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basiccortez · 2 years ago

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The Baby Series: Meeting the boys

synopsis: The Boys finally get to meet the babies word count: 3.4k warnings: none? lots of fluff:))) (surprise I know) A/N: I recently hit 1k followers (also a surprise I know) and decided to celebrate with probably the last part to both the Baby Series and my GVF fic writing. It's been a fucking wild ride this last year and I am happy for the the friends that I have created from it and the memories I have made. masterlist

JOSH:

You and Josh had fallen into a routine. It had taken a couple days to really establish, but it was one that worked. Oliver slept in a bassinet by your bed, so it was easy for you to get to him in the middle of the night. Even though Oliver was only a couple weeks old, he had managed to take control of the house. You and Josh felt like zombies for the first week at home, trying to get used to being woken up at all hours of the night. Once things had calmed down and you felt somewhat more sane, you had agreed to letting the rest of the family meet Oliver. They were all really respectful about your decision to wait on letting them meet him. You and Josh were still trying to navigate your own relationship, living with each other and now had a brand new, fully dependent on you human to take care of.

“You ready, Mr. Oliver?” Josh asked as he carried the car seat carrier up the front steps on the Kiszka house. You followed behind them, still walking a bit slow, as your body was still in recovery from birth, “Gotta wait for momma to catch up, she’s slower these days.”

“How about you push out a child for an hour.” You rolled your eyes as you reached the front porch.

“I told you, I got the next one, momma,” Josh smirked and you scoffed.

“Yeah, sure,” You said as you went to knock on the door, but it was quickly opened, revealing the youngest Kiszka boy.

“Baby!” Sam smiled, excitedly, “Mom! They’re here!” He walked away from the door leaving it wide open, as he went to go grab his parents.

“Oh hello Samuel, nice to see you too, brother,” Josh said as he walked into the house.

“Told you, you’re not the person everyone gathers to see anymore, Josh,” Jake said, coming over to greet you. He hugged you and then his brother, “There’s my godson. How has he been?”

“He’s not too keen on the whole ‘sleeping through the night’ thing yet,” You sighed as Josh sat down the carrier and unbuckled Oliver. The baby immediately started crying as Josh woke him up, “Aw, did daddy wake you up? He’s so mean, isn’t he, Olly.”

“I know, I’m just the worst,” Josh said, walking over to you, bouncing him slightly, “Do you want him?”

“No, he’s okay,” You smiled and ran your knuckle gently over his cheek, “He’s just angry you woke him up.” You said, and grabbed a pacifier out of the baby bag. You gently pushed it into Oliver’s mouth and he took it, his cries ceasing.

“Y/N!” Ronnie said coming from the kitchen, Jita behind her. Both girls hugged you, “You look amazing, oh my god.”

“Oh shush, no I don’t. I’m pretty sure I’ve only showered once this week,” You joked.

“Nonsense, you look great,” Karen said walking into the entryway, “Oh would you look at that! He looks bigger than the last time I saw him!”

“Well that was a couple weeks ago, Mom,” Josh said, and walked into the living room. He sat down gently on the couch, next to Sam. Sam leaned over as Josh gently laid Oliver down on his lap. Sam smiled and reached his finger out to place in Oliver’s palm. Danny shyly came over and on the other side of Josh, smiling down at Oliver. Oliver’s big brown eyes looked around the room, taking in all the sounds from around him, “What do you hear, buddy? I know, there’s so much going on.”

“Do you want to hold him, Sam?” You asked the youngest Kiszka, who’s eyes shot up to you.

“Can, can I?” Sam asked shyly and you nodded. Josh explained to Sam how to hold him as he slowly placed Oliver in his uncle’s arms, “Oh, hi,” Sam said softly as Oliver stretched out and got comfortable in his uncle’s arms, “You’re kinda little.”

“Don’t break him, Sam,” Danny joked, “Pretend it’s like holding your bass.”

“Have you seen the way he treats that thing? Better off imagining he’s a bottle of tequila,” Jake said.

“I know you are not comparing my nephew to a bottle of alcohol,” Ronnie added.

Oliver was slowly and gently passed to each family member, so they could get their fair share of baby cuddles. Your heart fluttered seeing Kelly shed a tear while holding his grandson. Karen had the three of them, Kelly, Josh and Oliver take a picture saying it was ‘3 generations of Kiszka Men.’ Oliver seemed to take a liking to Danny the most, his little hands grabbing onto a strand on his long curly locks. You laughed as Danny had to detangle himself from the little baby’s fingers as he passed him to Jita. When Oliver got fussy, Jake handed him back to you, so you could soothe him.

“Does he need to be fed?” Josh asked you, “It’s been like 3 hours since the last time.”

“Yeah, I think so,” You said.

“Okay, come on, we can go to my room, somewhere quiet.” Josh said, “We’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Sam started to ask but Ronnie shoved him, “Ow! What the fuck Veronica?”

“Shut up, Samuel,” Ronnie said, “You need anything?” She asked her older brother.

“I don’t think so,” Josh said, as he gently placed a hand on your back as you stood up, holding Oliver in your arms. He grabbed the diaper bag and pointed up the stairs as he followed behind you. Once you guys were out of eyesight, Jake pinched Sam’s side.

“Ow! What?!” Sam asked confused as to why his siblings were beating up on him.

“She’s going to feed him, idiot,” Jake explained.

“Why did they have to go upstairs?” Now it was Danny’s turn to pinch Sam, “OW!”

“She’s breastfeeding,” Danny said. Realization hit Sam’s face as he mouth dropped open in a ‘oh’ and then a blush took over his face, now feeling embarrassed for asking.

He led you into his childhood bedroom, and you sat down on the bed. Josh grabbed a pillow and placed it under your arms as you pulled your shirt up. You guys had gotten good at this, as Josh’s hands went to the back of your bra and undid the strap so you could pull it down to feed Oliver. Oliver’s fussing ceased as soon as he latched on and began to suckle from your breast. Josh sat down next to you, running his fingers over Oliver’s soft, fine hair.

“You think Sam knows what we’re doing up here?” You asked Josh.

“Oh, no clue.” Josh smiled, “And now that you’ve met everyone, Mr. Oliver, which one is your favorite? Let me guess. . . Uncle Danny? Yeah, he’s my favorite brother too.”

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JAKE:

Jake was worried about having his brothers meet Dylan. He had taken the role of the protective papa Bear over his little girl. Constantly watching everything that she did. Jake was often the first one up at the smallest sound that would leave her mouth. You knew Jake was always watching and observing, but it seemed to be heightened with Dylan. He was a bit leery about having his family over, knowing that the house was a hurricane but he also knew that it would be the most comfortable place for you and Dylan to be at.

Jake had spent much of the morning cleaning the house, making it somewhat reasonable for when his family would come home over. He wasn’t surprised that Danny was the first one over, coming at the time that Jake had texted out to them. Sam arrived next, then their parents. They were each bursting with excitement to finally meet their niece, but Jake was waiting for his dad to arrive.

Karen got to hold Dylan first, tears coming to her eyes as Jake placed the small infant in her arms. She was already telling Dylan about all the things that they would do together from baking to going shopping to getting their nails done. Ronnie was next, and you snapped a picture of Dylan with the two Kiszka women. Karen commented on the similarities between Dylan and Ronnie’s appearance. Danny made Dylan look tiny as he held her in his arms, with Sam watching over his shoulder. You were surprised how gentle Danny was with her, almost as if he was scared to drop her.

“You’re not going to break her,” You laughed and Danny gave you an apprehensive smile. The second she started crying though, he tensed up and looked terrified. You laughed as Danny very quickly handed off Dylan when Kelly reached out for her.

“Honey, are you crying?” Karen asked her husband, and he shook his head. You smiled at Karen, knowing that Kelly and Jake both do the same thing when asked if they were crying, “Allergies, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kelly said, and cleared his throat, as he looked down at the little girl in his arms. Kelly loved his sons, but there was something special about having a little girl. Ronnie was like his shadow when she was younger, always wanting to follow him around, being a daddy’s girl. Now, Kelly got to sit back and watch his son do the same thing, “She looks just like you, Jake.”

“Blessing and a curse,” Jake smirked and you playfully shoved him.

“Where’s Josh?” You asked, noticing the absence of his presence.

“Fashionably late, like always,” Sam said as he took Dylan back from his dad. Sam, out of all of them so far, was enthralled with the newborn, wanting the most ‘uncle time’ he could get. Sam was already volunteering to babysit, but you and Jake knew the second she starts crying he’s going to retract that statement.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m late,” Josh said as he walked through the door, taking off his jacket and kicking his shoes off, “I miss my chance?”

“Never,” Jake said, and walked over to hug his twin. Josh smiled big as he looked over Jake’s shoulder, his eyes landing on his goddaughter in Sam’s arms, “Though she’ll probably start crying soon, she’s been quiet for a while.”

“Oh she won’t cry with Uncle Joshy!” Josh said and walked over to where Sam was. He sat down next to Sam, and Sam handed him the newborn. The second she was in Josh’s arms, she let out a loud wail. Josh’s eyes widened as he tried to soothe her, while you and Jake stifled a laugh.

“Won’t cry with Uncle Joshy?” Jake mocked his brother.

“Shhh. . .” Josh said as placed Dylan on his shoulder, rubbing her back slightly.

“Here, let Y/N feed her and then we’ll give her back,” Jake said, noticing you shift as you wanted to reach out to your crying infant. You were thankful that Jake had started to catch onto your body language as you were a mother now, it made it easier to communicate silently between you two. Josh handed Dylan to you. Sam and Josh moved, so you and Jake could take their spots on the couch. No one seemed to mind or care that you breastfed Dylan on the couch, Jake making sure that you were comfortable where you were, before handing you a blanket to give you some more privacy.

You leaned against Jake’s side as the family fell into a conversation about how the Kiszka kids were as babies. You giggled at the stories that Karen told about how the twins were, explaining that Jake had been the more stubborn twin, which wasn’t surprising. When Dylan was done feeding, you gave her to Josh so he could get some cuddles with her. You walked Josh through the steps of how to burp her, placing her on his shoulder, with the spit up rag under her.

“See, I got-” Josh started to say, and then paused as he felt something hot and wet hit his back, “Did she just spit breast milk down my back?”

“Yep.” Jake said, looking at his twin brother’s back, “Hey! That means she likes you!”

“Oh goody,” Josh deadpanned at his twin. And then looked at Dylan, “We are gonna cause so much trouble.”

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SAMMY:

You knew life with twins was going to be hectic. You just had no idea how crazy things were going to be. It seemed like you and Sam were walking zombies, running on empty but the adrenaline boost you would get when you heard one of them start crying. Your body had somewhat healed from the c-section, your incision hurting less and giving you more freedom to move and be active. Sam was beyond helpful, doing the little things to help out while you were busy tending to the twins.

As much as you loved Sam, and the babies, you were ready for some other adult interaction. You and Sam had agreed to having the family meet the babies. The only person that had met them was Karen, and she loved to boast about it. Karen loved the title of ‘grandma’ and lived up to the expectation of the perfect grandmother. She was a big help in the first couple weeks of being home with the twins, being an extra set of hands during the day while your body was healing.

“When was the last time you changed your shirt?” Sam asked, walking into the kitchen with Harrison in his arms.

“Why?” You asked, half asleep as you held a bottle for Lennon.

“You have baby vomit on it.”

You looked down seeing the stain, and groaned, “This one was in the clean pile too.”

“We have a clean pile?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the chair, setting the bottle down, “I thought we did. I’m losing track of what’s clean, what’s dirty, what day it is. At Least I’m not forgetting which twin is which, isn’t that right Harris- Lennon.”

Sam tried his best to stifle a laugh, as you flipped him off. The doorbell rang, and you walked into the living room to open it. You spotted Josh’s jeep truck in the driveway. You froze for a second and turned back around, calling out Sam’s name.

“What?” He asked you, walking into the living room.

“Do I look presentable?” You asked him. He looked down at your outfit; one of his old Greta Van Fleet t-shirts which was baggy on you, a pair of sleep shorts, and your hair tied up in a messy bun. Sam shrugged knowing he didn’t look much better in basically the same attire.

“I don’t really care about looking presentable when we are running on a combined 6 hours of sleep,” Sam said and you nodded, and turned back to open the door.

“About time- is that vomit on your shirt?” Josh asked, and Jake swatted him, “What?!”

“Don’t ask her that. She’s a brand new mom of twins,” Jake said.

“Thank you Jacob,” You said and stepped back, letting the twins in.

By the time everyone had arrived, you managed to find a clean shirt to wear and brushed your hair for the first time in what felt like days. It was also nice to sit back on the couch and relax, watching as your family got to meet your twins. Sam insisted that Danny and Mackenzi got to hold them first, stating that it was the godparents' right. Karen had Kelly recreate a picture with the twins where he was holding both of them, much like he did when Jake and Josh were first born.

When Jake and Josh got to hold the twins, there was this silence that seemed to fall around the room. Karen couldn’t help the tears that fell down her cheeks as her twins got to hold your twins. You and Sam had discussed which twin looked like what twin, and it only seemed to seal the argument watching them.

“I told you, Lennon looks like Josh and Harrison looks like Jake,” You pointed to each of them. Karen took tons of pictures of the two sets of twins. Jake was silently observing the small baby in his arms, letting his tiny fingers wrap around one of his own. While Josh was having a full conversation with Lennon about how John Lennon wasn’t the soul reason for while the Beatles broke up.

“Yeah, but Lennon’s demeanor is like Jake’s.” Sam argued.

“Sam, she’s three weeks old.”

“Yeah, but Harrison cries more than her, which is like Josh.”

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DANNY:

It had been a couple weeks since Jude had come home from the hospital. Jude was still tiny, slowly gaining weight with each day. You and Danny would just stare at him, seeing the changes from day to day in your little boy. You knew that the boys and the rest of the family were waiting for the moment to meet Jude. It wasn’t necessarily that you guys were worried about them meeting Jude, but you were worried about him getting sick. His lungs were still developing as he was growing, he wasn’t as weak as he was when he was first born, but there were still things to worry about.

You and Danny had decided to stop by the Wagner house after one of Jude’s doctors appointments. Lori and Dan had met their grandson when he was still in the NICU but were dying to get more grandparent time. Danny had sent a text to the Kiszka boys telling them that they would be there. Josh was the first one to respond saying he was already on his way.

Josie was the first one to notice your arrival, sprinting out of the house and out to the car. Danny was getting Jude out of his carseat while Josie engulfed you in a hug. You hadn’t seen her in weeks, the last time being around the baby shower.

“I missed you!” She smiled, “Are you okay? In pain? Mom filled me in on what happened.” Josie pulled back to look you over.

“I’m fine,” You said softly, “The staples came out last week, I have a little more mobility now,”

“Let me see!” Josie said as Danny got the carseat out of the base. Josie’s eyes filled with love and tears when she laid eyes on her nephew, “Oh my god, Danny, he’s your twin.”

“That’s what I said!” You smiled, “He doesn’t believe me, but that’s a Wagner boy, through and through.”

“Come on,” Josie said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “Sam is driving us crazy. I think Jake is ready to inject him with an anesthetic.”

You giggled, shaking your head. You and Danny had been sending pictures and snapchats to Sam since the day Jude was born. He was taking his job as godfather very seriously, and was even considering having Danny sneak him in so he could see Jude. As soon as the front door opened, Sam was up from his seat to greet you.

“Jesus, he’s worse than a dog,” Jake said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh Jake, he’s just excited. It’s exciting! Babies are a great thing! There are no two people more deserving of a child than Danny and Y/N,” Josh said. Jake looked at his brother, and Josh just shrugged, “It’s true!”

Sam hugged you tight, and you reciprocated it. The first 48 hours after Jude’s birth, you and Danny had been radio silent. No one knew the condition of any of you guys. Sam had basically pulled his hair out and paced a line into the hardwood as he waited for any sort of update. The moment his phone went off and Danny had sent a picture of the tiny, tiny baby in the NICU, Sam was crying tears of joy. He had been waiting for this moment to meet his godson, the pictures and videos weren’t doing it justice.

“Hey!” Sam said, kissing your cheek, “I missed you guys. Starting to think I’ll never see you two again. Is that him?”

Danny nodded as he got Jude out of his carseat, and held his tiny body. Sam walked over to them, gently running his finger over the dark brown hair on Jude’s head. You stood back, watching as Sam looked over Danny’s shoulder at his godson. Lori and Karen came out of the kitchen both of them hugging you, showering you with love and affection.

“Oh look at that!” Karen smiled, seeing Sam hold Jude’s tiny body against his chest.

“Sam, you look like a natural,” Lori said.

“Don’t get any ideas!” Josh said, “Can only handle one Greta baby at a time.”

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peacefulwriting · 2 years ago

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LOST HOPE - PT 4.

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: You finish your pregnancy and give birth to beautiful baby girls.

TWINS.

You could not believe you were having twins – and - to top that off, you were having twin girls. You and Jake wanted to know so badly you did a blood test to confirm it, and shortly after that you found out with an ultrasound.

You and Jake told everyone finally and you made sure to keep it subtle since everyone was going to make a big deal anyways.

You ordered a onesie that said, “Netflix and Chill went a little too far. We’re expecting, not one, but two.”

Bradley: WHAT? WAIT?

Phoenix: So cool! I want to be the cool aunt.

Bob: Can’t wait to show them the planes!

You and Jake watched the texts explode with excitement. It was so heartwarming seeing how happy everyone was and how excited they were for the both of you.

You and Jake both decided that Bradley was going to be the godfather. Bradley had always been there, through thick and thin. Him and Jake were best friends now and it was only right to make Bradley the godfather.

You all made plans to go get dinner one night and that’s when you’re going to tell him.

“Bradley,” you and Jake looked at each other with grins, “we have some news for you.”

You, Jake, Bradley, and his girlfriend were all enjoying Italian. Bradley has his mouth half full of pasta when he looked up at the both of you. He raised one eyebrow and you laughed, covering your mouth with your hand while the other rested on your stomach.

“What is it?” Bradley said, swallowing his food.

“Well,” Jake reached for you hand, “Jake and I have decided we want you to the be the god father to our babies.”

Bradley’s eyes went wide. His girlfriend giggled, wrapping her arms around him. You and Jake laughed as well.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.”

Jake and Bradley got up and bro hugged while his girlfriend and you giggled, watching them become even more closer than ever.

The next few months went by so quick. You and Jake prepared for everything, redecorating the nursery, throwing your baby shower, and seeing your family and friends before the arrival of the twins. You had names picked out, but you wanted to meet them first before you assigned their names.

It wasn’t until you were almost due when Jake dropped that he had another deployment.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! The babies are going to be here any day now.”

You were bummed. How were you going to be able to support yourself and your two little ones without the help of Jake around if they come before he arrives home?

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed, looking down at your stomach which seemed to have grown overnight. You walked to the living room and sat down. You placed a hand on your stomach, rubbing it in circles. You couldn’t be mad, this was his career after all, but you couldn’t help but feel sad.

“What if they’re born before you come home?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Jake came and sat by your side, setting a hand on your leg. You blinked back the tears that were growing. This pregnancy was easy, but it was still hard waking up every day, knowing that your husband has a dangerous job.

You sighed again, resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer into him.

“I leave tomorrow.”

You couldn’t contain it anymore. You busted out crying and Jake soothed you.

Later that night, he made sure to run you a bath and get you your favorite food. You ended up just laying together in your bed watching a few movies before the both of you passed out holding each other.

The morning came faster than you both anticipated.

It never got any easier watching him leave, especially now, since you were expecting any minute.

“I will be back before you know it.” He said, placing one hand on your stomach and pressing his lips against yours. “I promise.”

“I just hope you’re back before they’re born.” You whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

“As do I.”

He finished getting ready and made sure to give you a kiss, your stomach a kiss, whispering that he loved them, and a hug and off he went – yet again. You sighed, watching him drive off in his truck. You turned on your heel and climbed back up the stairs to go back to bed.

What you feared what was going to happened, was happening.

As the days passed, your contractions kept getting worse. They were much closer and much longer. You made sure to track them on a piece of paper per instructions by your OBGYN. Once they got to be a minute apart, you knew it was time to go in – and you were almost there.

You breathed through your contraction, grabbing your phone and pulling it out to call Penny.

“Penny, I think I’m in labor.”

“Don’t panic, just breath through them. I’m on my way.”

You heard the door slam behind her through the phone. You held your stomach feeling more contractions come on. You drew in a sharp breath, rocking back and forth on your feet. You just wanted that damn epidural.

It was only moments later when she arrived, Amelia beside her, running through the door. She ran straight up to you while she instructed Amelia to go find your hospital bag. She grabbed your waist and shoulder and led you out the door – but before you even stepped foot outside, you water had completely broke.

“Here we go.”

You groaned from pain again as she led you to her car and helping you in the passenger side. Amelia ran out your door, shutting it behind her, and ran straight to the car and jumped in the back. Penny tried to buckle you up but you were in so much pain you told her no.

“I knew this was going to happen,” you drew a sharp breath in, “Jake is going to miss it.”

“We’ll record a video or we can facetime him.”

“Not,” you breathed in again, feeling the pain from your stomach erupt, “the same.”

She sped up when she saw how much pain you were in and arrived at the hospital in a little under 10 minutes. She ran to your side, helping you out and into the hospital. The triage team helped you in a wheelchair and took you straight to the OBGYN floor and got you hooked up to all the monitors and started an IV.

You grabbed your phone from your bag and pulled up Jake’s contact and pressed call.

“Hey darling, how’s your day?”

