always wanted a kid, and he’d be with us all the time, we’d be able to spend more time with him. We told her, and she knew we would never- we weren’t going to abandon her. Noah wasn’t going to take us away from her. But we showed her his ultrasound one night. The next day, she didn’t show up in the shallows, the caves. We still look for her a lot but she… we haven’t seen her since.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says, because there’s nothing else to say.

Although Olivia waves a hand dismissively, the mood for the evening has shifted to a more somber one as the couple think about what they’ve lost and Sarah wonders what hurt Ava, cast her out, and most of all, why she came to Sarah for help yesterday. Too many questions, not enough answers, but a very clear expression of a mistake all burn into her chest and she knows, she knows she’s got to leave them be as soon as dinner is over. 

After they quietly finish eating, Sarah offers to help with the dishes but is told no, and Maggie invites her for breakfast in the morning if she’s up to it, and Olivia kisses her forehead, and Noah waves his hand at her dramatically. Then she’s out under the stars, and her feet take her back to the ocean, to the tidepools where she can dangle her feet in the water, watch the stars, and think about Ava the way she shouldn’t be thinking about anyone. She has had so much taken, and now has nothing left to give.

But it’s nice, either way, to let cold air strike her nose and water lap at her calves. There’s life here, more life in this sleepy village than there was at school. And that which resides here, it’s fundamentally good and welcoming. There are no imposing bookcases and mahogany desks which can dig into her back while a cold hand covers her mouth. She doesn’t have that, now. Instead there’s a peace she’s tracked down in only three days.

She realizes, as the moon glows over the shifts in the waves, that she’s waiting for Ava to show up, even though she isn’t sure what she’d do if the mermaid did. There are no words waiting on the tip of her tongue, or potential energy in her arms. She’s just waiting, the way she waits for a lot of things, and watching the world move on a little slower than usual.

Sarah doesn’t know how long she waits, but it feels like a while before she heads home and makes it, just barely, to her bare mattress instead of the couch. A single pillow cushions her head, and the surface is much more gentle with her body as her eyes slip shut and she knows, she knows that there may actually be something to the idea that living here will be nothing but good for her recovery.

It is good, for the next month or so. Sarah goes to her appointments, and she spends early afternoons floating in the water with Ava, and then has dinner with Olivia, Maggie, and Noah. Sometimes she goes to help with the garden behind the temple, others she helps tend to the smaller one lining the pink house next door. She has something to do, and people to talk to, and a plain mattress to sleep on at night because half of her boxes remain unopened in the corner of the living room. From time to time, she rearranges them, but that’s it. Her mother pays the rent, and gives an allowance which lets Sarah buy food to bring to dinner most nights as well as pay for her therapy. There’s peace in the little town, and the taste of salt on her lips as waves crash over her.

The entire time, Ava does not kiss her again.

But each day they spend time together, and it feels so natural to be out in the middle of endless waters with Ava, where nothing else can reach them, if for no other reason than because they can. Every so often, Ava presents her with shells, which join the little collection on the kitchen counter, and it’s good. Things are good. 

Slowly, Sarah also gets better, or so she thinks. She stops thinking about him as much, and she brushes her teeth every day and showers most days. A couple of times, she’s managed to go for little walks around the neighborhood which feel just as full of good things as ocean floating and firm arms around her. She’s doing better, until the first day it rains, and she feels so many things, so many knots of pain tied tightly begin to fall apart.

The rain reminds her too much of tears, of the weather outside too many days ago, and as she hears it drill against the sides of her house, she remembers the sound of other things too. A quiet voice barely carries over the heavy rain, sinks into thick spines of old books and reflects off picture frames. The rain makes her think of hands on her hips, under her shirt, in her waistband. She doesn’t mean to remember it all, but she does, and the memories are heavy as she grabs one of the chairs at her breakfast bar and hits it against the ground with as much force as she can muster. It feels good to break things, sometimes. When the legs go in all different directions and the wood splinters, she feels better for just long enough to forget again. But the rain carries on, and so does she, and once she’s destroyed every last one of her chairs, she runs down to the beach and sits at the tidepools and waits for someone who won’t show up for hours. She waits, though, and isn’t afraid of the waves rising higher and higher, until each one soaks her chest, and one finally manages to pull her off her perch.

Funny enough, she doesn’t mind. Either she’ll see Ava again, or she’ll be swept away, and the ocean has begun to soothe her in the month she’s spent learning its tides and the bright sea life. The water keeps her buoyant mostly, but the waves overcome her often, and each time she surfaces to cough and draw a new breath, she doesn’t have long before she’s under again.

As tides pull her away, farther and farther from safety, she can’t help wondering if Maggie and Olivia will still set a plate out for her tonight, and leave it on the table long after it becomes clear she won’t be there tonight. They seem the sort to do that, she thinks. They’re kind women. Wives who have a family like Sarah never has and never will.

The next wave that overtakes her doesn’t allow her back up, and once her chest begins to hurt and instinct has her clawing to the surface, she can’t entirely figure out which way is up. She aches, in every part of her body, and when something cushions her body she assumes it must be the sea floor and tries to swim away from it, upward, but her body is simply too weak. She can’t do anything but stay, and by the time she’s in the air again, she’s too dizzy to know she’s alright.