“Eventful, considering my water broke and I’m in labor.”

You heard a gasp come from the other end. You giggled, slightly, but still felt sad that he wasn’t here with you. You just wanted him here to witness the birth of your miracle babies.

“Are you serious?”

“A full-on puddle in our living room currently, yeah.”

He laughed; you heard some voices in the background. You were confused but you just shrugged it off. You could hear him shuffling around, probably the nerves of almost becoming a father.

“I wish you were here.”

You heard the door began to open and you were about to tell him that the nurse or doctor was coming in and you had to go and would call him after, but that was only until his face appeared from around the door with a giant smile.

“I am here.”

You dropped the phone from your face and lit up like a light bulb. He shut the door from behind him and ran up to your side, pressing a kiss to your lips. He was dressed in his flight-suit and smelled like he just got done with a flight.

“Jake Seresin, did you steal a plane to come be here with me?”

“No.” He smirked. “Maverick did.”

And that’s when Maverick came through the door with Penny. You laughed, knowing all the crazy things he did to make sure everyone was taken care of. He was smiling extremely big and came up to your and gave your hand a squeeze.

“You ready for this, kiddo?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, looking at Jake. “I think we both are.”

Everyone sat around you and supported you. Jake helped you through your contractions until you were able to get your epidural. Everyone but Jake had to leave the room when they were going to get the procedure done. And once your epidural was inserted, you didn’t feel a thing again and not long after that you were completely dilated and ready to push.

“Here we go, baby. You ready?”

You shook your head and they medical team got you all propped up and ready.

“Okay, on the count of 3, I’m going to have you push.”

You nodded, following her instructions. And on 3, you pushed for the time of 10 seconds – multiple times.

After what seemed like an eternity, you got tired and wanted to take a break.

“I can’t push anymore,” you said, throwing your head against the bed. Jake ran his hands through your hair and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re doing so good, you’re almost there.” He smiled at you. “Let’s meet our babies.”

You sat up, taking another deep beath in and began to push again. Jake held your hand and you kept squeezing it when you felt like you wanted to stop. He kept encouraging you and making sure to tell how good you were doing.

And 1 hour later, you gave birth to your first beautiful baby girl.

The nurses grabbed her while the other was helping you with your gown so that you were bare chested. The handed off your baby to the nurse, setting her on your chest and you busted out crying, holding her close to your body. Jake set his hands on her, tears slipping out of his eyes. You knew you still had to keep pushing, so the nurses hurried, making sure to clamp the cord and had Jake cut.

You began to push again, and it wasn’t even 15 minutes later when the second girl came. The nurses performed the same routine, placing her on your chest and having Jake cut the cord.

Harper Jean was born at 7:36pm.

Hayden Grace was born at 7:49pm.

And a family of four was formed.

#jake hangman x reader #jake imagines #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun hangman #hangman top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic

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baraqi · 3 years ago

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enha’s reaction to a s/o who loves plushies

this has been marinating in my drafts n i just finished it so here’s some fluff

heeseung

loves ittt. prolly would give u his if he was cleaning out his things and finds one he can do without but wants it to go to a special home. bc who would take care of them better than his own special girl/boy? which then ends up being ur favorite and taking a spot on ur bed like a king. and it makes his heart all fuzzy seeing u fall asleep with it in ur arms or treating it so gently. almost jealous bc he wants to cuddle u while u sleep :’). so he’ll carefully move it up so it’s still in ur reach but allowing him to slip next to u n gives u a kiss on ur forehead while u snuggle into his chest.

jay

thinks it’s adorable. knows all of their names, where u got them, which ones u sleep with most, he’s got this shit DOWN. starts to have his own favorites too. if ur watching movies or smth u both grab one or a few to keep alongside. “nono i need stitch i always have him🙄” and would buy a lot of the bigger ones/ones that can be used as cushions too (he’s the poster boy of the bf who stops at nothing to win a big plushie for his s/o). sometimes if he wants to kiss u he turns the ones near him around bc “how can i focus on kissing you while hello kitty’s eyes are burning into my skull” “jay i doubt she cares who’s she gonna tell with no mouth?” “you seen how toy story works!”

jake

when he sees ur room, u look at him for his reaction, expecting his eyes to widen or a perplexed “woah” or smth. he just looks around and goes “hehe cute” and pats ur head. wouldn’t say anything else abt it. he had come by to help u study so u guys would do that for a while until u excuse urself to go to the bathroom. he’d sit there for a second just fidgeting a bit until he looks at a lil dog one that was on the chair. he holds it n just looks at it, smiling at the little name “jake” on the back of its collar. u come back and u feel ur cheeks grow hot bc u never told him abt that. “is this lil guy named after me?” “sorry if it’s weird-” “no i like it! he’s cute. his fur’s the same color as my hair too!” would buy u mainly dog ones bc cmon he’s a dog person. you’d probably have a special spot where u keep the ones he’s given u. refers to them as u guys’ kids. “this family of ours is getting large, jakey.” “get a bigger couch then because we’re not disowning them🙄.”

sunghoon

he doesn’t get it 100% but still likes how they make u happy, so he’s happy too. if he’s over ur place and absentmindedly tossing a small one back and forth in his hands you’ll whine at him to stop bc “you’re hurting his feelings i bet he’s getting dizzy” “love, he can’t feel dizziness” u ruffle his hair and he laughs. he’d point around ur room asking their names and where u got them bc he loves seeing u talk abt smth you’re passionate about. in the middle of ur sentence he’ll lean in to kiss u softly on ur lips bc he thinks u look so cute going on and on. when u both pull away he laughs at ur astounded face n tells u to finish ur story.

sunoo

he’d love it idc. idk if he actually does but i feel it in my spirit he has his fair share at home. brings one or two if he’s staying over once he finds out so they can “get to know each other.”

“if tokki doesn’t get along with them i’m afraid this relationship will not work🙄”/j. another one who does that thing where he makes the plushies kiss u even if u find it cringey.

if he’s out and sees one that reminds him of u or that you’ve talked abt, he’ll buy it without a second thought. he loves being able to add to ur lil collection. he’ll come home like “i have a present for you close your eyes and hold out your hands (⌒▽⌒)” so u do and u feel smth soft placed in ur hands. u open ur eyes and smile at the plush fox u hold in front of u. “aaa thank you sunny thank you thank you!” u say in excitement as u bring him in for a big hug, his face breaking out in a bright smile. and idk if they’re in korea but build a bear dates with him☹️☹️

jungwon

found it a lil odd/didn’t see the appeal at first but quickly grew used to it bc he loves u ofc. it’d take more than some stuffed bears to change his view of u. ur not hurting anyone and it makes u happy so who is he to judge? would buy u one sometimes for special occasions or just because. if u name one after him he’d be so smiley and honored bc wow! ur thing that u love and u want him to be a part of it! dimples out n all.

niki

it was his first time over ur house. u guys go into ur room and the first thing he notices is a few on ur bed and a bunch others scattered around the room. “friends of yours?” he nods towards a couple on the chair. u laugh “sorry if it’s weird.” he reassures u that it’s not. ik he’s got that curious george one so if he sleeps over he brings him so u don’t feel awkward being the only one sleeping with one. he’d poke fun at u a lil bit sometimes, or hold one above ur head so u can’t reach to see u pout n whine at him to give it back, but at the end of the day, he thinks it’s super cute n loves all the things that make u happy!

#enhypen reactions #enhypen soft hours #enhypen fluff

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igotathingforvampires · 3 years ago

Text

Aro Volturi N.S.F.W Alphabet

CANON DIVERGENT.

Info on Reader: Reader is an Elemental Gift user like Benjamin

CW/TW: a SLIGHT MENTION of assault but NO DETAIL AT ALL (as a SA survivor I do not use this lightly but I do like representation and not having the survivor be that cliche broken doll we end abusers here thank you)

How you two met:

You…..oh you. You’re standing with the Cullens wondering how the FUCK you got here.

Why am I here? What’s with this tiny little kid who can touch me and tell me things. Awe but she’s cute.

You’re just a bored Vampire who knows Carlisle and is Esme’s BFF.

You’re a nomad, and a badass one, see your gift is the Elements like Benjamin, it’s why Amun has his eye on you and is freaked out.

You and Benji are buddies now. Benjamin specializes in Earth and Water. You specialize in Fire and Air.

So now, here you are watching a bunch of cloaked baddies stomping towards you. But Carlisle and you have spoken frequently, the Volturi aren’t bad.

However, they are cautious.

And caution bred by fear is something you know to be wary of.

So you keep yourself a bit behind Carly. Waiting and watching.

The leader— that must be Aro you think, flings his hood back and suddenly you feel your entire chest clench up and a yank within yourself towards him. “Oh what the fuck.” You growl. Glancing UP at the Old Gods you couldn’t help but snap at them “ARE YOU ALL KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?! HIM?!”

The platinum haired man barked angrily, “who dares?!”

Aro is too busy glancing at his brother Marcus who’s smiling. He nods at Aro and huffs a bit of a sigh.

The raven haired man turns ever so slowly, casting his red gaze over the crowd and it falls to Carlisle. “Carly.”

“Aro?”

“Who is that behind you.” Aro can feel his chest hurt like a chain is being pulled.

Carlisle looks confused and glances behind him where you are shaking your head face palming—looking embarrassed.

Edward and Bella are utterly confused, before Edward listens to Aro’s and your thoughts and gets a look of disgust, “REALLY.” He barks.

You feel the rage of a thousand suns consume you. “I CAN’T PICK IT YA KNOW AND HEY WHADDAYA MEAN REALLY —ASSHOLE DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MATE LIKE THAT!”

The entire field is utterly still as you’re heaving, standing on your tip toes in front of the bronze haired vampire pointing at Edwards cringing face, “but it’s—“ he starts, you let out a growl and sparks fly off you.

Edward shuts up.

“I will light your ass on fire.” You whisper hiss.

The Volturi are just tilting their heads like WTF.

Marcus is trying not to laugh, Caius has just become stunned glancing between his brother and the woman across the battlefield.

Aro is getting GIDDY.

“And who is the girl.” He asks.

You turn, your hips swinging with attitude and your arms crossing as you scoff. “Psh, get a load of this Mother fucker,” you whisper to yourself glaring across the expanse of space. “HEY. I have a name.”

------

-----

His First Impression:

Of course my mate swears like a sailor.

Is Aro’s first thought.

His next thought is that you’re awful adorable. Awe so lithe and cute and— Much too … hm, much too adorable to be mine I would think how In the —a violent wind kicks up and flames burst out from your body enveloping your form as you take a few steps forward.

Ah there it is.

“You wanna ask me my name— darling.” You smile wide at him.

“Of course,” his purr is laced with annoyance, but he’s far too intrigued. “Who might you be?”

“I’m y/n. No last name, my parents were assholes.” You shrug. “So, we doing this trial or we figuring the whole—“ you wave your hand between the gaping maw of land between you two, “bond thing.”

Aro pauses, a twitch on his lips, “after the proceedings cara mia.”

“Ooo… love me a man that speaks Italian—” You smirk, raising a brow and cock your head to the side.

Aro makes a stifled choked off growl as his eyes go black— thank God he lost the ability to blush as arousal slammed into him like a freight train.

You’re obviously annoyed, and have as Caius mutters ‘more balls than a Christmas tree’ and you are ready for this trial to be over.

Frankly so is Aro he wants to drag you back to Volterra and bring you to heel.

Not that he thinks that’s going to happen.

But he loves playing with fire. And you’re full of it.

He watches you glance at the Cullens and the half-breed. “Alright Nessie come on let’s show him what you can do kiddo.” You scoop the girl up and you and the Cullens walk over with Jake behind you.

-----

When does he know of his feelings?

When within reaching distance you set Renessme down and pat her head, “okay tiny Loch Ness, say hello.”

Bella is panicking, but she trusts you it seems, she better, you have no qualms frying— sans mate— every vampire here. They do their little song and dance. Aro tries to talk about the danger and you feel your temper boil over.

“Darling.” You croon taking a step forward with a sharp but soft smile.

You remind him of a lioness, purring softly but ready to tear into him with one movement.

He raises a brow; you are in 6 inch heels putting you nose to nose with him. “Yes carissima?” He breathes deep and nearly groans out loud, you smell so good, like spring and a heady feminine scent like perfume edged in lilacs and lavender.

“Could you pretty pretty pretty please just keep an eye on little Nessie— I hate to tell you but she’s quite important to me and I can assure you she fits in with humans better than the Cullens do.”

“And if I don’t.”

You let flames dance in your gaze. “I’ll roast everyone here except your brothers and their mates and make you start the fuck over without me.”

Aro’s done.

Cupid has struck him in his dead heart.

He’s never been more terrified or aroused or enraged at once at your dulcet threat purred from such sweet lips.

He wants to grip you by your hair to him, pick you up and haul you to somewhere private and teach you a lesson.

He wants to fight you. And it’s quite clear you’re ready to rumble, though he’s not sure you’d let him win. Or that it wouldn’t end up tangling in a bed somewhere on fire. That’s fine too.

A manic grin spreads across his face, eyes going pitch black as he snatches you up by the waist and hauls you closer loving the startled look in your eyes settling into something dark and wanting. “And if I agree?”

The brothers roll their eyes.

Go figure you’d be as bat shit as he is.

“I’ll leave with you right now.” You give him THAT look matching his almost mad grin.

A low purr echos from him making Bella clap her hands over Nessie’s ears. “Una ragazza così meravigliosa, credo che mi piaccia come funziona la tua mente.” Such a wonderful girl, I think I like how your mind works.

But your plans to drag your mate off end as Alice shows up with her witness right when he’s about to whisk you off for some obvious adult time.

Both of you sigh put out and exasperated.

Yes you just about ended an entire potential threat with batting pretty eyes and coaxing the leader of the Volturi into some fun.

But now that’s ruined because of the psychic. Alice is looking rather embarrassed as the proceedings go. Given that she probably saw how everything was about to go down.

Aro can sense you’re as annoyed as he is, that and you’re not leaving his side. And you don’t mind touching him but you’re not because oh yeah he needs to focus. But oh he can see your hand twitching towards his own.

He can easily turn his gift off and so he does and grips your hand, quickly jerking you to his side.

Electricity lights along your skin at the contact and both of you jolt a moment and glance sideways looking amused.

This was going to be fun.

——

How’d you end up with the Volturi?

Alice and her witnesses ease their concerns about Nessie. Aro placates the Volturi as you linger back behind him a bit. Everyone just poof! Vanishes.

“So ah, can we get my stuff first before you whisk me off around the world?” You ask sweetly.

Aro’s a bit startled, “you wish to leave already?”

You realize he would be willing to stay for a bit and let you acclimate.

“Nah where you go I fucking go, come on baby. Let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” You give him a teasing shove as you walk by making Carlisle’s coven silently shake in mirth at his surprised expression.

Carlisle murmurs, “Good luck Aro.”

“Fuck off Carly.” The King growls back before following you.

That’s all they wrote.

You were in. And you made yourself at home quite easily.

Jane and Alec adore you— you saw them and just SQUEEd. “OMG they’re so DEADLY but so CUTE!”

Jane wasn’t quite sure what to do with you picking her UP and hugging her nuzzling your nose to her cheek, “she’s just a tiny tot of doom I adore it! We’re going to burn the SHIT outta people.”

Alec just sat starry eyed as you ruffled his hair, “I know boys don’t like being picked up.”

Jane had become a koala on you. And you didn’t mind.

Well. You’re Mama now. Aro couldn’t be more pleased as you continue to help develop their skills trying things outside of the box.

See, that’s also a sort of talent you have— you can help people learn how to use their gifts because of how you think. Not a gift per say, but certainly useful.

Jane it turns out can utilize the fire element.

Alec can utilize air.

With you knowing both you’re easily able to teach Alec how to hone his targets and even allow his gift to POP UP near someone rather than from his hands.

Jane is capable of setting shit on fire now.

Aro isn’t sure if he’s proud or worried.

Bit of both. But you are STERN with their use of powers. And when Jane set Felix’s foot on fire she was forced to shine everyone’s shoes in the Volturi in the afternoon and write 200,000 times at HUMAN PACE. “We do not light family on fire.”

She never did it again.

The inner coven loves you. Caius and you are besties Marcus is like a big brother always doting on you. Athenadora and Sulpricia are of course still together as companions, and don’t worry about his ex wife— they were on the rocks she’s ecstatic someone else can keep him in line.

The coven instantly takes to you, in fact you’re now basically Mother to everyone. Scolding, teaching, comforting, you do it all. But you’re also a leader and a ruthless one at that.

A perfect fit Aro thinks.

——

How’d he deal with his emotions?

You are driving Aro FUCKING CRAZY.

Literally mad.

You know how to push his buttons and you are not one to do as told. So for him, he who has anyone bending to his will to see you just cock a brow at him and laugh “awe.”

He wants to choke you half to death.

You are a Queen. He tells himself. It’s to be expected that you’d challenge him.

Sulpricia finds it HILARIOUS and you two are besties. Fuck that’s all he needs. She is ever so encouraging of your independence.

He often finds himself in Sulpricia’s study pacing rampantly, “what am I going to do with her?”

“You know you like it.” Sully says lounging back on her couch. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so utterly ass over tea kettle.”

Aro is not good with his emotions when it comes to jealousy. And he is JEALOUS.

You’re perfect to him, utterly beautiful, you are the sun and he Icarus stupidly flying as high as he can towards you in hopes to reach the light.

You’re also inclined to let him touch you whenever you want to express things without using words— and you’ve learned to let him speak to you telepathically as well.

So often you just sit with your pinkies touching on a couch and have back and forth silently except for the occasional twitch on your lips at a humorous comment.

You’ve managed to make him huff a laugh occasionally.

But he is utterly posessive. He does not like it when men stare too long, admiring is one thing, but nothing escapes Aro.

So when a lower guard had been in trouble for an infraction and when you had disciplined him the utter disrespect for a concubine replacement was across Aro’s mind and…welll—

Guard died.

You had just looked startled and gave a ‘oh well’ kinda shrug before touching ARo’s hand. Feel better baby?

Yes you called him baby in private, so modern, and he would NEVER admit he loved it. Baby, darling, love, honey, the list went on and each one twisted his insides into ribbons of absolute adoration.

You had actually taken to the bond so well Marcus had informed him that it was practically cemented.

His only hang up was himself.

——

Who does he ask for help?

Didyme is no longer there— his dear sister, a deep sorrow as he was accidentally responsible for her death.

Marcus however is always there to be the voice of reason, and he sits Aro down and listens to his brother spill his guts. Aro is terrified, he is well aware he is THE monster that makes OTHER monsters keep in line.

But for you to look at him like that? He could never bear it. His heart would break.

Marcus sighs, “Aro come here.” He drags his brother to the training grounds.

Where Aro get’s to see his mate literally tear apart the entire guard with blades…. Did his eyes deceive him— were those made from vampire ash and fangs?!

You pause your onslaught, “oh hi darling!” You prance over and smile, “like them? My witch-smith friend made them for me! Fucking bastards kept coming for me after awhile and ya know I just hate the idea of wasting shit.”

Marcus glanced at Aro and gave him a I told you so.

“Everything okay?” You ask looking concerned. You are dragging him along as he partially willingly let’s you take him to his sister’s gardens. “What’s wrong?”

And so, he exhales and does the one thing he’s never done with his gift.

He touches your hand and shows you his own thoughts.

He expects your recoil. Expects you to shun him. Expects your hatred and braces himself for it.

You gasp and when he’s about to drag his hand away and you grip him tighter. “No don’t…let me…” and so you watch— thousands of years of memories over the course of a week or two. Asking silent questions as the images play, getting silent answers in return.

And so, in return, you show him your human life— a life that had been riddled with abusers, torment and lack of love, the iron in your spine that had solidified your creation when you had dragged yourself from an open alley way at dawn into the sewer system after being left to die being drained by a nomad after a brutal assault. You shared with him that it had taken a lot for you to even move after what had happened.

Esme had found you.

And so your friends made sure you were okay even if you didn’t follow their diet.

You both spend time going over your pasts, Aro gently asking questions and you doing the same to answer as best you could.

It was why Rosalie and you got along so well, there were some experiences one could only understand by going through it. And you both had learned how to cope with the trauma you had.

Aro is patient, both of you taking time to feel through each others wounds, taking time to rework into each others personal space.

Marcus is stunned to tell Aro that the bond is nigh unbreakable after this exchange.

The Kings magically -coughs- big brother Marcus loses his shit finding out and Caius leads the search party with Demetri— cough cough— find the nomad and he’s now in a box limb free 15 feet below the dungeon with a tube connecting him to the surface, his tongue removed and he only gets blood once a year. *Jane lit them on fire multiple times to practice her accuracy and aim*

You find out of course, and smile through the dry sobs as all three embrace you like a big protective group hug. For the first time in a very long time, it’s safe.

Truly safe.

——

What happens when he tells you?

Aro is a man of few words, and honestly not much is needed between you two with the ability to go back and forth with his gift.

So in the middle of a walk in Didyme’s gardens he merely grabs your hand gently and kisses the top of your fingers.

And you’re flooded with his emotions.

The warmth and tenderness and absolute adoration is almost enough to restart your dead heart as venom pools in your eyes. “Aro…”

He loves you, loves you more than his own life, would give anything for you to make you smile.

This isn’t the love that is complacent, to just sit idle and rust away, he wants to chase you for eternity, whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

And you flood him right back— lowering the barriers you had and after a moment he merely leans down and presses his forehead to your own, giving the two of you time to just bask in the warmth of affection that’s swirling back and forth akin to the waves of the tide under the moon and sun at twilight.

——

First Kiss?

The leaders of Volterra were in the throne room, the Queens having their own thrones behind their husbands but visible carved in different woods to represent their personalities with different intricate features much like the brother’s thrones holding different crowning points but all the same color.

Your own is the same color as Aro’s throne, but mingled with mahogany accents. Ruby red stones slotted at the top with a crescent moon and sun carving emboldened with gold spiked halo.

Caius' mate's throne is a pale color, affixed with branches and beautiful earth like tones, complimenting her grounded nature.

Marcus’ Witch Mate is merely embellished in a ash throne, deep red almost black gems and the symbol for the overall witch and vampire alliance above her throne.

With all three positions of Queen in Volterra taken up by a true mate, it is the most stable the Volturi have been in several millennia.

But that day in particular was rough, there were a few traitors that had been brought forward— and one of them had managed to get loose from Felix as Aro had been gaining information lunging for the King’s throat.

You moved so fast no one even saw you as you streaked forward like a ghost and lobbed the vampire’s head off holding a blade made of vampire teeth expertly with an animalistic snarl.

You had positioned yourself in front of Aro, crouched, blade poised and your eyes wide and wild, teeth flashing with a dangerous snarl.

Marcus’ witch had already shielded Aro but paused when she saw how enraged you were. Athena and Sulpricia had faltered, Caius looked utterly proud.

You spun round, dropping your blade— knowing Felix and the others had everything in hand as Aro had reached for you, the two of you locked in an embrace, his hands holding your face still as your own hands grasped his wrists. Foreheads pressed together—

The coven was used to this, a private conversation but you could feel the utter terror that had gone through him when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. If anything had happened to you—he was almost angry at you.

But he could easily sense the rage that had consumed you at the thought of someone hurting him. Despite knowing the guard and Jane would Never allow it, your instincts had taken over.

No one would ever take from you again.

And you had been frightened.

Behind that rage when he got past it was utter fear that he’d be gone and you’d be all alone again all the tender memories would be the last you’d have of him as you gave a dry sob before the venom dropped from your eyes— a true show of vampiric emotion that was a rarity.

“Carissima, no. I’ll not leave you that easily.” He murmured and not giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room kissed you full on the mouth gathering you up in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered half broken against his mouth. “I’m sorry-“

“I know I know, shhh cara mia shhh,” gathering you up he merely flitted out of the room leaving the others to deal with the issue.

Tons of snuggles. He had bundled you up to him in his private rooms and merely kept your hands together enjoying the shared emotions knowing the other was close and safe.

Aro knew exactly how to calm you, he merely showed you all his favorite memories, of the coven, of his travels, the antics his brother’s got up to. He replayed the moment he first saw you.

That always made you laugh of course she swears like a sailor.

——

First Time?

It’s in an elevator.

Okay so here’s the thing. The Volturi have these massive events, and your official coronation happens at one of these.

Aro is so proud.

And so fucking jealous as you are danced across the floor with other vampires— who are oh so respectful and as they should be as Aro watches from the upper floor like an angel of death.

You look stunning, your smile lighting up the entire ballroom, friends from near and far are there— even then Cullens— God bless Carly he even had animal blood brought for him.

You’re dancing around with Nessie laughing and watching the girl child giggle like a fiend before handing her off to the Shifter Aro hated the smell but it was what it was.

Over the course of the evening he was getting awful tired of sharing you. And as the evening wound down to an end you both were just going to take the elevator back up to the private rooms as the Ballroom was on the top floor of Volterra.

The energy crackled in the small space and you both glanced at one another. It was like a short fuse had been lit on a stick of dynamite.

We’re so not doing this in an elevator are we?

You didn’t realize you had said it out loud even as you both gravitated towards one another and his hands tangled into your hair sending gold pins flying to the ground as his mouth found yours and you let out a deep moan as his tongue swiped your lips before you happily opened them.

“We’re going to be patient. Cara mia. ” He said sternly more to himself than you— then groaned when your teeth tugged gently on his bottom lip knowing it drove him crazy. “Sarai la mia morte. Sulla mia tomba scriveranno 'ha giocato con il fuoco ed è perito felicemente’” his voice became heated as his hands moved over your form, “non mi importa più, vieni da me mia fiamma, brucia con me.” You will be my death. On my grave they will write 'he played with fire and perished happily'. I don't care anymore, come to me my flame, burn with me.

His hands were gripping your backside and hauling you up, pressing himself firmly between your thighs before grinding against you. But when his teeth scraped your neck your brain shorted out—

“Oh for gods sake Aro just fuck me already—” your hands were scrabbling at his waist coat and shirt pleased how easily the buttons pinged off the walls of the elevator.

Your mate let out a pleased noise, one that was utterly inhuman when your hands tangled into his raven locks and knocked the golden V pin to the floor allowing the ocean and pomegranate scent of his to curtain you from the world as he bent his head down and kissed you as if it were the last thing he would get to do just then. Right before he smacked his hand against the emergency stop button jolting the ride to the private floor still.

If you thought his kisses were something to be swooning over— because he always knew what you needed.

Well his gift extends to much and he is in tune with it.

Your mind is his favorite place to be, and he brutally uses what he knows to his advantage as his fingers skim up your legs flinging your skirt over your thighs to teasingly grind himself against you till you’re almost clawing at him half feral.

“My pretty little mate—“ he croons at you, “you looked so beautiful cara mia,” kissing down your throat before biting marks into your flesh licking them before continuing on as his teeth jerk the fabric of your bodice and sleeves off not even bothering with his hands. “E tu sei tutto mio, cazzo.” And you’re all fucking mine.

You were busy molding your hands against his form, loving how it was just ratcheting up his half mad with desire motions, twitchy, greedy, desperate to touch, “What was it you joked about that one time?” He was referring to a memory with your best friends over drinks.

You gulped and shivered a bit. “I believe I said sometimes a girl just wants to ahem— get slammed to a wall and fucked stupid?”

He smirked as his hands tore fabric off you letting his fingers to glide along your skin, allowing your own to do the same and showing you know exactly what he liked through the bond of touch.

If you’d been human the air would have left your lungs as he pressed his body tight to your own, pinning you in place letting you feel what you did to him, the hard length of his cock pressed into your belly. “What do you say we take care of that, hm?”

You’re speaking in tongues before he even takes you fully, and roughly, there’s no slow tender love making and frankly you’re just glad for it.

His wild smile sliding into a predatory proud smirk when you’re just a mess; whining at him, begging, pleading, twitching against him and oh you’re just so pretty when at his mercy.

He literally has the tongue of the devil.

“Did I finally break you little one?” He croons despite his rough movements sending you into another shockwave of bliss as your nails make claw marks in the wall.

Fuck he had— you’ll do anything if he’ll just continue.

Your submission is like a drug, he’s mad on it, hands digging against you, making small fissures of cracks along your hips that make you groan gleeful as you push closer for more of his touches.

“That’s right bambi, give me everything.”

That’s all you hear before he’s fucking you into the wall of the elevator, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck just to relish in the pain and pleasure filled noises that escape from you as you beg for more, more, just please give more it’s all you want.

“My good bambi.” He growls as he begins it all over again, rumbling in your ear as your try to escape the onslaught of sensations— but happy you can’t as his grip has you immovable. “You’re not escaping me just yet.”

You’re both a mess, not that either of you care. Adjusting yourselves as best you can—

You’re lucky his private rooms are close and he simply carries you and flits you both into his rooms; you both end up continuing what was started.

——

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is a touch telepath, he knows exactly what you need.

But he also surprises you with what you didn’t even know you needed.

Snuggles, so many snuggles— Aro is not a tactile person— but with you?

Forget it.

He’s practically melting into your form and trying to fuse himself to you.

Massages, nuzzling your hair, biting.

Lots of biting— but not hard bites, love bites. Pressing his teeth to your skin to leave little imprints that he just can’t get over. You always poke fun at him for it.

Plus let’s face it.

Bite = Love.

He and Caius are on one mind with that.

He also took a note from Marcus and you both enjoy the heat of the baths together after a particularly long rough romp.

Which turns into a bath romp.

Because ahem *REASONS*

“I’m King I don’t need a reason to have you— now come here.” He’ll huff imperiously when you giggle at him as he drags you close into his embrace kissing you.

Okay he lies.

You looked too pretty in the bath.

Aro can’t help himself. That’s the reason.

——

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is SHOOK when you tell him your favorite thing about him is his hands. You never feel misunderstood.

Even in the rare fights you simply huff and reach out to him, wiggling your fingers with a pleading glance; or if he won’t take your hand you’ll walk over sit in his lap and headbutt your forehead to his like an angry cat.

But usually Aro will take your hand and you both have a deep understanding of where you’re both coming from.

After a few moments it’s settled.

You kiss his hands, he knows you love how he plays you like a finely tuned instrument when alone.

Love when he delves his fingers into your hair and cradles you close even if you’re in the throne room— he’s the fucking king he can do what he likes damn it.

But Aro is startled by this— everyone hates touching him even though he can control his gift, they seem to think that— aside from his brothers and sister in laws— that he just loves to dive into people’s minds for funsies.

No it’s awful. Plain awful. He can barely stand his own mind why would he want to traverse someone else’s?

But that brings us to what he likes about you— he LOVES your head space. When he’s stressed it’s his favorite place to be because you have a vivid imagination, as a writer as well you show him stories you’ve thought of and worlds you’ve created with vivid detail. He finds it quite amusing to use watch your thoughts too on a daily, you like it simply because he’s close.

But aside from that it’s you.

Just You.

Just ALL of you.

He can’t pick don’t make the man pick, he would just keep you near him for eternity which you seem to have no issues with.

———

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…I am a disgusting person…)

He is quite a posessive person.

Two Words:

Breeding Kink

You’re his and his alone, so the idea of ah— claiming you that way just sends him off into the ether.

The fact that you both have a breeding kink and literally can’t have kids is a GREAT thing because you’ve literally sat there a absolute mess after round five and thought out loud as he tenderly cleans you up, “shit thank god we can’t reproduce because I am 100% sure that’d have knocked my ass up—” which has had him shaking in mirth having to pause to control himself after a few moments.

Beg him for it.

Make that whining needy noise in the back of your throat at him for him to finally give you what you need.

He’ll just lose it, pin you by the throat and well— you’ve broken a few beds this way.

He has no shame.

Just glances at the bed, hits speed dial to the furniture store and orders a new one.

His only other favorite thing with C as he soon found out from O (you’ll see) was he adores when you swallow down everything he gives you. That’s got him rumbling in Italian about what a good girl you are and how much you please him.

———

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a MASSIVE Pleasure Dom. And when I say Dom.

HE GOT DOM ENERGY.

With very mild Sadistic tendencies. (Thanks a lot Caius ya pervy fucker)

However he is also a very sincere soft streak when you’re a very good pet.

He picked up pet play from his sadistic brother hearing him call his amore Bunny. One day down the rabbit hole that is Google and he was hooked.

But he calls you Bambi. It’s an Italian term for baby-girl.

It also works because you become like a damn deer in the headlights when he pulls the Dominant voice on you.

It thrums with a low purr and has the capability to just make your brain go wait what?

HE’S A FUCKING SWITCH.

You had been pissed as shit at him. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or fuck you to death!” You paused because you had literally throat pinned him to the wall, the stone crumbling beneath him, feeling the muscles of his neck working as he swallowed nervously.

You were about to let go but saw his eyes had gone totally black and expectant and startled but excited.

He was just as fucking confused as you both calculated in a matter of seconds what had happened.

You were first to catch on. “Oh?….OH...….oooooohhhhhhh ….. you….you son of a….” You sputtered as he got a sly grin, “you can’t just look at me like— you are so ill behaved!!”

He wasn’t far behind and raised a black brow at you looking mischievous, “…..and what are you going to do about it mia regina?”

Next thing he knew he was face planted on his office floor with your boot pressed on his cheek making him groan low. “Gonna make you regret mouthing off to me is what I’m going to do my Aro.”

Edge him. Don’t let him touch you all day till he begs. He loves when you exert your authority especially on him? Oh forget it.

Queen Slay.

Literally you are his Queen and you are the only one who get’s to fucking tell him what to do.

And you ruthlessly do so when he’s in the mood. All you hear is “mia regina?” He’ll croon at you, as your hand comes up and drags him to you by his tie.

“would you like to be of service to me Aro?”

Magic words. He’s done, let him have you and he will literally just focus on your pleasure.

Worship Kink.

You had dropped to your knees at his desk and laid your head in his lap and he almost lost his god damn mind. You purred at him, “il mio maestro”.

Aro .exe has stopped fucking working.

———

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Thanks to the tactile telepathy as well as the fact that he and his brothers have slept their way through history, Aro is a very mixed lover.

When I say greedy as a lover, he wants your pleasure for himself. And will literally drive you to it till you’re sobbing for mercy.

He has none.

But he does take pity on you when he knows you’re truly at your limit with touch.

You weren’t inexperienced but his own experience blew yours out of the damn water. Can literally have you on the edge in mere minuets. And is SMUG about it.

Fucking smug bastard just watching you with that smirk on his face and a ‘well?’ Kinda expression.

You have to beg if you want it.

You have to plead, you have to let him hear you or he’ll just keep going and I quote ‘hmmm I can’t hear you cara mia, you’re being so quiet you know that makes me want to fuck you harder, come now, let me hear you— don’t make me have to drag it from you baby girl. You know I love to hear your sweet sounds.”

Could probably kill you if you weren’t already dead with what he can do with his hands.

His tongue is even better.

When asked which you preferred you had just panted desperately after a hard orgasm, “any. All. Both. God just…holy fuck.”

He cracked up over that. “My poor baby I broke her.”

————

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves having you in his lap.

Prefers to see your face and eyes, seems to need it.

But occasionally he just loves gripping your neck from behind and feeling you gasp against his grip as he slams into you roughly.

Adores anything that has you clinging onto him for dear life.

Likes being in a position to mark you. Favorite thing ever.

You had once tested his patience (willfully hoping for this outcome) a bit too much and he had pinned you completely immobile to the desk of his office and fucked you within an inch of your immortal life gagging you with his black tie.

“you just have to test me don’t you mia regina?” He had growled in your ear leaning over you, his hand crunching the ornate wood to splinters as you keened and whined for him to keep going. “Such a ill behaved thing you are, should just keep you here like this for when I please hm?”

He was not joking, you were kept there quite happily under his desk sitting at his feet your head on his lap waiting and absolutely willing.

He could feel your hands grip his thighs, “quit that I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work—“ his voice teetered off in a guttural growl as he looked down.

You were biting his shirt looking up at him already nudging yourself between his thighs your teeth digging into his trouser zipper and tugging down.

his hands were gripping your hair jerking you up to kiss him deep, a growl against your lips, “Fucking damn it— come here.”

When you can get him to swear which is rare— yeah…

He didn’t exactly sound angry.

But he sure fucked you like he was though.

“This is what you were after hm? You brat!” A harsh laugh as he pinned you down a bit harder, “fine then I should ensure you’re good….and….sated…shouldn’t I bambi?”

———

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very sincere.

Teasing but only in a very sexual way.

Borders on humiliation but he respects you too much.

Very serious though when he focuses on you.

He’s focusing on all the sensations you’re sending him, letting you know what he’s feeling as well which just sets you into the damn ether.

———

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s ARO.

The man is vain.

The man is neat.

Clean and pristine.

He’d give a regal huff of annoyance, “I am not a heathen darling.”

———

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ohhh you wouldn’t know it but he’s such a god damn romantic.

He is. And he MAKES time for you. The schedules are changed so you have time together more often— something that was never done before.

Operas, romantic walks out in Volterra at night.

Sightseeing.

Your favorite was your trip to Germany in the winter with a big cozy cottage and a big fire and lots of bedding to ahem— destroy.

Aro has penguin brain.

He brings you small gifts that made him think of you— you have a bracelet that has special charms he had custom made for you, a lochness monster for when you met, a castle obviously for Volterra, a doe, different tiny items that speckled through your life, each one means something— you hardly ever take it off.

You have a collection of very sparkly stones in many jars that he found on his missions.

They are actually gemstones— insert eye roll— they set off pretty prisms through your shared rooms.

“Aren’t you going to make jewelry of them?” Aro asks.

“No darling they are perfect just as they are.” You smile.

Aro actually has the literal voice of a damn angel.

He sings to you in Italian, soft dulcet sweet tones and dances you around your rooms teasing you relentlessly.

Aro writes beautiful poetry. He will at least write one every few months when inspiration comes to him.

You have your own private box at the opera house. As well as being allowed to fund artists across the world, you’ve found incredible talent on broadway and other venues.

Flowers. Aro ensures care for a private greenhouse for you on the roof, each flower has a meaning, and they all bloom year round given the proper temperatures on the greenhouse. “Why would I send you flowers when they die so easily.” He asks kissing your cheek as you smile over the new blooms. “This is everlasting, much more fitting.” He muses.

All his poetry is in a beautiful book Caius got you for your birthday.

———

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he do that when he has you?

He is a patient man.

He can wait.

And he has pristine control over himself.

He is too old for pre-pubescent raging hormone crap.

But he will legit melt for you if you do it for him. Prefers it slow, enjoying your touch and loves to watch as you take instruction.

You’re such a good girl for him.

————

———

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aro is a kinky bastard.

MASSIVE Pleasure Dom.

Worship Kink.

Edging.

Controlling Orgasms *you don’t get to come till he gives permission*

Collaring *your Volturi necklace is LITERALLY on a collar*

Overstimulation. *his gift allows him to know when you’re pushed to hard and when you can take a bit more. When you’re craving that over stimulus, he’ll give it happily. Knowing he can turn you into a babbling speaking in tongues, drooling, eyes rolling back mess just— just— GAH.*

Breeding Kink *Aro has a true breeding kink, ask him to fill you up beg him for it and he’s going to lose his mind.*

Gagging. *he loves to gag you, but also loves being choked by you or you grabbing onto his tie.

Wax Play *you’re a fire elemental user, bringing candles into play is just oh it’s nice. * Prefers to have it done TO him. Your air element gift also allows you to cool the wax quickly and give new sensations.

————

———

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Aro is private, he prefers somewhere comfortable to take his sweet time with you.

Rooms Private, hotel, somewhere he can just lavish you and enjoy everything you can give him.

He’d rather take the time to find a nice comfy setting.

But every blue moon— he’ll just look at you in that specific dress molding to your thighs.

He will drag you into an alley way and just rail the shit out of you keeping you quiet with a firm grip over your mouth as he hisses the dirtiest things in your ear.

You two once had a quick rendezvous in a changing room at a theatre. -shrug- it was empty oh well.

———

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

“Master?” You bat your eyes at him

His nostrils flare as he breathes in and just knows exactly what you want and you smell so fucking good.

The tone you use.

He knows. You want him. That’s it.

Unless it’s a trial— and DO NOT DO THIS BEFORE TRIAL.

And if you happen to when he takes your hand send him your fantasies after seeing him standing there all regal and watching his mouth form syllables so well and how much better it’ll be with his mouth— ahem— busy somewhere else.

He will be so mad at you.

He’s glaring at you behind a mask of calm and you can feel the fucking tremor in his limbs.

You just bat your eyes innocently at him and smile.

His face: you’re in SO MUCH trouble.

Brat energy??? During Trial?!??! Now is that the time to give brat energy!!???

Oh. Oh. oh you are so in trouble. When he gets done with ripping some poor idiots head off— okay not really they broke the rules— stalks over to you; grabs you by your oh so pretty collar, “come with me bambi.”

And just pulls you along to your rooms with you giggling the whole way and practically prancing behind him like a— well like a doe prancing into a lions den.

He’s tossed you over his shoulder once and just flitted out of the rooms into your private chambers, hurling you onto the bed before ripping into your clothing. “You best be ready for your punishment.”

“Oooohhhhhh absolutly master.”

“that’s my girl.”

The coven just rolls their eyes. Aro is less manic with you there and you surprisingly bring ease to the coven— so ya know what if that’s what does it whatever.

————

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation. No.

Impact play is one thing, but to intentionally hurt you no.

If he does impact play one hand is always touching you to ensure you’re okay.

————

———

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? The man has a wicked tongue.

His oral game is LEGIT.

Will have you in a puddle of twitching ecstasy in mere moments of teasing because he knows where to touch and that’s not just his tongue but his hands.

Will kiss you all over before even getting to the ahem— final destination.

You’re either ready to combust or ready to strangle him when he finally just begins to devour you.

Eats pussy like a man starved but has all the time to enjoy.

Smug as Fuck.

Expect him to just watch you as you’re coming back down from the absolute height he threw you up to and glaring down at his smug grin as he waits before beginning all over again.

Will go all night if you’ve been ill behaved.

Your record is 20 before you BEGGED for a break.

He finally took pity and gave you a warm bubble bath and snuggles and praises.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like receiving, however it was more just a “hm, that’s nice—“

But with you.

Especially when you had decided to walk into his office, lay your head in his lap as you had sat yourself under his desk so he could work while he played with your hair (you have a comfy cushion there who was he to argue if that was the best way to be close and he could get work done??!!)

But his work was abruptly halted when you had nuzzled his cock through his trousers dragging your mouth wide as he became painfully hard in record time.

“what is it you think you’re doing bambi?” He purred looking oh so curious.

“Nothing.” You muffled around him as your teeth found his zipper and trouser buttons with a rather feral sound.

Upon finding out you had no gag reflex and having your nose buried in his pelvis as you moaned around him he was done for and he didn’t even care.

Work was forgotten.

Loves when you pleasure him, but of course has to be in control for the most part.

Buries his hands into your hair and loves throat fucking you, praising you the entire time. “What a good thing you don’t need to breathe dolcezza.”

You had hummed around him ecstatically.

The reward for this is always drool worthy.

Play with yourself as you do and let him see you do so keeping your clothing out of the way and you’ll have him break finally, that cool haughty composure cracking as his gaze goes just utterly uncontrollably wild, his hips moving a bit harder.

————

———

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You both fuck rough.

But you both also love the slow and sensual moments too.

Especially if you have the time to just drown in one another.

It just depends on the situation.

Rough And Fast:

Slow and Sensual is how it usually starts off, he’s so attentive, so soft and cherishes you, that is till you growl at him for more and he has of course no other option but to give you what he wants.

You’re his queen after all what kind of mate would he be if he didn’t give in?

But has today been exceedingly trying for either of you?

Or is your mate quite amped up from a particularly rough trial?

You’ve been pestering him haven’t you? Hmmm.. yeah buckle up.

You’re in trouble and therefore need to relearn where your place is— it’s in your bed, beneath him losing your mind out of pleasure.

And he is all too happy to provide that lesson if you seem to forget.

You try to forget often. You damn brat.

Slow and Sensual

However sometimes he just wants to be gentle. And frankly so do you, you want to just bask in the bond you have and slowly explore all over again despite knowing you have memorized one another to heart by now.

Doesn’t matter, you still find things that surprise you, things that make you smile.

Places that when touched cause a jolt— well that’s new.

“I could spend my entire life mapping out your body carissima.”

“that’s an awful long time in bed.”

Aro would just smirk kissing down your sternum, “oh what a pity— I suppose my brothers shall have to cover for me hm?” Bite marks being pressed into your flesh, “I plan on leaving so many of these that I forget where they are so I can find them later.”

“Such an evil overlord.” But you’re giddy, he’s going to make your entire world tilt again with those slow careful hands of his and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

———

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You’d be surprised that such a patient man could be so damn impatient for you.

He’s not as impatient as Caius but not AS patient as Marcus.

So it’s a toss up when he’s twitchy during trials and catches a glimpse of you floating down the hallway in all your grandure and he mentally tosses a coin.

Nope he can’t take it that flash of leg just set him off.

“Excuse me I do belive I remembered something that needs my attention.”

The others just inwardly roll their eyes.

Next thing you know you’re gagged by his tie in his office pinned over the desk with his teeth buried in your neck and frankly you expected this you wore that damn skirt with the slit in it to tease him.

Seeing this just makes him let out a feral noise and a laugh at the end, “oh you planned that hm?” He nibbles the outer shell of your ear, “missed me did you?”

You can only nod as he continues, eyes rolling back as he knows exactly what you’re needing and it’s certainly not gentle right now.

“I have exactly fifteen minutes before my brothers come looking for me— think you can be a good girl and make me come?”

You smirk against the gag in your mouth before purring at him; and it’s off to the races.

He’s in trouble quite often for this— but who’s to argue with him.

He’s king he can do what he wants…. At times….

Okay most of the time.

Plus he’s always in a MUCH better mood.

I wonder Why.

————

———

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

While Aro does love to experiment your safety is his utmost importance.

But he��s a curious bastard and you are right behind him on that scale so sometimes your games become a bit risky.

Never life threatening but oh boy do you two get a grin and just glance at one another, “you know we haven’t done that yet.”

“No…. No we haven’t….”

And that’s how it usually starts.

The worst thing you two can realize is you both utter “I don’t know”.

Well now you have to know if either of you are able to ahem— arrive— under rather dire circumstances such as utilizing your gift (don’t worry your gift doesn’t hurt him he knows how to use fire too surprise surprise.).

You almost had a heart attack though and nearly killed him after.

He just cackled that manic laugh that had you joining in after hitting him several times.

———

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Need I say more than one word?

Vampire.

Aro takes his time most occasions, his slow, slow sweet time.

Now— you’d THINK that the rougher encounters would last a shorter period.

You’re wrong.

So wrong.

He lives for it you’re going to be so happy you’re a vampire and can’t really get sore except for when you both leave cracking handprints on one another.

————

———

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sensory.

Crops, leather gloves, feathers, ben wa balls are huge and he likes that they are silent but give you that teasing sensation. Wax candle play is huge for both of you and you enjoy long luxurious heated baths and sauna sessions with one another.

Ooooo he loves it.

Leather gloves area huge thing for him but not for what you’d think— he likes to challenge himself.

Sure he can know what you’re feeling but he wants to be in tune with your physical responses as well and so occasionally he dons them just to test his knowledge.

Damn smug overlord is just as good and you hate it and now he’s smirking at you while popping his jaw with his hand on his elbow waiting for you to come back into your body.

“Shut up.” You rasp as your head spins.

“I didn’t say anything.” His raven hair slides across his face as he grins wider.

“Your SMUGNESS IS LOUD ARO.”

“Me?! Smug! Why I never…” -cue the dark chuckle before he starts it up all over again, “maybe once more to ensure you remember it’s not just the gifts edge hm?”

“Ohhhh I’m going to die.” But you reach for him biting his leather clad hands.

“No you won’t.” He hums happily, “I won’t let you. You’re not allowed to leave me bambi.”

————

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

HE IS SO DAMN UNFAIR.

But so are you.

He’s not as bad as Caius but he is close, and he only does it with LOOKS.

His eyes are utterly expressive, as is that mouth of his, so when he glances at you in just the right way you can feel it drop down in your gut and sizzle.

And he does it during trial. Oh but when you do it you’re in trouble. Psh.

He’ll tease you and brush your hand as he walks by just to know that you’re basically twitching from frustration at the end of the day and about to boil over as he leans down and licks your neck. “Bambi, awe, was I too mean to you? Hmm I should make it up to you shouldn’t I?”

He always makes it up to you.

The man has the best ways to use his mouth aside from running the coven and giving orders.

————

———

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aro was quite clear studies, and private rooms were to be soundproofed.

He’s loud, swearing (which he normally does not do), praising mess of a man, it’s needed.

And you love it.

You can practically feel the vibration in his chest when he purrs at you, less growling, he’s not as violent unless you get him too worked up.

No no no, he loves making you melt, and knows exactly what to croon at you to make your mind go blank.

———

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s more posessive than Marcus. And that bleeds into a protective nature.

A bit controlling, but he knows very well he can’t do that to you as he had to Sulprica. BUT it doesn’t stop him from trying as gods forbid anything happen to you.

Less Jealous than Caius.

But his ah— mood swings can cause for quite an interesting feat.

Since Marcus and Caius were always the brunt of the bashing and warfare, and he the brains behind the operation, many seem to think he has no bite marks on his body due to not being in the fray.

No.

The problem is Aro becomes too violent. Especially because of his talent when touching his victims it tends to become a frenzy. Once he had decimated an entire coven single handedly because the rage they had was swamping him.

His brothers had to pin him down and try to relay calm emotions— his sister Didyme thankfully had been the one to bring him back.

You yourself are now that calm place.

At one point, a guard had been careless enough to have thought about you in ah— that way— Aro was aware you were quite beautiful, your personality no nonsense and many of the guard and lower guard considered you a maternal figure almost otherwise a very good friend.

But this guard.

Ohhh he coveted. What was not his.

But what was worse, was that on the way to the throne room he had spoken to you rather crassly, you merely ignored him; he wasn’t even worth your time. But he had glanced you over as if you were a rather tasty morsel, the imaginings of you spread out beneath him had Aro’s hands cracking his wrists.

You saw the change slightly as you were behind him. His spine went poker straight. “You dare.” It was worse, the guard had actually tried to think of how to lure you away to him— you were a queen so surely infidelity was expected—

The rumble in his chest was a whole new sound you’d never even heard.

Both Marcus and Caius were sitting straight up and narrowing their gaze at Aro before Marcus flitted over and guided you to Aro’s throne placing you on it and standing protectively in front of you.

“Marcus?” you peered behind the eldest king and he hushed you gently.

The guard was torn apart in mere seconds.

It was utterly ruthless and with no mercy.

“People tend to forget Aro is only about a thousand years younger than I.” Marcus muttered.

You blinked. Aro was at least five thousand meaning that Marcus was Six, Caius being the youngest at three.

Aro speared the entire guard with a terrifyingly cold glare before flitting over to you, gripping your head back by your hair and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck with a low growl.

The sentiment was well understood as the entire guard backed the fuck away from the dais— he closed the wound before his head shot up and he snarled at the coven tucking you into his embrace your face buried into his robes. “She is mine.” It was a quiet, soft voice that spoke.

“Aro.” you muffled tugging his sleeve and looking up at him.

He showed you “what he had seen and tilted his head. Would you mind cara?”

You lit the bastard on fire with a scowl aimed at the body winding your arms about Aro’s waist and nuzzling into his solid form.

A soft kiss in your hair, his body relaxing. “That’s my bambi.”

———

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Aro although he is lithe and tall….he’s not exactly easy to handle.

9” decent width, knows how to use it.

Be forewarned, he knows what he’s doing.

Tactile Telepathy, good luck remember to keep your head on straight.

————

———

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s less of a wistful like of yearning.

And more a burning bonfire of desire always in the wing of his mind ready to take over the forefront.

One glance at you and he wants you— granted he thinks it might cool down over the centuries but when you look at him like that and bite your lip and grin.

Nah.

Nope. This isn’t going away. Not at all.

He of course has excellent control so he is able to push other desires to the back of his mind, but once finished you are certainly at the front of the line.

Super high.

You both are insane.

You can be sitting reading and next moment with one small brush you’re gone from the library and you’ve tackled him through the doors of your rooms and pinned him to the floor.

Insatiable.

Good luck!

————

———

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aro LOVES resting with you.

He likes to just lay with his hands on your body and watching your thoughts, you’re his favorite mind to go through and he just adores it.

You both can spend hours like this if you were allowed—

He likes when you drag your fingers through his hair.

Makes him melt.

Kiss across his eyes and kiss his hands as he brushes your mouth with his fingers trying to learn you all over again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He murmurs to you lazily. He has you nestled in his arms your head tucked under his jaw.

“That’s fucking fine by me.” You giggle.

He rolls his eyes and huffs a soft laugh kissing the top of your head. “Of course she swears like a sailor…”

#aro volturi

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scented-morker · 4 years ago

Text

⇢˚⋆ ✎ first "I love you's" with en-maknae line

*:･ﾟ✧ genre : fluff

*:･ﾟ✧ description : established relationship, bf!enhypen, gn!reader, first time saying I love you headcanons :D

*:･ﾟ✧ here it is!!! this is- pretty long, just a heads up 🤪

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ଘ Sunoo ~ˊˎ-

He was having a hard time lately with all of the stress from the comeback and everything

He tried to hide it from you but obviously you noticed, like you were on FaceTime and he wasn’t even showing his face 😞

So obviously you were like 🤨 “Where did my sunshine baby go?”

Which actually made him show his face it was red asf

So when he hung up you were like k time to cheer up the love of my life

Which is exactly what you said in your brain and then had a nervous breakdown because ??the love of your life??

But you decided to push that away for now so you could get everything you needed together

You texted the boys and told them you were going to come over

They had noticed his change and thought it would be a good idea so they agreed, and some of them left while others promised to stay in their rooms

When you knock on the door the next day you hear “Sunoo can you get that?” from somewhere in the house and you know they’re doing their jobs

Sunoo wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he opened the door, maybe a manager or a crazy fan, but it wasn’t his s/o with a bag on their shoulders and holding a little bouquet of flowers

“Y/n!!” He immediately engulfed you in a hug, and you smile at his excitement, you definitely made the right plan

He pulls away, asking a “why are you here” to which you shove the flowers at him

“These are for you, um I hope you like them”

Your words came out kinda squished, most people don’t get their boyfriends flowers but you thought it was a really good idea, except now that you’re in front of him you feel kinda dumb, what if he doesn’t like them

“Thank you!! I love them!”

His eyes are sparkling and he tells you that he’s never been given a bouquet of flowers like this and that he’s so happy you got him some

And with your renewed confidence you tell him the rest of what you have planned, a self care day with movies and snacks and skin care and cuddling, lots of cuddling

And he just !!!

He gets so excited 🥺

Like “okay let’s start right now” and then picks you up and goes running the the couch, and you’re laughing almost directly in his ear and he can’t get any happier

So you spend all day together, just messing around and doing whatever

And then he falls asleep, right on the couch on your lap which like 🥰

He looks so peaceful and calm you can’t resist, so you stop playing with his hair like you were originally and lay your hand on his face, tracing his cute lil nose and all that

You start talking to him, quiet so you don’t ruin the mood or wake him up and you’re just like spilling your heart to this dude while he’s asleep, er, “asleep”

Like straight up “I was so worried about you, you were just acting different and I really hope you’re taking care of yourself like you should. My brain knew I had to do something, it specifically said ‘time to cheer up the love of my life’, which was also scary because love is scary you know”

He’s just laying there, eyes closed, trying not to lose his mind and just tackle you in a hug and kiss all over your face, but you don’t seem to be done talking yet so he waits

“But I love you, I really do. And I think that makes it not so scary, because it’s you”

He opens his eyes and at first you don’t even notice because you’re looking off into space but he kinda shifts in your lap and you just 😳

“I love you too, like a lot and it took everything in me not to cut you off and just attack you with my love”

“Well I’m done talking now so you wouldn’t be cutting me off”

And he does exactly what he was planning, tackling you in his arms on the couch, laying there with you while giving you sweet lil kisses and whispering about how much he loves you

He’s definitely back to himself

ଘ Jungwon ~ˊˎ-

Now our dear leader is a lil shy, which we all love him for, but that meant y’all had been dating for like a year almost

An ‘I love you’-less year

And you were a little worried like ‘is this not a serious relationship to him’ but you kinda brushed it off because you’re pretty young and you would never want to rush him

And then it became very obvious that he was serious when he freaking INVITED YOU TO A FAMILY VACATION

Not like a board the plane were going to Hawaii for a month vacation, a thankfully more chill like family camping in log cabins together for a weekend vacation

And obviously you were terrified because ya know meeting the ‘rents (I am so sorry why did I say it like that)

But you weren’t gonna say no to your boyfriend especially when he was so excited

So flash forward to you and jungwon, fresh off of a 3 hour car ride (where you obvi played 10 months like 80,000 times), walking up to a cute little campground with like three big log cabins next to each other, real cute

And you walk into the main one where everyone is meeting and his family is like SCREAMING like absolute chaos and there are little cousins running around and everything

And for some reason it feel comfortable and one of his little cousins comes up to you and asks you to play obviously you do

By the time his family realizes he’s here and greets him you’re surrounded by children

Cue his older cousins like “I knew they were fake” “you don’t have to lie wonnie, it’s okay to be single”

But then he points over to the living room and you’ve got a little kid on your back and another on your lap and someone has used their play makeup to give you blue eyeshadow

You give him a really big smile when you see him looking over and literally everyone just 🥺🥺🥺

He thinks you’ve never been more perfect even tho you literally end up with a glitter mustache

Eventually his aunts make their kids leave you alone and you help them wash up to eat (as almost scream when you see your reflection because their first impression of you was of you looking like a whacko)

But then you sit down at the table where he’s saved you a spot and they’re all so excited to meet you and ask you all sorts of questions

You’re holding his hand under the table because you’re nervous but then he’s got your hands in his lap fiddling with your fingers and you aren’t nervous anymore

Literally every single person in his family gives you a hug before you guys go to the cabin you’re sleeping in and you ask him ya know like

“Do you think they like me”

And he’s like ??? They literally like you more than me and my cousins tried to fight me to the death for a seat next to you at the table

But he just goes “they love you just as much as I do”

And you just combust

“You love me???”

And it wasn’t even an accident, he was just like “yup, like a lot”

Then bam “I love you too”

And they lived happily ever after more like his aunts overheard and screamed to the rest of the family what just happened

ଘ Niki ~ˊˎ-

Niki had begged you all week to come over and visit and you finally found a day that you were both free on

You knocked quietly, announcing your presence before letting yourself in like the boys had told you to do

Once you had set your things down and taken your shoes off you set out on a mission to find your lovely boyfriend

Which really didn’t take long because you could hear him screaming in the living room as soon as you walked in

Apparently he was losing at whatever video game they were playing and was not happy about it

You went over to his spot on the couch, squeezing in next to him and he gave you a lil side hug and a kiss on the temple to say hello

You settled down in your spot, leaning on him with his arm still around your shoulder as the next round started

Although it was a bad idea because when he lost again you almost got elbowed in the head

After a few more rounds some of the boys decide to go out and get food even tho he definitely begged them to stay because he wanted to win at least once

“No bud, we’re hungry, and you kinda have a significant other you’ve been ignoring for like an hour” thanks heeseung

So they leave (except for jake who got stuck on babysitting duty)

And you’re like well he seems to like this game even tho he sucks at it so might as well play it if that’s what he wants to do

So you’re all like “hey bub what if I play with you” and he’s already shoving the controller in your hand and explaining how it works

He loves that you try to take an interest in the things that he likes, and he also likes that you’ve never played it before because that’ll make it easy to beat you

Which it definitely was, sorry you kinda suck at this game (even more than your boyfriend)

“Yes!! I did it!!! I won!!”

Cue the trash talk because he’s a little devil spawn sometimes

“See that I woooooon, you didn’t even stand a chance against me, I’m a master at this game”

And you’re just sitting there like you hadn’t seen him get absolutely demolished by everyone else literally like 30 minutes ago, just shaking your head

“Ya know you’re lucky I love you or I would have smacked you by now”

You laugh when you say it and he joins in before going dead silent after like 3 seconds

“Wait you what?”

“I said you’re luck I lo-”

And then you go quiet too bc dang did you really just say that and now you’re all nervous

But then he just goes

“Yeah I kinda love you too”

And then he makes sure to spend some actual time with you, not just beating you in video games for the rest of the day

“WAIT ‘KINDA’???”

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#enhypen scenarios #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen sunoo #sunoo scenarios #enhypen jungwon #jungwon scenarios #enhypen niki #niki scenarios #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #sunoo fluff #jungwon fluff #niki fluff

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marvelatthetwilight · 4 years ago

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No More Darkness

@fatiguing-thoughts this one is for you! And, as it’s Quil @clearwater-hoe might like this too?!

Quil was your best friend. You did everything together, your families had been friends for years and you had practically known each other since birth. You walked to school together, sat at lunch together, were partners in projects, hung out after school, shared your hopes and your fears, everything that best friends do. Embry and Jacob were like your brothers yes, but with Quil it was always different, like your souls were connected, and you knew each other in a way that no one ever could.

When Embry, and then Jacob disappeared off the face of the earth to suddenly join the Sam gang, you were furious for yourself, but you were devastated for Quil. The whole situation put him on edge, he was constantly anxious that Sam was looking at him in a way he couldn’t really explain, like he knew something Quil didn’t. That somehow Quil was next.

It was after school on a Friday. You were walking on the beach with Quil, talking about Jacob’s recent disappearance and Quil’s strange suspicions.

“I saw Jared and Paul this morning, from a distance of course, and they just had this look in their eyes. Like they were wary of me, watching my behaviour. It’s like they’re waiting for something to happen”. He looked defeated, like he was just waiting for the inevitable. “Y/N I just feel like the darkness is closing in on me, like it did for Embry, like it is for Jacob.”

“Quil you don’t need to feel like that, you know I’ve always been here for you, I will always be there for you. Even if you do join a gang” I nudge him slightly with this last comment and a small smile forms on his face.

“What would I ever do without you Y/N?”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find that out! I don’t plan on going anywhere!” You stop walking and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him in for one of your famous hugs.

“A Y/N hug never fails to disappoint” you can hear the smile in his voice as he replies as he wraps his arms around your body and gives you a small squeeze.

On Monday morning you head to Quil’s house to walk to school together like you always do.

You hadn’t seen him over the weekend as you’d been dragged to see you grandparents a couple of hours away, which you had told him. He said he was going to catch up on sleep and homework as he had been really tired recently, you thought nothing of it, he’s a teenage boy, that happens.

When he stopped replying to your messages on Sunday, you didn’t initially think anything was wrong, assuming he was just sleeping and hadn’t heard his phone. However, as the day went on, you messaged again, and still heard nothing. When you checked your phone as you woke up Monday morning, you could see he had read your messages but he had still not replied. Something was off.

So here you were, walking up the steps to Quil’s house, about to knock on the door...

The door opens, and you frown as you see Embry step out.

“He can’t see you Y/N, he’s sick. He won’t be coming to school, you need to walk in by yourself.” Embry won’t make eye contact with you, like he knows you will see straight through his lie, but you leave it. You’ve got a big test this morning, you’ll get to the bottom of this later.

“I’ll be back after school.”

“He’ll still be sick then and won’t be able to see you then.” This time he looks down at you, and you take in the changes in the person you saw as a brother. He’s taller, filled out with muscle, not the skinny scrawny boy you grew up with. He has a tattoo on his arm now too, the same tattoo you had seen on Paul and Jared.

“What happened Embry? You look so different. What did Sam do to you?”

He frowns at this. “Sam has helped me, helped us, like he’s going to help Quil. You just need to leave Y/N, I’m sorry.”

With that, he closes the door.

You keep texting Quil throughout the day, hoping that this wasn’t really happening, that you weren’t losing another friend. You heard nothing. The same ghosting as you had from Embry, and Jacob.

You never thought that Quil could ghost you, that your connection was so deep it couldn’t be broken. Quil would never do that, you thought.

There was so much more to all of this than either you or Quil had thought.

You get through your school day, acing your test, but sitting alone at lunch. Alone with your thoughts, putting together a plan. This was the last straw, you rolled over and accepted the loss of Embry, the loss of Jacob, but you weren’t losing Quil.

As the school day finishes you send Quil a final text before you walk back to his house.

I’m coming over. I’m not taking no for an answer. You won’t see me? I’m not leaving.

You walk up the steps to Quil’s front door, again the door opens before you have a chance to knock, but this time you recognise it to be Sam, although you’ve only ever seen him from a distance. Your text must have called in the big guns.

“He can’t see you Y/N, you know this.” He looks at you in sympathy and you can’t stand it.

“But why? Why are you taking all of my friends away? You know I’m completely alone now? Embry, Jacob, Quil, they were my life, my best friends, my family. Now I have no one.” Tears are rolling down your face before you can stop them and a heart wrenching sob leaves your mouth as the words ring true in your heart.

Sam glances behind him and you hear a slight commotion. “Let me see her” you hear. “Embry you know she won’t leave until I do, Sam, let me see her.”

Sam sighs as he pushes the door open fully. You gasp as your eyes fix with Quil’s, his eyes widen and he doesn’t break eye contact as you notice Embry and Sam smirking at each other.

“Er...Quil? Are you ok?” Your voice brings him back to reality, and he shoves Embry as he makes an aww sound whilst looking between the two of you. Quil looks to Sam, who nods and he quickly grabs your hand and starts walking with you towards the woods.

You slow your pace as you reach the edge of the woods. Quil stops, and turns so you are facing each other, he takes both your hands in his and looks into your eyes. He’s never looked at me like this before.

Something stirs inside you, feelings you’d put aside years ago, knowing that nothing would come of them, that Quil would only ever think of you as a sister. But something seemed different.

“There’s a lot I need to explain to you, a lot. But for now I just need to tell you that...you, and me, what we have is really special. For years I’ve loved you, and not like a sister line Embry or Jake. I love you. And now something in me has stirred to give me the confidence to tell you how I really feel.”

Your hands are shaking.

“Y/N, I don’t know if you feel the same, if you’ve ever felt that way about me but I needed to tell you...” Quil looks to the side before speaking again, “you know that darkness I talked about? That feeling of doom? Well, I when I finally understood what was happening, which I promise I will explain, I thought that darkness would disappear. But it didn’t. I still felt it, until that door opened and I looked at you.”

He brings your hands up to his face, kissing them softly.

“One look at you, and, poof, no more darkness”

He smiles softly at you. “You don’t have to say anything, I just needed to be brave, be honest.”

If Quil can be brave then so can I, you thought.

“...I’ve always been in love with you Quil, I feel like our souls are connected in some magical way, that we are, I dunno...it sounds stupid. Like we are soul mates or something.”

He smiles at you again, gently pulling your face up to his and kissing you softly on the lips. He laughs before speaking again.

“Yeah, or something”

Taglist

@volturidoll13 @like-rain-or-confetti @wallwriterstuff @megzdoodle @awesomebooklover17 @moviequeen51 @cncogirl18 @fatiguing-thoughts @clearwater-hoe

#quil ateara #Quil ateara imagine #Quil ateara x reader #twilight x reader #twilight imagines #twilight

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puckinghell · 4 years ago

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Not A Typical Christmas Story | Elias Pettersson

Summary: You’ve never loved Christmas, and there’s nothing that can change that; especially not your best friend’s grumpy Swedish friend who you don’t even like. However, when you’ve gotta be forced into the Christmas spirit to write a Christmas story for class, there’s only one person who is willing to try and help you. Words: 14k (I’m SO sorry) Note: Here it is, a Christmas story in November. Honestly I’m nervous to post this, I’ve never put so much of myself into a story, but here we go. I loved loved loved writing this and I hope you guys like reading it. Also, the cliche scenarios were stolen from a random blog post.

“You’re such a fucking Grinch.” Brock takes a sip from his hot chocolate. There’s murmur in the bar around you, and he’s muttering, but you still hear him clear enough.

“Hey,” you protest, lightly hitting him on the arm. “I’m not a Grinch. Just because you put up your Christmas decorations in October and have been singing All I Want For Christmas Is You since July, doesn’t make me the Grinch for not doing that.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said you hate Christmas.”

“I did not.” You stubbornly cross your arms. “I said I hate Christmas stories.”

“That’s basically all there is to Christmas,” Brock brings in, and that’s probably fair enough.

Apart from the food, presents, family time, decorations…

Fine. Maybe you don’t like any of those either. But not liking Christmas is not the same as being a Grinch: you’re completely fine with letting everyone enjoy their festive December, as long as they leave you out of it.

Which is exactly why you’ve been complaining to Brock. And as your best friend, it’s literally his duty to listen to you; unfortunately it also means he’s gonna make fun of you. Just a little bit.

“I just don’t get why I have to write a Christmas story,” you mope, a little pathetically. “There’s so many Christmas stories in the world already, Boes. And they’re all the same! The foreign sports car breaks down in a blizzard and the city slicker gets stuck in a bar with a bucktoothed chicken strangler with an IQ of 7 whom he decides, through love or delirium, he cannot live without. Or the sadistic Christmas-hating miser of the pathetic backwoods town, who makes his money grinding the faces of the poor, is inspired to a change of heart by a teary-eyed child who bears a striking resemblance to his dead daughter, and donates all his money so that the ghost town can continue its wretched, grimy, poverty wracked existence.”

At that, there’s a muffled snicker from the side of the table. You’d almost forgotten that Elias was there, to be honest.

You raise your eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve got a better Christmas story?”

Elias raises an eyebrow back, but doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t. Brock says he’s talkative enough when you’re not around, although you for the life of you do not know what you’ve done to earn his judgment.

“Don’t bite Petey’s head off,” Brock chides. He’s always trying to keep the peace between you two, and sometimes you feel bad that he has to police his two best friends.

Today is not one of those days.

“He’s laughing at me!”

“Because you’re being ridiculous.” Brock sighs. “It’s just a Christmas story, Y/N. You’ll write it, you get a grade for it, it’s done. How hard can it be?”

It’s clear that Brock has no idea how hard it can be to write a decent story. Sometimes, you wonder if he can even really write or read: maybe he’s just memorized a bunch of words and called it a day.

You let out a grumble and drop your head on the dingy, sticky table in the rundown bar that Brock and Elias are so keen to go to, probably because they never get recognized there. Not surprising, considering the fact that the age of the average customer is above 85.

Normally, you like your creative writing course. People told you to get electives you thought were actually fun, as your normal college courses are taxing enough, and you’ve always been a writer.

Or, well, been a writer… You write. You wouldn’t call yourself a writer: you’ve never published anything and you can’t be a writer before you make money from it. But you like writing. There’s at least a hundred half finished Word documents sitting on your laptop at any given moment.

But this project isn’t fun at all. All the students in your course were excited to get to write a Christmas story. It is December, after all, and most people have gotten properly into the Christmas spirit by now. However, you’ve never liked Christmas – for reasons that you will not think about with Elias’ judgy eyes on you – and you usually write scary stories, so this is not up your alley.

“Hey,” Brock’s voice sounds, and it’s gentle now. He’s probably noticed you’re actually having a mental breakdown over this. “It’s just one stupid story, and it doesn’t even have to be good. Just write about like, animals that can talk.”

Elias snorts again, and this time you can’t even blame him.

You lift your head only to shoot Brock a glare. Brock raises his hands in helpless manner, rolling his eyes as he goes.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I’m going to get beers,” Elias says suddenly. It’s the first thing he’s said all hour, you think, and the sound of his voice almost startles you. “I think you’re more helpful when you’ve got a beer, Boes.”

He’s not wrong, but you won’t tell him that. Instead, you stare at his retreating back, disappearing towards the bar.

“Why do you hate him?” Brock says, and he sounds a little accusing.

“I don’t hate Elias, just as much as I don’t hate Christmas,” you tell him, before you realize that that technically doesn’t speak of your innocence, so you try a different tactic. “He doesn’t like me either! He never talks when I’m around.”

“Cause you make him nervous!” Brock exclaims. He pushes his now empty mug towards the side. “You’re always making snappy remarks at him.” He stares at you with big blue puppy eyes, his bottom lip pouting out. “I wish you would just get along. I love you both and it’s very annoying to have to always be in the middle of you.”

In reality, it’s not like Brock really has to be in the middle of anything. If it was up to you, you would simply not ever see Elias, and you’re pretty sure that’s the only thing you and Elias would ever agree on. But Brock somehow always brings you together: like how today he’d forgotten to mention his teammate’s presence when he asked you to come out for a drink.

But you don’t blame Brock, not really. You think there’s another universe in which Elias and you could be friends. You’re very similar, in a way: you’re both not from Vancouver, both don’t have your family around, and you share a similar sharp sarcastic humor and a love for teasing Brock.

The first time you met Elias, you were hopeful. Brock was, at that point, your only friend in Vancouver, and the two of you had become best friends like you’d grown up in each other’s pockets. If Brock liked this guy so much, you figured you’d like him too.

But Elias hadn’t seemed to feel the same way. You met at one of Jake’s parties and Brock had introduced you with the statement that you were going to be beerpong buddies, because he’d already promised Troy.

Elias’ eyes had been a little too intense, as they traveled across your face. You could feel them burn into your skin like lasers, and when his eyes finally met yours it had felt like being hit by the entire universe at once.

“Oh,” he’d said, and it had been filled with… not even disdain. You could’ve handled disdain, because you could’ve called him out on that. But this had been indifference, that you’d heard in his voice, and that was something you didn’t know what to do with.

He’d not said anything else all evening.

Ever since then, you’d put stone after stone into the wall you build between you and the quiet Swede, every single time he so much looked in your general direction. Nothing big ever happened between you: you hadn’t had any huge fights or massive blow outs.

It was just indifference, that ate at you until it became reluctance and then annoyance, and it’s that same thing you can read on Elias’ face now when he quietly sits in a corner, listening in on your conversations with Brock.

Yes, it would be easier for Brock if you and Elias could become friends, or at least friendly enough.

“Sorry, Boes,” you tell him with a sigh. “I just don’t think it’s ever gonna happen.”

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”

You raise your eyebrow at Jake, who opened the door wearing black jeans, a Santa hat, and literally nothing else.

"I lost a bet,” he says solemnly, opening his front door further. You stomp the snow off your boots on his porch, then move past him into the house.

It’s freezing cold outside and Jake’s house is lovely and warm, which makes you happy to be there if only to enjoy the heating. It’s not like you don’t have heating at your flat, but the electricity bill is high enough every month without you turning the thermostat up as high as it goes, so usually you try to keep warm with sweaters and blankets.

Brock told you to dress pretty though, so you wore a dress to Jake’s party. Which means it’s a good thing he’s got the heating going.

“You look lovely,” Jake smiles, taking your coat from your hands. Having him act like such a perfect gentleman in the outfit he’s wearing makes you laugh, and he shoos you inside when he notices.

You like Jake. In fact, you like all of Brock’s friends – except the one, of course – and that’s the only reason you said yes to coming to this party. It’s not like you’re against parties, but it’s a Christmas party: and despite the fact that it’s the first week of December, you’ve already heard enough Christmas music to last a life time.

“There she is!” Brock hoots, when he spots you. He opens his arms and you give him a quick hug, saying hi to Bo and Holly, who he’s standing with. “I have a brilliant idea,” Brock says however, before you can even ask the Horvats how they’re doing. “And you can’t say no right away.”

That definitely means you’re gonna wanna say no right away.

“I’m not promising that,” you hum. Just at that moment, Jake appears with a glass of prosecco that he hands you, and you send him a grateful smile. He disappears just as quickly, which is probably the better option considering what Brock’s about to say.

“I think you should make an actual, real effort to get into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“I don’t think so,” you immediately answer, but Brock waves away your protests with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not the part you’re gonna wanna say no to.”

“Oh dear,” Holly laughs, and you glare at Brock.

“What, then?”

“I think you and Petey should get in the Christmas spirit together.”

The sentence is bizar enough that you burst out laughing. Surely he’s kidding.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, then, turning to Bo: “Is he drunk?”

Bo shrugs. “Not yet, I don’t think. Tipsy at most.”

“Think about it,” Brock says. There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes, which promises nothing good for you. “You’re staying in Vancouver this Christmas, right?”

You don’t say anything: the answer is yes, and Brock knows that, because he’s been trying to convince you to come back to Minnesota with him for a month. However, as you’ve told him every time, there’s no way his girlfriend would appreciate that, and you don’t like being a third wheel. Or - but you haven’t told him that - a charity case.

“And so is Petey!” Brock proclaims. He motions somewhere to the left, where the Swede is probably hiding between all his teammates, trying to stay as far away from you as possible. “So both of you have to stay here in Vancouver, alone, during Christmas. And he loves Christmas, and you don’t, but you have to write that Christmas story and it would be so much easier to do that if you actually celebrated Christmas, so he can teach you how.”

Your best friend isn’t making a lot of sense, and there’s too much information to process so quickly. First of all, you didn’t know Elias would be alone for Christmas, although you suppose it makes sense that he can’t go back to Sweden just for 2 days of Christmas. Secondly, you don’t need someone to teach you how to celebrate Christmas: it’s not like you don’t know, and much more that you choose not to.

And third: fuck. You’d basically forgotten about that Christmas story.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Brock says proudly and a little smug. “And I haven’t told Petey yet but I know he’ll be down.”

This time, you respond: you start laughing hard enough that Brock’s smile slips off his face.

“I really don’t think he will,” you giggle. You reach out, patting Brock’s arm with a smile. “Boes, you’re a sweetheart, but stop worrying about me. My life isn’t bad because I don’t like Christmas.”

It’s bad for some other reasons, like financial debt and family misfortunes, but not because of a lack of reindeer ornaments and bad mulled wine.

Brock pouts. “But…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can write that Christmas story just fine on my own, thank you. And if you’re worried about Elias, you can ask him to Minnesota.” You take a step back, glancing at your empty prosecco glass. “I’m gonna get another one of these.”

As you’re making your way to the kitchen, you can still hear Brock’s sputtering.

Although Jake’s house is filled with people, the kitchen still seems quiet. It’s not until you’ve let the door fall closed behind you though, that you notice movement in the corner.

“Oh,” you say, a little annoyed to be caught off guard. “It’s you.”

Elias barely glances in your direction. “Just getting some water.”

Elias’ style is always a little funky, and if you didn’t dislike him so much you would’ve appreciated how daring it is. This time, though, you literally can not help but laugh at him.

“Nice sweater,” you say, and it doesn’t even come out as sarcastic.

Elias looks down at his sweater like he didn’t even notice he was wearing it. It has a reindeer stitched on, except the reindeer looks… Well. Baked.

“Quinn got it for me,” Elias says, and he sounds a little sheepish, which is not a tone you hear from him often. “He’s got the same one.”

“A little co-dependent,” you tease, and it comes out too light and easy for it to be directed at Elias. He looks a little surprised, too, at how jovial it sounds.

“You look nice,” he says, then. He’s looking at you now, and you can feel the weight of his eyes press against your skin.

There’s something about Elias’ gaze that makes it feel like your lungs are constricting, and you don’t know what it is. You could blame it on the fact that his eyes are the kind of piercing blue that authors would compare to the ocean or maybe the summer sky, but Brock has blue eyes too, and you never feel like that when he looks at you.

“Uhm, thanks,” you bring out. The awkwardness settles over the kitchen like a heavy cloud of fog, but for some reason your first instinct isn’t to just run out of the kitchen, like you usually would.

This is definitely Brock’s fault, for making you feel bad about Elias being alone in his sauve but empty apartment in Vancouver on Christmas, when he apparently loves the holiday so much.

“Brock thinks you could teach me how to love Christmas,” you blurt out, and Elias looks nothing short of utterly baffled by your statement. You sigh, and explain. “We’re both in Vancouver around Christmas and apparently you love Christmas and I don’t, so he thinks you should teach me how to love it. He thinks it would help me write my story.”

Elias seems to ponder that for a second. When he speaks, his voice is tentative. “Do you think it would help?”

Your first instinct is to, once again, call out no and laugh it off, but for some reason you don’t. Elias sips his water like he’s prepared to wait for your answer, and you give yourself some time to think.

Realistically, getting into the Christmas spirit, or at least getting an idea of what other people feel when they’re in the Christmas spirit, could really help you pull off this story. You’re good at putting yourself in other people’s shoes, which is how you manage to write characters you don’t necessarily see yourself in.

When you wrote a story about a doctor, you talked to your friend who’s in med school about it for a week. Now, you wanna write a Christmas story. It wouldn’t be an awful idea to be around someone who loves Christmas.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But you don’t have to do it, I know you’re probably busy…”

Elias shakes his head before you’ve finished your sentence.

“When hockey goes on break, and all my teammates go home for the holidays, I won’t have anything to do.” He shrugs: it looks careless but in the most forced manner, like he’s trying to hide just how much it does matter. “We could do something, I guess.”

I guess. It’s not really the most enthusiastic response you’ve ever had, but then, this is not normal for you and Elias.

“You know what the ultimate Christmas plot is?” Elias says then, a little hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “A Christmas party is in fear of flopping thanks to a lack of Christmas spirit, but is rescued by some energetic soccer mom with no life.” He grins. “I could be the soccer mom.”

To your own surprise, you burst out laughing at his description. You didn’t think he was really paying attention when you were describing cliché Christmas plots in the bar with Brock, but maybe Elias pays attention to more than he admits.

“Fine,” you hear yourself say, and you honest to God have no idea where that came from but you know Brock is gonna shit himself with excitement when he hears. “When hockey goes on break, you can be the energetic soccer mom and try to bring me into the Christmas spirit.” You smile. “It won’t be an easy task, Pettersson.”

Elias raises an eyebrow but there’s nothing judgmental about it, this time.

If anything, it’s a challenge.

He sticks something out to you: it’s your glass, now filled again with prosecco, which he somehow managed to fill up without you even noticing.

“It’s on,” he says simply, and when he raises his water glass in the air, you don’t even hesitate to clink it.

“Shopping is not a Christmas outing,” you say, stubbornly crossing your arms. “And I really don’t think this is gonna get me into the Christmas spirit.”

“What do you mean?” Elias deadpans, as he yanks a shopping cart free from all the others. “Middle aged housewives fighting over discounted wreaths? There’s nothing more Christmassy than that.”

You snort. “Right. It’s just gonna be spoiled crying kids who want toys that they already have and parents pretending it’s Santa who spoils them so they don’t have to take responsibility for their kids being rude drama queens.”

Elias laughs. He pushes the cart into the department store, and you reluctantly follow him.

“That’s another storyline,” he says.

“The unexplained dilemma of parents who do not believe in Santa, and yet we, the wise audience who knows better, are left to wonder where they think these toys came from? ‘Psst, honey, Santa’s not real, so from whence came these marvels?’”

“I don’t know half of what you’re saying.” Elias holds up a string of Christmas lights. “But we’re getting these, honey.”

It comes out sweet like caramel and too serious to be anything but sarcastic, so you push the cart into his heels. Elias simply laughs and continues on his way.

The department store is busy, which is exactly why you usually try to avoid going there in December. You’d think Elias, being Elias Pettersson, would also try to avoid crowds, but it’s like people don’t see anything but Rudolph; nobody recognizes him as he skillfully pushes his way through the crowds, putting stuff into the cart that you barely know what to do with.

You’re thankful for it. It would be awkward if people did recognize him, and it’s strange to notice that that would be the thing to do it; there’s no awkwardness now, with him making snarky remarks at the quality of the ornaments or the fact that Canadians apparently love what he calls the ‘tacky’ side of Christmas.

In fact, you almost find that you’re enjoying yourself. It might as well be a Christmas miracle after all.

“When was the last time you had a tree?” Elias asks.

Your brain short circuits for a full five seconds, and then when you answer Elias stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“Uh, probably when I still lived with my parents and they got it?”

“We’re changing that right now.” He spins on his heels and speed walks in the direction of the trees, too fast for you to protest.

You think of the last time you got a Christmas tree and an involuntary shiver makes its way down your spine. There’s a good reason you don’t like Christmas, and the tree plays a crucial part in it.

But Elias doesn’t know that. So you can’t even blame him for looking excited when he somehow manages to find you the perfect size tree for your apartment – even without ever having been in your apartment.

“This one,” he says smugly, but when he notices your expression, his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow. You could tell him, now, tell him about the last time your dad went to get a tree and never came back.

But that’s a long time ago and there’s no reason for Elias to know that. He’s not your friend, and he’d probably not even care. If anything, he’d feel sorry for you, and that would be even worse.

“That one is fine,” you tell him, and you promise yourself you just won’t put it up.

The tree gets your mood down but Elias doesn’t seem to notice. He collects some more stuff, like a throw blanket with Christmas pattern that you actually don’t mind, because you’re always cold and a person can never have too many throw blankets.

He also puts in an ornament with the Canucks logo, which you want to use to slap the smirk off his face, and a Rudolph pluche toy with a red light up nose.

“Like you, when it’s cold,” he teases, flicking your nose, and you wonder if you could use the Christmas lights to strangle him.

Finally, when you approach the end of your trip, you realize a teeny tiny problem.

“Uhm, Elias?” you ask, “I think we may have gotten too much.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Brock said you don’t have any decorations, so this is the perfect amount.”

And it would be – if you wanted Christmas decorations – except…

“I can’t afford this,” you snap, and you can feel your cheeks heat up, and maybe the tips of your ears as well. God, this is embarrassing.

Elias’ face softens, and that kinda just makes it worse.

“You’re not paying for it,” he says, not unkindly. “This wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” you remind him. Granted, a bill like this would hardly break the bank for Elias, but you’re not about to let him pay for you just because he feels bad. You let Brock buy you dinner sometimes but that’s it, and only because he actually likes your company and because he always wants to eat at stupid fancy restaurants.

This is Elias. He doesn’t value your company, and he’s not your friend, and you won’t let him pay for you.

Elias doesn’t say anything, eyes searching your face for something. You’re not quite sure what he finds, but finally, he speaks.

“Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he says. “You can pay me back by making me lunch, cause I’m hungry.”

And strangely enough, the thought of spending another two hours with Elias doesn’t make you wanna hurl, or throw yourself in front of oncoming traffic. In fact, you’re surprised to note that you actually had fun on this trip, and it was mostly thanks to Elias’ dry commentary on the other shoppers, of which not one sentence failed to make you laugh.

You don’t believe in Christmas stories, like the one where some weird technical glitch in the matrix gets fixed just in time for the Christmas tree in the center of town to light up, just as the guy and girl figure out their complicated emotional differences.

But maybe you can allow yourself to not actively dislike Elias’ company, at least while you’re stuck with it.

There’s exhaustion settled deep inside your bones, like your feet are made of concrete as you somehow manage to drag yourself up the stairs. You don’t usually mind living in a bit of a shit hole building, considering the fact that it’s very cheap – but on nights like these you wish there was an elevator you could take.

Working out in the morning before taking a double shift at the coffee shop you work at was a bad idea.

It takes you a few seconds to find your keys in your bag. It’s late enough at night that you can’t really see much; there’s lights in the hallways but most of them don’t really work, the flickering glow of them barely enough to illuminate the ceilings.

When you open the door, you instantly notice there’s something wrong.

Or, wrong… That might not be the right word. The word that comes to mind, actually, is fuck.

You’d forgotten all about Elias.

After buying all the Christmas decorations, he kept bothering you about putting them up. You hadn’t really been planning to, and unfortunately Elias knew you well enough to somehow know that.

Nobody reads you as well as he does, like his blue eyes pierce right through your skin and stare straight into your heart. It’s one of the things you find most unsettling about him. Keeping things close to your heart has always been your way to cope, but it felt impossible to do that with Elias around.

He’d kept asking you if you were gonna put up the decorations and you kept waving him away, until he finally decided he had enough.

“I’m coming over tomorrow,” he’d said – or, threatened. “Brock gave me your spare key, so you don’t have a say in this. I’m putting up the tree.”

“Don’t you dare,” you’d answered, making a mental note to deal with Brock’s traitorous ass later. “I can put up my own tree.”

You could, you just weren’t planning to do it.

“You could, but you won’t,” Elias had said, unimpressed. “So be there or don’t be there, I’m doing it.”

You had totally meant to be there. You weren’t as much of an asshole that you would let him do all the work after he also paid for it, and he was technically doing you a favor. But then your colleague asked you to cover her shift, and, well…

You forgot. And clearly, Elias hadn’t.

In the corner of your tiny little living room is a pine tree. There’s no ornaments in it except for the Canucks one that Elias bought you, but there’s what seems to be about a thousand lights in it, and it must’ve taken him hours to put those in.

It’s not even just that. The Rudolph toy is sitting on your bookcase, there’s candles on your dining table and on the couch is the Christmas throw blanket.

Under the blanket is Elias.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, blond hair a little messy. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, and he looks strangely peaceful.

You feel something settle in your stomach.

You imagine him sitting on your couch, waiting for you to come home because he wanted to see your reaction. You can imagine his little smug grin as he took in his work, way too proud with a simple string of lights in a Christmas tree. And maybe, maybe, he even thought about you celebrating Christmas here with the place looking exactly like this, and maybe that made him smile.

And then you didn’t show up.

You wonder if you should wake him, to kick him out of your apartment, tease him for waiting for you, or even to say thank you. But his chest is rising slowly with every steady breath, and you’ve never seen Elias look so tranquil, so at peace.

For some reason, waking him feels like a crime.

So you step closer and tug the blanket a little more over his shoulders. You tell yourself it’s because the place gets so stupidly cold at night, and you can’t have him get sick and have a miserable Christmas because Brock would kill you, but you know it’s not about that at all.

It’s about the fact that coming home to a cozy, decorated apartment after the exhausting day you’ve had was actually pretty nice. And it’s about the fact that for some reason, Elias’ sleeping figure on your couch makes the place feel more like home than it has ever before.

And maybe it’s because the night is dark, and Elias can’t hear or see you, but when you whisper: “Goodnight” into the quiet living room, it sounds a lot like thank you.

When you wake up, there’s the smell of pancakes in the air. It’s a smell you would recognize anywhere, and it startles you awake too quickly for it being so early in the morning. You nearly jump out of bed and follow your nose towards the kitchen.

If anyone would’ve asked, you would’ve bet money on it that Elias would’ve woken up on your couch annoyed as hell, and booked it out of there as soon as his legs could carry him. But somehow, like a mirage, he’s standing at your stove, making pancakes.

Are you dreaming?

“Am I dreaming?” you ask out loud, and Elias swirls around on his heels.

“Don’t scare me,” he snaps, annoyed, but the annoyance flows away within seconds. “I was hungry.”

“So you made pancakes?”

Elias laughs softly. “I can’t make much else with what’s in your kitchen. You need to go grocery shopping.”

You really do, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when Elias is standing in your kitchen like he owns the place, like it’s normal for him to be there.

It very much is not. So why doesn’t it feel wrong?

“Uhm.” If he’s here, you figure you should at least be polite. “Do you want coffee?”

He waves towards your coffee machine. “I already put it on.”

You stay quiet as you make the coffee, a little too aware of the way Elias moves pancake after pancake from the pan to the stack, movements relaxed and almost lazy. It’s Sunday morning and it’s not that late, but it feels like it could be one of those mornings that stretches out endlessly, dark grey clouds outside your apartment as Vancouver slowly wakes up.

Neither of you speak until you’ve sat down at the table, pancakes and coffee in front of you. It’s awfully domestic and you don’t know what to do with it: it’s become easy to snap or snark at Elias when Brock’s there as a middle man and Elias looks like he’d rather cut off both his legs than spend another minute in your presence, but it’s not like that now.

Now, Elias seems quietly content to sit in your kitchen eating pancakes that he made on your stove while you were asleep. Now, Elias seems completely comfortable scrolling through his phone while you stare at him. And this Elias, you have no idea what to do with.

“We’re gonna do something Christmassy today,” Elias says, between two bites of pancake. “I’m just trying to figure out what.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s been only a week since Brock had the awful idea to make Elias teach you how to be in the Christmas spirit before booking it to Minnesota, and so far Elias has seemingly put way too much time and effort into it, while you haven’t even put one word in your empty word document, that you ironically titled ‘Not a typical Christmas story’.

Then you remember the night at Jake’s party, and how Elias said he wouldn’t have much to do once all the guys went home to their families.

Suddenly, you feel for him. You know what it’s like to be lonely.

“The Christmas market isn’t on today,” Elias continues, oblivious to your mental dialogue. “But we’re going there soon. And we need to watch a bunch of Christmas movies.”

You hesitate. Are you really going to do this?

“I might have an idea for today.”

Apparently you are.

Elias’ eyes finally focus on you, expression curious. He doesn’t say anything but he’s clearly waiting for you to continue, so you take a deep breath and go for it.

“I’ve never gone skating.”

An hour later you’re at the local outdoor ice rink, and it’s not until you see the crowd that you realize this might’ve not been your smartest idea. It’s Sunday, it’s December, it’s not awfully cold: you think at least 1/3rd of Vancouver is at this rink.

“Uhm, I might not have thought this through,” you state a little bashfully. You can already see a few Canucks jerseys on the ice, and although you can’t see the back that well you wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of them carried the number 40.

Elias shrugs. He seems unbothered, but then he mostly does. You can never really read him, and it’s one of the things you find most unnerving about him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m wearing my glasses.”

He is wearing his glasses, which he rarely does. You’re not even sure he needs them or if they’re just a fashion statement. He’s also wearing a hat, so maybe he’s thought this through more than you.

But surely just glasses and a snapback won’t stop Vancouver from recognizing the Canucks biggest star?

Apparently, it does.

Elias goes to rent the skates, because he couldn’t be bothered to go back to his apartment to get his own. He’s put them on within 20 seconds, while you’re still struggling to wiggle your foot into the first one.

He laughs and you shoot him a deathly glare.

“Don’t laugh at me! We can’t all be professional hockey players.”

“I don’t think you need to be a professional anything to lace up a skate,” Elias answers dryly. He turns to face you, then pats his leg. “Give me your foot.”

It’s embarrassing to make Elias tie your skates, but it would be more embarrassing to ignore him and then spend 20 minutes struggling with them. So you swing your foot into his lap.

Long fingers work swiftly around your laces, and suddenly your skate is tied, fitted closely around your ankle. Elias pats your shin, then holds out his hand for the other foot.

You swing your second leg into his lap.

“I don’t know how you do this so fast,” you mutter. You can feel the flush on your cheeks and you hope Elias assumes it’s because of the cold.

“I’ve got many talents,” Elias deadpans, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Juggling, unicycle riding, and lacing skates?”

Elias nods. There’s a smile tugging at his lips. “All very important skills.”

Finally, you put your skates back on the floor and waggle towards the door to. the rink. Elias has jumped onto the ice before you can even think about moving.

You stop. Is this really a good idea? You could break both your legs here.

“Don’t be scared,” Elias says, correcting guessing the root of your hesitation. He’s gliding on his skates with ease, shuffling back and forth the way hockey players always do during the anthems.

Because he’s waiting. For you. Because you’re going skating together.

This is the weirdest fucking thing that’s ever happened to you, kinda like a fever dream; and that’s enough motivation to step onto the ice.

You stumble a bit, and Elias reaches out to grab your elbow to steady you.

“Careful, it’s slippery.”

“Unsurprisingly,” you mumble beneath your breath, and Elias’ grin goes a little wicked before he promptly lets go off your elbow and slides back.

Bastard. But the ice is slippery and you’re not steady on your skates, so you scramble forward only just enough to reach Elias again, wrapping your hands tightly around his arm.

“Do not let go,” you hiss.

“Do not be a smartass,” he shoots back, but thankfully he doesn’t move away again. Instead, he carefully takes both your hands away from his arm and takes them into his own, turning so he’s skating backwards and pulling you along.

If you don’t have to move your own feet, moving is a lot more fun, and you feel yourself loosening up. Every now and then you stumble, but Elias’ grip on you is firm and he never wavers, even when you yank on his hands to pull yourself upright again.

You’ve always noticed how graceful Elias is on the ice. There’s something about him when he skates that has always caught your attention, even if you would never admit that to him. But without the hockey gear, it’s even more clear how elegant he moves.

You, not so much.

“You better not be laughing at me,” you grumble, a little annoyed that you have to cling onto Elias as a lifeline in order not to break your neck.

Elias raises an eyebrow. “I never do that.”

It should sound sarcastic but it really doesn’t, and you wonder if he’s momentarily forgotten every single interaction you’ve had with him over the past year.

Your expression must speak volumes because he rolls his eyes. He swiftly moves, so he’s skating next to you instead of in front.

He’s still holding your hand.

“I never laugh at you,” he clarifies. “I laugh because you’re funny. It’s different.”

And, oh. That does something to your stomach, something that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Elias doesn’t seem to want to dwell on it either, because suddenly he pulls his hand away, skating a bit to the front to where you can’t reach him.

“You can do it on your own,” he calls over his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing around his lips.

And it turns out you can: you don’t fall, you keep moving – albeit a lot slower than Elias – and it’s actually kinda fun.

You can do it on your own, but. It was more fun with Elias next to you, anyway.

When Elias texts you to tell you you’re going to the Christmas market that night, you haven’t seen him in three days.

But you’ve been texting. He’s been sending you stupid Christmas songs that you mostly don’t listen to, and Christmas movies you’d prefer to never see. You send him ideas for cliché Christmas stories that you can almost hear his disapproving snort for.

Santa becomes a prima donna and holds Christmas hostage until his ego is stroked in the form of songs written in his honor by reindeer who are willing to give their very lives for the cause.

Elias’ answer comes swift.

No. That has definitely been done before and also, someone could call animal services.

When Brock asks you how you’re liking your time with Elias, when you FaceTime him during dinner, you fall into silence.

What are you gonna tell him? That you smile every time you see his name pop up on your phone? That you have no idea anymore why you didn’t like him all that time? That you now understand what he meant when he used to say “Petey just needs a little time”?

“It’s going,” you hum noncommittally, chopping another carrot.

Brock laughs. “You’re so full of bullshit. I can literally see you trying to hide a smile. You realized I’m right, didn’t you?”

“You need to shut up,” you tell him without any heat. “We’re civil. He’s bored, I’m in the middle of writer’s block crisis. We’re not getting married, Boes, it’s just better than doing nothing the whole week you’ve deserted me.”

“Sure,” Brock drawls, and it doesn’t sound like he believes you at all.

“How’s the pups?” you ask, and Brock laughs because that wasn’t even slightly subtle for a topic change. He clearly decides to let you, however, starts talking about Milo’s new habit of burying people’s gloves in the yard.

The thing is, you don’t really wanna talk about Elias with Brock when you don’t even know yourself what you think of him yet. Fine, you don’t hate him, that’s clear. You’ve realized his air of indifference is just a shield, a wall that crumples as soon as he laughs. His teasing remarks are familiar now, feel friendly the way they feel when they come from Brock, and you’ve realized he’s one of the funniest, smartest, and kindest people you know.

But Brock would just push it into something it’s not. When he comes back, you’ll probably go back to being ‘Brock’s friend’ instead Elias’, and you wouldn’t be surprised if everything goes back to the way things were. Maybe with less animosity, but when Elias has a bunch of different people to choose from, why would he choose to hang out with you?

But for now, he doesn’t have any other people to hang out with and he does choose to hang out with you, and you’re hit once again with how weird that is when you step into his car the next evening.

“Dude, it’s way too cold to be going outside,” you grumble, shutting the door of his car behind you. Inside the car it’s warm and cozy, and Elias has an amused expression on his face when he turns to you.

“Good evening,” he deadpans, “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”

“Right.” You can feel your cheeks flush and hope he thinks it’s because of the heat in the car. “Sorry.”

Elias laughs. “It’s not that cold,” he chides, pulling the car into the road. “You just didn’t dress properly.”

You look down at yourself. You thought you’d dressed quite warm, but there’s an icy chill in the air that promises a chance of snow, so maybe it’s not warm enough. You didn’t even take gloves, you realize now, or a hat.

Well.

Elias is grinning while he stares ahead at the road, and you kinda wanna smack him except for how it also makes you smile. He’s dressed a lot warmer than you, and with the scarf almost up to his chin and a beanie on his head there’s not much risk of him being recognized anywhere.

“I brought extra gloves,” Elias says, then. “You’re not gonna be able to enjoy it if your hands are cold.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Elias, not to be a downer, but we’re going to a busy market that revolves entirely around Christmas, and I don’t like Christmas or crowds. I don’t think I’m gonna enjoy myself either way.”

“We’ll see,” Elias says simply, and it sounds like a promise.

It’s easy to keep up the conversation on the way there, light teasing from you and genuine interest from him. It’s comfortable, both the warmth in the car and Elias’ laugh next to you, and when he parks the car you almost don’t wanna get out.

At least he does have gloves for you, and he gives you a scarf, so you’re not that cold when you step out into the night air.

The Christmas market is busy, hoards of happy people looking for some Christmas cheer. You stick close to Elias’ side: if you lose him in this crowd, you’ll never find him back.

At least it’s pretty. The sky is already dark but the Christmas market has been lit up with seemingly millions of lights in every color imaginable.

“I don’t think purple is very Christmassy,” you say, flicking a purple light hanging off the stall that Elias is browsing.

“I prefer the white ones,” he answers, eyes kept firmly on the handmade ornaments in the stall. “They look like stars.” He turns, holding out an ornament. It’s a glass star, and it reflects the lights like a kaleidoscope.

It’s, objectively, beautiful. You don’t have to like Christmas to love it, but when you reach out for it, Elias laughs and pulls it out of your reach.

“I thought we decided you’re not to be trusted with glass.”

He’s referencing a time long ago, when you were hanging out with Brock and he happened to be there, and you dropped a glass and Brock had made a whole spectacle of it.

To be fair, you hadn’t really put Elias in the memory you keep of that day, because he was simply there: as Brock’s friend, as someone who happens to linger in the background. He’s lingering in the background of many memories, you realize now, but you’re starting to realize you prefer the ones where he’s front and center.

You walk past more stalls, filled with either tacky Christmas stuff – you buy Brock some socks with Santa on them because you can’t not – or handmade things, which you actually like looking at. Elias buys some things for his parents – “I’ll send them to Sweden,” he says, and he looks a little too sad so you start chatting about how Rouss kinda resembles a reindeer, somehow.

You’re walking past the food stalls when Elias asks: “How’s the writing going?”

You freeze. That’s not a question you were ready for, and it leads to the inevitable urge to blurt out the truth. “I haven’t started. I just don’t think I can.”

Elias’ eyes on you are thoughtful, like he’s searching for something in your soul. If he tries hard enough, you think he’ll look right through you: nobody has ever made you feel so open, so visible, as he does.

“Brock didn’t tell you why I don’t like Christmas, did he?”

“No,” Elias admits, “but I figured it was a better reason than red is not your color.”

“Hey!” you protest, stepping to the side so you can bump your shoulder against his. “Red is totally my color!”

It’s not, but Elias doesn’t push it. Instead, he smiles warmly, and suddenly you want to tell him.

“When I was young, my parents used to fight a lot. One day, two weeks before Christmas, they got into a massive fight. I listened to them from my bedroom and then my dad came upstairs and told me he was going to find me the perfect Christmas tree. He got in his car and went to get the tree, or so I thought. I never saw him again.”

You sigh. “It’s not, like… I’m over it, mostly. I just can’t help but feel that same feeling every year around Christmas. It’s like hoping for something you know will never happen. Like you’re reading a book and the happy ending never comes. ”

“That’s why it’s hard to write the story,” Elias hazards a guess. He looks curious, but he doesn’t look like he feels bad for you, which is what you would’ve disliked the most.

He points to one of the stalls, then. “They make the best hot chocolate in town. Want one?”

You nod, following him towards the stall as you continue talking. “It is. But I do also find Christmas stories boring to write. It’s always the same concept, just in a million different ways.”

Elias smiles. “That’s the fun of it, no? You know the happy ending always comes. It makes you feel good.”

“It’s boring,” you repeat, stubbornly. “The girl from the big city with a job paying upwards of 8 figures goes back to her hometown for Christmas and somehow falls for some high school fling who still lives in a basement, but makes a mean cup of hot chocolate and says thing like ‘What can I say? I was stupid.’” You cross your arms. “You can’t tell me if we took the Christmas element away you would voluntarily read that story.”

Elias laughs. “Some people would. Isn’t that basically the story from The Notebook?”

“Have you ever watched The Notebook, Elias?” you frown, and he shrugs.

“No, but Brock said it made him cry.”

Which isn’t surprising, because a lot of movies have made Brock cry. You wonder what Elias would do if you put on The Notebook on your upcoming Christmas movie night.

Elias turns around, then, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He smirks when he hands it to you.

“What can I say? I was stupid,” he quotes, and you can’t help but giggle as you take the cup from him.

“You didn’t make this, you just paid for it. It doesn’t count that way.”

“After this we should probably go,” he says then, glancing at his watch.

The words sink into your stomach like a heavy stone of dread; you don’t really want to go home, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re happy, right now, and if ‘feeling Christmassy’ basically translates to feeling happy, well…

It’s not Christmas, though, that’s got you feeling this way. You could care less about the pine trees and the tacky music and the reindeer and the big man with the white beard and red hat.

You care more about the blonde man beside you, staring into the distance with the brightest blue eyes, and the way he somehow always makes you laugh.

Damn it. How much you hate it when Brock is right.

With Brock telling you how much Elias likes Christmas movies, and Elias having pushed you for this Christmas movie marathon for days on end, you were expecting a bit more excitement from him when it finally happens.

You can tell something is wrong from the moment you open the door. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and when he smiles at you it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving past you into your apartment.

“I hope you’re ready to rewatch the same exact movie with only minor differences all night,” you joke, but Elias doesn’t even look up as he methodically pulls off his coat, kicks off his shoes and pitter patters into your living room.

He scoffs when he sees your tree, still empty except for the Canucks ornament that he got you.

“Really?” he asks, and for the first time in a while you can’t tell if he’s joking or actually upset with you.

This is the Elias that you knew before, the one that you didn’t like because you could never reach him, guarding his heart like a fort. But this time, you know what it’s like to have the other Elias, and you already miss having that Elias in your life.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you bring out, and it comes out a bit shaky. Elias turns around and his face softens slightly.

“I didn’t mean that.” He sighs. “I nearly canceled this.”

Your heart sinks.

“I get grumpy when I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to take it out on you.” He sinks down onto your couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table like he’s been there a million times before. “But I didn’t wanna cancel, so. I didn’t.” He sounds almost helpless, like he’s not sure if he should be saying what he’s saying.

But your traitorous heart lifts immediately. If he didn’t want to cancel, it means he wants to be here, and that’s really all you need to know.

“Well, I’m gonna make popcorn, then,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You pick the movie. I don’t care. They’re all the same anyway.”

Elias rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. “They’re not the same!” he calls after you as you disappear into the kitchen.

“Every Christmas movie ever was written by someone who didn’t know what to write,” you tell him, knowing he can still hear you from the kitchen – the benefits of living in a tiny apartment. “Writer’s block? No problem. The solution: a little bit of Christmas magic. ‘We can’t pay the rent’, ‘I’m sick’, ‘My boss is making me work on Christmas’. Poof, with a jingle of bells, problems solved in the form of a generous benefactor, aspirin, or a hit man.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t you write a Christmas story?” Elias calls back teasing, and you give him the finger through the wall.

He might not see it, but you’re certain he can feel it.

You take the popcorn and walk back to the couch, letting yourself drop onto it next to Elias. You misjudge the distance a bit, causing you to sit a little too close to Elias for it to be strictly friendly; but Elias doesn’t budge, so you don’t move either.

You’re pressed against Elias shoulder to thigh, and you can feel his body shake when he laughs.

“I like this cliché,” he says, nodding towards the television. “Let’s see if you can guess it.”

You watch the movie in relative silence, eating popcorn and enjoying the warmth of Elias body against yours. You have to admit you lose focus every now and then: the movie isn’t that bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything with Elias so close. Every now and then, when something funny happens, he exhales a sharp breath of laughter, and sometimes he hums as if he’s agreeing with what’s happening on screen.

He smells nice, too, and finally you get tired enough that you get a little brave: you let your head drop against his shoulder, tugging your feet under yourself.

“Figured it out, yet?” Elias asks softly.

“Yep,” you answer. The movie is nearing the end but you figured it out within the first ten minutes. “Basic physics, not to mention common sense, are thrown to the wind as Christmas repeats every day, disappears from the calendar, or is hurled into the past or future.”

Elias doesn’t respond, and suddenly you wanna know.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a weird question, and very out of the blue, so you hurry trying to explain. “Cause you came in very sad, and like, if you don’t wanna talk about it with me that’s fine but I think it’s good to talk about things sometimes so if you wanna…”

“I’m fine,” Elias says, cutting you off, but it doesn’t sound dismissive. It sounds a little amused, and when you turn to look at him, you find him smiling. “Worried about me?”

And it’s the strangest thing, but you are. “A little.”

Elias’ face softens. “I promise I’m okay,” he says. He reaches out, then, places his hand on yours and squeezes. “I just talked to my parents before I came here, on Skype, and they were talking about Christmas and it sucks that I can’t see them for the holidays. But it is what it is.” He shrugs. “I sulk for a bit and then I move on.”

You never really go home for the holidays, but you understand how awful it must be to be stuck alone in Canada with your whole family in Sweden.

You blame the quiet, late night energy for what comes out of your mouth next.

“I think I could be convinced to make you a Christmas dinner if you ask nicely.”

Elias laughs, and his hand is warm when you turn your palm up and he laces his fingers through yours.

“If I ask nicely, will you watch another movie with me right now?”

You pull the Christmas themed throw blanket over your legs before letting your head drop against Elias’ shoulder once again.

“You don’t even have to ask.”

“I have an idea,” Elias says through the phone, and you don’t quite recognize the tone in his voice at first. “Well, it was Brock’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Anything that was Brock’s idea immediately fills you with doubt, and you frown. “What?”

That’s when you realize: Elias sounds excited.

“Brock knows someone with a cottage, about two hours from here. It’s in the forest and it’s supposedly very Christmassy. We should go for a night.”

He sounds quietly pleased, and you don’t have the heart to tell him no.

“Okay.”

Objectively, though, it’s an awful idea. A Christmassy cottage in the forest also sounds like it would be very romantic, and you’ve finally come to terms with the fact that what you feel for Elias is definitely not just friendly comradery at this point. Feeding this feeling would not be smart, considering the fact that it’s almost Christmas and after that you’ll most likely never spend time with Elias like this again.

Sure, he might be at parties with the other Canucks or Brock might invite him for drinks with you, but it won’t be like this. You’re not stupid enough to think this will last: that would be a real Christmas miracle, and Christmas miracles don’t exist.

“Sometimes I wish I could read your mind.” Elias’ voice startles you despite the fact that his words come out softly. It’s been quiet in the car, apart from the low murmur of the radio in the background, for a good fifteen minutes.

You’re on your way to the cottage and your thoughts are going a million miles per hour.

You look over at Elias. He’s staring ahead at the road, one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap. He looks relaxed. Comfortable.

“It’s usually nothing interesting,” you say, and you thank the universe that he can’t know what’s going on in your mind.

“Are you thinking about your story?” he asks, and you weren’t, but it’s as good an excuse as any.

“I’ve gotta email it to my professor in four days,” you admit. “And I haven’t put a single word on paper yet.”

You’ve tried, that’s for sure. You’ve spent hours on your laptop, staring at a Word document. You’ve typed sentences and deleted them, tried to outline the story or just wing it while typing. Nothing works, nothing feels right when it stares back at you from the screen.

Elias hums noncommittally. “I think you think about it too much,” he says. “Just don’t worry about it. And write what you know.”

You scoff. “I don’t think anyone wants to read a Christmas story about a father who bails on his family, Elias. Nobody likes sad Christmas stories.”

He smiles. “Any sad Christmas cliches on your list?”

“Each and every event, whether holiday related or not, is tainted through the loss of a dead relative. Example: “Can I have a glass of water?” “Your, uh, *swallow*, your grandmother used to drink water.””

Elias laughs before reaching for the radio and turning up the music. You never listen to Christmas music, as a rule, but somehow you don’t hate it now that it’s blasting through his stupid sports car, the world flying past you through the window.

The drive is filled with Elias humming along to Christmas music and you laughing whenever he pulls a face at one of the lyrics. You spend at least 30 minutes debating if ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ should still be allowed on the radio – no – and whether or not Michael Buble is the king of Christmas – in Europe, apparently yes.

By the time you reach the cottage, you feel a lot more positive.

Until you see it.

“Uhm,” you bring out, staring at the place in front of you. Elias barks out a laugh, but it sounds mostly disbelieving.

“When Brock said ‘cottage in the forest’, I pictured something different,” he says sheepishly.

“I guess this shows the power of speech?” you offer. “Like, ‘cottage in the forest’ and you think of this beautiful rustic romantic getaway. But this is more ‘cabin in the woods’: I think we’re about to get murdered.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Romantic?” he repeats, an amused tilt to his voice, and you nearly get back in the car.

Way to put your foot in your mouth.

Luckily for you Elias doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he wanders inside, where at the very least it looks a little better.

It’s cold, and there’s no working electricity, but there’s a fireplace and a billion candles, and it’s decorated quite cosy. Maybe even Christmassy, if you really squint: although you’re happy to notice there’s no tree.

It’s easier than you thought it would be, to spend an evening in some dodgy cabin with Elias. It’s easy to chat about everything and nothing, to cook dinner with him. How domestic it feels to tease him about how slowly he chops the mushrooms, while he somehow makes sure your wine glass is always full.

Silence doesn’t fall until long after dinner. The fireplace is on, fickle candle light giving the room an orange glow. You’ve somehow ended up with your feet in Elias’ lap, although you can’t remember how they got there: you’re painfully aware of the heavy grip of his hand around your ankle.

The wine has given your brain a nice fuzzy feeling, has softened up the edges around your thoughts. And all you can think, now, is how nice this is: to have Elias right there next to you, blue eyes fixed on the ember flames burning in front of you.

“I’m glad that Brock kept forcing us to hang out,” you say, without thinking. Elias glances over at you.

“Forcing us?” he repeats, as if he’s not sure what you mean.

You shrug. “Come on, Elias, we didn’t like each other before this. You probably didn’t want to hang out with me as much as I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

The words hang heavy in the air for a second. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you saw Elias flinch.

“Actually,” he says tightly, and your heart does a traitorous swoop. “Brock never forced me to come. I always asked. If I knew he was gonna see you, I asked to come along.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You can feel your heart beating in your chest. But surely there’s no way you’ve been wrong all this time?

Brock did say Elias didn’t hate you.

“But… I thought you didn’t like me.” Your voice sounds small in the quiet room. It feels different here, so far away from the city: when the night is so silent all your thoughts sound so loud.

Elias shrugs. He doesn’t look upset, per se, but his face is carefully closed off and you know now that’s not a good sign.

“I know you thought that,” he says, voice flat. “I know that first night I came off as rude.” His smile is wry. “I was nervous, I didn’t really speak English, and you’re very pretty. I guess it was a recipe for disaster, on my end, so it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t like me.”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re hearing his words but they sound almost foreign, and you can’t quite believe he’s really saying them.

“I’ve always liked you, though,” Elias adds, almost as an afterthought, carelessly like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t know what that does to you, your mind going into overdrive.

You’re not an easy person to like. That’s not you being hard on yourself, you just know you judge too harshly, react too quickly. You go into downwards spirals of negative thoughts, you put opinions into people’s mouths, and most of all, you don’t believe in happily ever after.

People, in your experience, don’t stick around for people who won’t promise them happily ever after.

But Elias is here, having brought you to this cabin, having pushed and pushed to be around you: and you didn’t even notice. You thought he was just doing Brock a favor, you thought he was just bored. He’s not been very outgoing about his affections, but you can tell that they’re there; from the way he’s put up your Christmas tree to how he always listens to every word that falls from your lips. No, he’s not been very outgoing about with his affections but he’s been plentiful with them, and you just didn’t notice.

“Elias,” you start, but the sentence dies on your lips when he turns to face you, suddenly a lot closer than he was before.

“What about now?” he asks. You must look as confused as you feel, because he clarifies right away. “What do you think about me now?”

There’s nothing unsure about the question, and you think the answer is been pretty clear. You wouldn’t be here if the answer wasn’t clear. But despite that, despite that he seems to already know what you’re gonna say, you wanna say it anyway. You think you have to say it anyway.

“Now I like you,” you tell him, sitting up straighter. “I really like you, Elias.”

The last thing you register is the pleased smile tugging at the edges of Elias’ mouth, and then his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft but not hesitant. Maybe he’s giving you time to think about it, this way, if this is what you want: but in that moment there’s nothing you want more, nothing but a fierce desire to trace your hands down his body.

As soon as your fingers touch his arm, Elias deepens the kiss. He kisses exactly how you would expect him to; giving you everything, no trace of doubt or hesitation.

There’s nothing frantic about it, nothing scary. With every second that ticks by you fall a little further into it, your mind a lovely shade of blank – with the exception of the boy in front of you, like all your nerves screaming his name.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is soft as he pulls away. He doesn’t take his hands away from where they’re laying against the bare skin of your back. “We don’t have to go further.”

He’s giving you an out, you realize, a second to gather your thoughts. You could pull away now, you could put some space between the two of you.

You scoot forward, moving even more into his lap, and carefully curl your hand around his jaw. He leans into it slightly, and your heart screams with how much you want him.

You don’t answer. Even as a writer, you realize that words are sometimes overrated. Instead, you press your lips against his, placing your heart in his hands as you kiss him once more.

It takes about two hours after you get back to your apartment for the reality of it all to comes crashing down at you.

The night at the cabin was wonderful; magical, even. If you would write the perfect Christmas story, it would be a lot like that.

Except you’re not writing a Christmas story – you should, of course, but you haven’t started and that’s because Christmas stories are unrealistic.

You and Elias, your story - no matter how wonderful – is unrealistic. What were you thinking? That Elias, being who he is, would simply… What? Become your boyfriend?

He’s Vancouver’s biggest star, everyone’s favorite person. You’re just another lonely writer who lives mostly in their own brain. You’re just someone else who is hard to love; like your parents, like your sister, like all the friends you’ve seen get their hearts broken.

You call Brock.

“Wow, calm down,” are the first words that come out of his mouth when he finally speaks. You’ve told him most of the story by then, sentences coming out in shallow breaths and tears already burning in the back of your throat. “What the hell do you mean ‘hard to love’? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You swallow. “Brock, it’s not real. What I’m feeling. People fall in love all the time and they all believe that’s it, their perfect story, but how often does that story end up a tragedy?”

“Y/N…” He sounds mostly sad. “You can’t live like that.”

But your mind was made up long ago, so long ago when you were just a child. When you saw the tragedy that was your parents love story, and then later it was only settled deeper, when you saw your friends get hurt, when your sister got cheated on.

“I can’t make myself the protagonist of my own tragedy.”

“Petey isn’t going to break your heart.” Brock’s voice is sharp, and you realize this is not a fair position to put him into: how can he be honest to you when that means breaking Elias’ trust?

“He won’t mean to,” you whisper. “But it’ll happen. It might not even be his fault. I’ll probably break my own heart somewhere along the line. But happiness doesn’t just come along this suddenly, Boes.”

“What is it does?” Brock asks, and you don’t have an answer.

What if it does is less scary what if it doesn’t, and the next few days when Elias calls, you don’t pick up the phone.

You shouldn’t have opened the door.

“You’re avoiding me.” Elias sounds... hurt. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that. You’ve learned that when he’s upset, he mostly sounds indifferent; locks his emotions behind a wall for nobody to see.

And maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, now, that you can pick up on the change in his voice. Or maybe it means he’s decided to let you in.

God, you hope it’s not that last one. Hope he didn’t make that mistake.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Don’t.” Elias cuts you off by pushing past you into the apartment. He stands glaring at you in the middle of the living room, arm crossed. “You’re not doing this.”

You have to.

“It’s just not gonna work,” you try. There goes the crack in your heart, bursting open like someone squeezes it with an iron fist.

You’re doing this to yourself. But that’s better than the alternative: better than having Elias do it way further into the story, when there’s something to destroy.

There’s nothing to destroy, now. There’s only the prologue to the story, and now the epilogue. A story with no middle won’t be remembered.

“That’s not true.” Elias isn’t backing down. “You can’t tell me nothing this past month has meant anything to you.” He frowns. “Does this have anything to do with your Christmas thing? Would it be different if this had happened in January?”

You laugh, but there’s no humor there. If only it was that simple.

“This has nothing to do with Christmas, Elias. This just isn’t real. There’s no happy ending to my storyline, and I’m not dragging you down with me.”

You let your eyes fix on him, on the way he stands there stubbornly, still fighting for something. For you. If only it made a difference.

Elias doesn’t say anything, for a while. Finally, voice timid, he says: “You’re gonna throw this away because you’re scared.”

You are scared. But that’s not why you’re doing this.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Frustration rings clear in Elias’ voice, now. “I know you feel what I feel! You can’t just ruin that because you’re not brave enough to say what you want!”

“It doesn’t make a difference, Elias!” You’re hurting too, and you can hear your own voice getting too loud.

“I wanna live in a world where people don’t get hurt, and everyone’s got enough money and nobody ever has to skip a meal!” You swallow, hot tears pricking behind your eyes. “I wanna live in a world where people don’t get in the car to get a Christmas tree and never come back, and I wanna live in a world where Santa’s real, Elias, but that’s just not reality. That’s not how life works.”

Elias’ eyes are dark, his jaw tense. You know you’re not gonna like what he’s got to say before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Maybe not,” he says tightly, “but you live in a world where people can choose to love each other. It doesn’t have anything to do with Santa, or magic. None of those things are real, but love is real, and you can choose to believe in that.”

He grabs his jacket, is walking towards the door before you can even comprehend what he’s saying. At the door, he turns around. His eyes shine with sadness.

“I want to love you, but you have to choose to believe that, too. And if you can’t, then I guess it won’t ever be real.”

When the door closes, the last piece of your heart breaks in two.

“Merry Christmas!”

Brock’s voice is bright and cheery. He’s clearly only just woken up, his blond hair a mess and Milo passed out in his lap.

“It’s not even Christmas yet,” you tease. You curl your legs closer to yourself, your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. It’s nice to see Brock, even if it’s just over FaceTime.

Getting your heart broken is even worse when you can’t really talk about it to your best friend, because you also broke your best friend’s other best friend’s heart.

It’s a complicated issue, is the thing.

“It’s Christmas Eve tonight,” Brock says, rolling his eyes. “That’s basically Christmas. Are you still moping?”

“Hey,” you protest. “I’m not moping. I’m sad. It’s different.”

You have been moping, a bit. The first two days after your final talk with Elias, you didn’t even really come out of bed. You just sat there and you wrote.

That’s the only good thing to come out of this, you think. You somehow not only wrote your story, it’s maybe the best story you’ve ever written.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Brock’s voice is gentle. “You can talk to me, you know? I won’t use anything you say against you or tell Petey or whatever. He’s been talking to me too.”

Your heart does a somersault. If Elias has been talking to Brock, Brock probably already knows everything; in a way, you can’t believe he’s still talking to you if that’s the case.

More than that, though, it brings an opportunity. To find out what you’ve been wondering since Elias stepped out of your apartment.

“Is he alright?”

“Are you?” Brock counters, like that matters.

You stare at the coffee in your cup. It’s too hot to drink still, little puffs of steam climbing through the air.

You’re not doing so well, admittedly, but that’s probably fair. You were the one to broke off the story, in the end. And you hate to admit it to yourself – and you definitely won’t admit it to Brock – but you’ve been wondering if you made the right choice.

“I wrote my Christmas story,” you say, instead of answering his question. “Handed it in yesterday.”

Brock lets you change the subject. “Cool. What did it ended up being about?”

You sigh. “It was about me.”

Brock raises his eyebrows, interest clear in his eyes. He doesn’t push you, and you’re glad for it. You need a moment to find the words.

“I wrote about a girl who hates Christmas because it reminds her of things that she’s lost. And I wrote about how scared she is of gaining something because that means she can lose it again.”

Brock’s voice is soft when he speaks. “But someone teaches her? In the story?”

He knows you too well. You laugh quietly. “Yes, someone takes her through all these Christmas cliches to make her realize why they’re cliches. It’s not because of the act itself. It’s because you spend time doing it with someone you love.”

“She loves this person, the one that teaches her,” Brock hazards a guess.

There’s no longer any doubt that he knows exactly how you feel about Elias.

“She loves him but that scares her even more. Because if she loves him, she could lose him. And Christmas has always been the time to remind her of loss and heartbreak. So she assumes it’ll just end in hurt this time too.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Brock says.

And you know. Somehow, writing the story, you realized that. Because as you wrote about this girl, that was exactly like you, you found yourself not wanting to give the story a realistic ending. You wanted to make it right, wanted her to end up with the person who taught her how to love Christmas and how to love him.

So you did. You gave your story a happy ending. And in doing that, it’s like you gave yourself permission to want a happy ending for yourself, too.

But there’s just no way. Life isn’t a fairytale, and the Christmas cliché where the girl who throws it all away gets back her perfect boy by stealing Santa’s microphone in the mall and making a grand speech about how pushing him away was the biggest mistake of her life, simply isn’t real life material.

“It’s not too late, you know.” Brock’s sitting up straighter, almost as if he wants to come through the camera and tell you in person. “If you wanted to change the ending. You could. He’d let you.”

Your heart starts beating faster and it has nothing to do with the caffeine you’re drinking.

All this time, you’ve been wondering. Wondering if it’s too late.

“How would I do that?” you ask. “Hypothetically.”

Brock’s grin is so bright you nearly have to close your eyes. “Send him the story,” he says, without thinking about it; the jerk probably has been thinking about this since you started telling him what it’s about. “You should send him the story. Kinda like a message in a bottle.”

When you say goodbye to Brock, his eyes are fond when you tell him “Thank you” and mean it. Without him, you don’t think you would’ve had the courage, but now it feels like the only possible ending comes with you taking your Word document and putting it in an email.

To: [email protected]

Attachment: Not a typical Christmas story.pdf

Message:

Elias,

I’ve tried to write this letter a million times, to tell you what I should’ve said that night. I can’t say I’m not scared what you’ll think, but who am I to know what the future holds? If my heart was paper I’d fold it, throw it to the wind and hope it’d end up in your arms. So here it is, my paper heart, in the form of the most cliché Christmas story of them all. The one where everyone ends up with their perfect happily ever after.

Signed with love from me to you,

Y/N.

There’s three rapid knocks on the door, and then silence.

Your heartbeat speeds up like you heard gunshots instead. Within seconds you’re on your feet, almost running to the door.

There’s only one person that could be at your door on Christmas morning at 9am, right?

When you open it, something heavy dissolves in your stomach, a sense of comfort falling over you like crawling into bed after an exhausting day.

“Elias,” you breathe.

For a second, you just stare at him: he looks like he’s barely slept at all, dark circles surrounding his eyes, which somehow seem more blue than they ever have before.

“Merry Christmas,” Elias says then, thrusting something forward. You grab it in reflex.

It’s the glass star, the ornament from the Christmas market. The one that you had told Elias you found beautiful, the one that reflected all the lights like a million little stars. The one that reminded you, even, of Elias’ eyes.

It’s still beautiful. And suddenly there’s tears running down your cheeks, warm against your skin.

Elias frowns. He looks a little worried, unsure; as if he shouldn’t be here. But God, he is here, on your doorstep, and he brought you this ornament, and you know that it has to mean what you think it does.

“I’m sorry,” you bring out. “For everything, I…”

You can’t finish your sentence, because Elias steps forward, his arms outstretched, and you launch yourself at him like a missile. He catches you easily, presses you against his chest and buries his face in your shoulder.

“I read the story,” he mumbles. You can barely make out the words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks anyway. “You believe in Christmas miracles now?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he asks, because he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You pull away a little, but keep your arms firmly locked around Elias’ waist, and his hands remain on your back. “But you’re here, so. I think I might have to start.”

Elias laughs, moving closer again to press a kiss against your head. You can feel his lips move against your hair when he speaks. “What about us? You believe in us, now?”

You don’t answer him, but you think he can tell from the way you kiss him, anyway.

You tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling down at the opposite end of the couch. Elias is talking in Swedish and you don’t understand a word he’s saying, but you can tell that he’s happy, smile bright and eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him.

He’s been talking to his family for the past hour, and watching him has been a great source of entertainment for you. He blushed when his brother mentioned your name, and finally he did introduce you to them.

“This is Y/N, I’m forcing her to watch Christmas movies with me all day and then bake cookies,” he’d laughed, and you didn’t tell him that there’s nothing you’d rather do.

“Jag älskar dig, hejdå,” Elias says, and then he finally closes the laptop. “Hey,” he hums, poking your thigh with his toe, “my mom said she can’t wait to meet you, so. Be warned.”

You laugh. “I would love to go to Sweden. I read something about cakes.”

It feels natural, to crawl over to the other side of the couch and lay down between Elias’ legs, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear and it’s enough for your eyes to close on their own accord.

It’s not like you’ve had much sleep the past few nights. But now, you think you could finally sleep peacefully, knowing that Elias is here and he’s not leaving.

His hand moves down your side, sneaking under your sweater, fingertips soft against your skin.

“It’s snowing,” he says, suddenly, and you open your eyes to look out the window.

Indeed, there’s little flurries of white powder fluttering through the grey Vancouver sky.

“That’s too much,” you roll your eyes. “The great grandmother of Christmas cliches.” Elias raises a questioning eyebrow, so you explain. “As the final crisis is resolved, everyone runs out in the street on Christmas Eve to discover that it’s snowing! In Nigeria! During a drought!”

“We’re in Vancouver,” Elias deadpans, and it’s only because you know him so well that you see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And it’s not Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Minor details,” you shrug, placing your head back on his chest and closing your eyes again.

“We’ve gotta decorate this sad excuse of a tree.” You can hear the smile in Elias’ voice as he talks. “Two ornaments does not make a Christmas tree.”

“Later,” you hum, curling your fingers into his sweater. “We’ve got all day.”

Elias laughs. “The tree is supposed to be decorated before Christmas, typically.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “We’re not a typical Christmas story, though.”

“Maybe not typical, but still pretty good.” His arms tighten around you and you can feel him press a kiss into your hair.

“Pretty fucking good,” you agree. “If you get me off this couch today it’ll be a Christmas miracle though.”

You shouldn’t have said that: no sooner than the final word leaves your lips you’re being lifted into the air, legs dangling helplessly as Elias throws you over this shoulder. Your giggles come out a little hysterically.

“I told you miracles are real,” he grins, unceremoniously carrying you towards the bedroom.

You’ve just come from there, but you’re really not against the idea of going back.

“What about the tree?” you squeal, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“Tree can wait,” Elias decides, as he dumps you onto the bed and lets himself fall over you, leaning on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

“Tree can wait,” you echo in agreement, and you let your body relax into the mattress as Elias kisses you. When he tries to deepen it, you turn away just slightly, keeping your nose pressed against his cheekbone. “Hey, Lias?”

“What?” Elias mutters, sounding a little annoyed to be denied another kiss.

You smile. “Merry Christmas.”

His laughter sounds bright.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

#eeek im nervous about this one #elias pettersson #elias pettersson fic #elias pettersson one shot #nhl fic

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

Text

Trouble In Paradise | 1.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Part | Next Part Synopsis: After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

Warnings: no use of y/n, age gap (rooster is in his mid-30s, reader is in her early 20s), angst angst angst angst angst, you’re gonna be mad at me but think big picture, people x

…

“Bradley.” Amy sighs out in relief, then throws herself at his chest a moment later. His arms instinctively wrap around her, squeezing tight. He’s looking past her at his nephew in the hospital bed. Carter’s four now. His dad is short, and Carter’s always been super tiny for his age. He looks even smaller like this.

The entire flight here, Bradley has been thinking about the kind of condition this poor kid is going to be in. He hasn't clocked that Bradley is here yet, he's looking the other way while his Mom runs her fingers through his red hair. He looks tired. He's got a drip in his arm and he's wearing the airplane pyjama bottoms that Rooster got him last Christmas.

Rooster can't ignore the blackened bruise on Carter's torso, spreading from his bellybutton up to almost his clavicle.

"Oh my god, what happened to your face?" Amy whispers, her mouth hanging open as she reaches out tenderly and touches his swollen cheek. He shakes his head and smooths a hand over her hair,

"Just a misunderstanding."

How is he supposed to say that his lip is busted and his cheek is swollen because he got into a fight with one of their mutual friends? - A fight that happened solely because said mutual friend was trying to get Bradley to come clean for cheating on her.

It makes him feel sick to think about now that she's standing here in front of him. Her parents and her sister are in Carter's hospital room, all sitting around him. The people that Bradley has been calling family and spending every Christmas with for half a decade.

He wishes that Jake would understand why Amy can never know. Bradley can't lose this.

“God, he looks so small.” Bradley whispers, as Amy buries her face in his chest once more. Her fingers curl into the material as she sniffles. He squeezes her tighter against him.

He can’t help but wonder how the hell this happened. How does a four year old even break a rib? — He knows the answer but it just still seems so scary that they’re so fragile. He remembers when Carter had just started walking and he fell and hit his chin on a step outside, split his chin open and had five stitches all before he was two.

It had been a fall again yesterday. Carter was a little daredevil, always has been. It's half of the reason that he loves his Uncle Rooster so much. Amy was fixing him lunch yesterday and Carter had taken it upon himself to climb the oak in the back of his parents' house.

Bradley thinks now about the time he climbed that tree to get Carter's ball down after it had gotten stuck up there. It's not that high for a grown man, but for a four year old who's not even three feet tall, it's sky high. He wonders if Carter would even remember that day.

Carter slipped from a branch about six and a half feet up. Shattered two ribs, splintered one. The kid already has asthma, he could barely breathe even with the help of his inhaler at first.

Amy works in medicine — she deals with emergencies every day. But when it comes to her family, she’s not good in an emergency at all. Rooster knows that yesterday would have been hell for her. He wonders if this would have even happened if he was there to help. Instead, he was in the Pacific with you.

“They’re taking him down for surgery in twenty minutes, I’m so glad you made it.” Amy breathes, she hugs herself closer to him and curls a hand in the back of his shirt. He kisses the top of her head, nodding quickly.

“Of course, of course.”

He sits with her family for the four hour surgery. Amy’s sitting so close to him that she might as well just crawl into his lap. It’s worse now that he’s here. The nausea he feels when she squeezes his hand. Luckily, everyone’s too worried about Carter to really look at Rooster much. They don’t see the way he’s focusing on not looking guilty to the point that he has looped back and looks even guiltier than he feels.

Carter winds up being okay. Rooster knew that he would. He's a tough kid. They pulled the chipped piece of bone and he’s going to have a pretty gnarly scar, which makes Amy sob with guilt, but Rooster knows that Carter’s going to be thrilled about.

Carter loves the scars on Rooster’s face, neck and shoulders. He’s always loved how tough his Uncle Rooster looks with them, like his action figures.

“Hey,” Rooster cups his fiancée’s cheeks and lifts her jaw until she’s looking at him. “This was an accident, anyone could’ve been watching him. It’s not your fault.”

Amy sniffles and wipes hurriedly at her tears, “It’s just that… god, I feel so awful about it. I only took my eye off of him for a couple of minutes. D-Do you think Sarah blames me?”

“No, honey, no,” Rooster shakes his head sincerely. There’s no way her sister would blame her for this. Carter's gotten into plenty of accidents under his Mom's watch too. Rooster's just about the only person on the planet that the little whirlwind listens to. “Kids do dumb stuff, accidents happen. He’s going to be fine.”

Amy whimpers as she dries her eyes. She turns her head to look back towards Carter's hospital room. He's sleeping now, his hand still curled into his Mom's palm. He's got a huge bandage around his small

He kisses her forehead like he would normally, “Come on. You’re tired, we’ll come back in the morning when he’s awake.”

Amy’s hands curl in his shirt. She hugs her arms tight around him, breathing him in. He always knows what she needs. He got a cab straight from the hospital, so he drives her car back to their place. Their home. If he was alone, he probably would have sat in the driveway for a while and taken this all in. But he isn't alone.

"You have your keys? - I didn't even think to bring mine," Bradley admits as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Amy pulls them from her purse and hands them over, wiping any remaining tears from her cheeks. "Thanks, baby. Let's go."

She watches him get out of the car and head towards the door. Amy feels like she hesitates for way too long. Really, it's only long enough for him to make it a couple of strides towards the door. She has been discussing this particular issue with Chloe for a while.

A man doesn't just pull a new nickname out of nowhere, especially not one he knows that you hate. Unless he's doing it because she hates it.

Shaking her head, she jolts into action before he can find her sitting in the car and stalling. She follows him into their apartment. It's his turn to pretend that he isn't hesitant once they're through the door. Rooster looks at the couch first.

The couch that he spent a week sleeping on before he left. After Amy left him. That feels like a life ago now.

Then, he's looking at their pictures framed in the entryway. A picture of he and Amy six years ago, right after they started dating. They look so young. He doesn't even have a moustache yet - couldn't grow one back then. They're at someone's birthday party. Rooster has her half-lifted up onto his shoulder and they're both laughing their asses off. Amy framed it because her ass looks incredible in it, and Rooster's smile looks gorgeous.

Rooster loves that photo. He remembers that night better than someone who drank a half a bottle of tequila should. They had only been together two months, but he had told her that night that he was going to marry her. He was young and stupid then, he wouldn't dream of being so reckless with such serious words now. He remembers how much he meant it when he said that to her.

She was helping him into the back of her friend's car. He was hammered, laughing and falling all over her. He'd grabbed her face in his hands and told her that she was his future. He doesn't know if she remembers all that, but he does.

"I think I'm going to take a bath," Amy sighs, setting her purse down on the kitchen counter. "Did you want to join me?"

He doesn't have time to panic, or to hesitate. He should be ashamed of how quickly the answer comes to him.

"I never really fit in that thing. You go ahead, I'll grab you some pyjamas and come sit with you. Did you want a cocoa?"

Rooster watches the lovesick look that covers her face. She smiles softly and crosses towards him. He stills as she leans into him and kisses his lips softly, "Please. Thank you."

His eyes fall down to her hand resting on his chest. The gold ring with the decent sized diamond sitting on the band that's on her ring finger. They aren't married, he doesn't have to wear a ring. It feels fitting that she's wearing one and he isn't.

"Sure thing." He turns away and busies himself grabbing a mug from the cupboard. Everything's right as he left it. That feels fitting too. It's November now, he remembers how much she loves cocoa in the winters - it's something she'll never say no to. Something that takes a good few minutes, so that he can catch his breath.

He feels like he's been gasping for air since he got on that plane.

It's mid-afternoon where you are. The sun's just past its highest point. You're down at the beach near the house with Kit and Ella. November never hits Oahu as hard as it hits Virginia. Sure, it's colder than it is during the summer but the sun is still warm enough for the three of you to be sunbathing today.

"You know, you can tell us if you're upset about it." Ella says delicately as she pretends to flip through the pages of her magazine. You turn your head slowly from reading Stephen King's Misery, narrowing your eyes at her through Rooster's sunglasses. He left them in your room and they look good on you anyway. Plus, who doesn't take advantage of free vintage ray-bans.

"I'm not," You repeat. It's maybe the eighth time today. You turn your attention back to page three hundred and then squint. You read the same sentence four times and still manage not to take in what it says. You huff and turn your head back towards them. Kit and Ella are sharing a silent, knowing look. "I would be crazy to be mad about it. Right? - He's just being a good uncle."

Kit shrugs her shoulders as she nurses a beer, "I'd be kinda mad."

"What about?" You aren't disagreeing. More so looking for a valid excuse for you to be feeling as jealous as you do about the whole situation. You can't tell Rooster that you're jealous. He wouldn't get it.

"I mean, where's he staying this weekend? - Did Flyboy get himself a hotel room?" Kit answers, laying back against her towel and draping an arm over her eyes like she hasn't just sent you into the biggest downward spiral of jealousy you've ever felt. Ella kicks her ankle. Kit's never been one to cushion her points - her blows usually hit hard. But she's always right.

"I... I don't know. He has an apartment back there."

"With her." Kit scoffs, arm still draped lazily over her face. Ella winces. She can practically see your heart dropping. "What is it? - A one bed?" It is. Ella kicks her harder this time. Kit props herself up on her elbows and glares at her.

"Oh my god." You complain, dropping the book and burying your face in your hands. "He wouldn't, right?"

"No, he wouldn't. Kit's being stupid." Ella reassures you. Kit shrugs her shoulders. Kit has been cheated on a fair amount of times. She knows what she's talking about. You groan and roll onto your back.

"I've heard you and Rooster having sex, he sounds pretty content with what he's getting back here." Ella pats your knee. She doesn't have quite the same way with words Kit does. Kit laughs at the sentiment.

"Does he sound as good as he looks?" Kit asks, taking a long drink. Since you aren't looking, Ella's eyes go wide as she mouths a firm yes to Kit. Then they both laugh.

"We did have fucking incredible sex yesterday. I cried." You smile slightly as they gawk at you.

"Oh, nice, so you got him all horny and sent him back to his ex." Kit teases. Ella hits her arm. "I'm just saying - If I were you, I'd do something to show that bitch that he's mine now. You know?"

You prop your chin on your palm and purse your lips. Ella's already scolding her, but it's a little late for that. You're already intrigued, "Like what?"

Kit shrugs her shoulders and settles back down, "You know him better than I do."

"Yeah, but I don't know her. All I know is her name and that they were together six years."

"Man, that's a long time." Ella breathes out. You nod. It's unfathomable to you at this point in your life. Four months in and you're already thinking of him more than you think of yourself - you understand that you and Amy must be similar in that way.

"You haven't looked her up?" Kit gasps. She sits up fully and grabs her phone. You're already thinking of what Kit said, flicking through pictures on your phone. Some safe for work, some less so.

"No, don't. I don't think that'll make things better." Ella groans. She's just as eager to see what Amy looks like as Kit is. You wave her off and nod for Kit to continue. Kit doesn't need permission either way, she's already on facebook and scrolling through his photo list.

"He's such a millenial, look at these pictures!" Kit laughs to herself. You push yourself up and lean over her shoulder, Ella doing the same. It's a picture of him from maybe 2012, wearing a snapback and vest top in Miami with a group of guys. The only way you can describe the picture is very 2012.

"Is this her?" Kit asks, coming across a tagged picture of him with a girl on his lap in a bar from around the same time. You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head.

"Nah, the girl that's tagged isn't called Amy."

Ella's eyes widen at a picture of him in his service whites from 2013. He's standing with a group of other men in uniform. She whines, "God, he's pretty." You giggle softly and elbow Kit. She skips through until she's looking through some more recent pictures.

The three of you go quiet. There it is. A picture of him down on one knee in Lake Tahoe from a year ago. Amy Prescott. The photo is posted by a DeeDee Prescott - a quick click onto her profile reveals that this woman is Amy's mother. Proud Virginian, mother of three and Christian.

Kit laughs so hard she has to slap a hand over her mouth, you two are on either side of her pretending that you don't want to laugh too. The three of you aren't exactly the company you imagine that Mrs. Prescott would like to keep.

"Well, the good news is that if she takes after her Mommy then she might've been waiting 'til marriage!" Kit teases. You bite your lip to keep from laughing.

"Don't be mean..." It's a half-hearted sentiment. Kit knows that you enjoyed that joke as much as she enjoyed making it.

Next, Kit opens up her profile. Rooster's in her cover photo. It's a picture of Rooster in uniform again. This time he's in dress blues. Wearing the hat and everything. He has an arm around her, she's tucked in against his chest and they're smiling sweetly at the camera. She has a ring on her finger in the picture. It's a nice ring. Not your type, but something you can see being popular amongst people who want to get married.

It's a very conservative photo.

"Kinda weird that she hasn't taken their photos down, don't you think?" Ella asks, lifting her sunglasses up onto her head to get a better look. Kit shakes her head, she's the expert on all of this internet stalking stuff,

"Nah. Think about it, Rooster still has pictures of random girls from 2012 on his profile. Millenials don't delete stuff the same way we do." She explains. Ella hmms. She hadn't considered that. Her last boyfriend was removed from her digital footprint before he had even pulled out of the driveway.

All these pictures of them are so tame. His arm around her. The most affectionate one is of him kissing her cheek. You've never known him to be afraid of PDA - you've given him head on the beach before. You smile at the thought of her being horrified by that. The mature side of you tells you not to be proud of that - but she isn't exactly in the driver's seat right now.

"Yeah, our sex is for sure better than theirs ever was." You agree, making Kit laugh once more. You take a sip of her beer. Kit swipes through more of her pictures.

"She works in a hospital. I can see her being wife material." Ella decides.

"Are you saying that I'm not wife material?" You tease. They both laugh, knowing that you're joking. They both know how you feel about the entire concept of marriage.

"Maybe the second wife that comes along during the mid-life crisis." Kit giggles. You elbow her playfully as you grab your phone once more, decided that he's yours.

It's 9pm in Virginia. Rooster locks his phone and drops it at the sound of the bathroom door unlocks. He looks his fiancée in the face and tries to pretend he didn't just receive a picture of his cock in your mouth.

You're smiling to yourself, flicking through the pictures from last week, angling your phone to keep from Kit's all to curious eyes. Rooster was worried about you making your ankle worse and you couldn't work whilst you were on crutches. He had practically had you on bed rest most of the week. He'd been in bed too. There had been a couple of photo keepsakes to commemorate.

He presses a hand over his mouth, swallowing hard. He thinks of taxes. Anything other than you.

"You're so handsome when you're deep in thought like that." Amy muses. Bradley looks up, his heart sinking. Deep in thought about another woman. If only she knew. She's standing in the doorway in just a towel, not the pyjamas he left on the countertop for her.

He forces himself to smile. He doesn't want her to know that anything's up. She walks over to his dresser and pulls out one of his shirts instead. Rooster watches silently.

She sets the shirt down on the top and untucks the towel that's folded around her chest. He bites his cheek. He opens his mouth as she goes to drop it, but then falls silent. She has her diary on her bedside table. The one that she bought to plan their wedding. Budgets, themes, venues. She's been planning their future while he's been with you. He can't tell her. She can't take it. He knows this will devastate her, and she's already so upset about Carter.

She needs him. In every way he has failed her so far.

He bites harder into his cheek as she steps out of the towel, dropping it into the laundry hamper. She has her back to him as she slips his old naval academy shirt over her head.

Rooster's quiet as she walks over to him, sliding under the covers and nestling against his side. He lets her.

"I'm so glad that you're home, I've missed you so much." She whispers, resting her head against his still clothed chest. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.

"Missed you too, honey."

She nudges one of her knees over his, turning his jaw and pressing her lips to his. His hands find her hips with surprising familiarity.

"I'm so sorry about the fight, about what I said-" She speaks against his lips. He shakes his head, knowing that he has already hurt her more than she could ever hurt him.

"It doesn't matter now." He answers softly.

"I love you so much, Bradley." She presses closer, pushing one knee further until it's on the other side of his hip. She's sitting in his lap now. Wearing his shirt and nothing else. He blinks at her, hesitating. Then he looks down at her hand on his chest once more. He looks at the ring he put on her finger.

"I love you too."

She kisses him.

...

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #trouble in paradise #top gun smut

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

Note

do you have any hc’s of jake meeting or being at santiago events from early relationship to fatherhood

ho booy, that's like.. a whole fic collection if you get deep into it!

- he went to one sibling meet-up / visiting-the-city-event pre-relationship and half the brother's were like... THIS is the dude Amy has to work with? he's fun but oh god they're like oil and water. While the other half was like JESUS you can cut the tension between those two with a knife!!!

- the first official relationship meeting is luckily not a big holiday or anything, just an annual summer BBQ afternoon/evening at the parents'. Jake knows he's gonna be under everyone's scrutiny and stresses out like crazy beforehand. He doesn't want to ruin things with his jokes, but he also can't pretend to be some straight-forward serious dude if this relationship is gonna last and they'll get to see him more often. He ends up mostly talking to Julian whom he knows, and who makes him feel easy enough to be his normal, goofy self. Which may or may not be a good thing.

- (he also definitely raids the grill - wouldn't dream of offering help or info, Victor's the king of the BBQ - and brings Amy exactly the items she likes the most without knowing that she usually has to fight at least two brothers for them, so that's quite a lot of plus-points from everyone for him)

- the first big, big event is Noche Buena (christmas eve) where everyone brings a dish, so he and Amy are expected to now bring two. Actually, Amy is only expected to bring drinks, because... they know her, after all. But Jake wrecks his mind over what he could cook, he doesn't know any Cuban or Latin dishes, heck, he doesn't really know American christmas dishes, because while he did celebrate it his mom never made too big a deal out of it all... so he ends up bringing his mom's passover brisket, which Karen might or might not have helped with a lot. Anyway, it's a hit, and abuela Claudia tells him to bring it next year too, which... they all know what that really means. He's still expected to be in the picture next year.

- about a year and a few months into their relationship one of Amy's nephews gets christened and that's when the Santiago-baby-testing starts, definitely. Jake is basically volun-told to take care of the older kids during the day outside of the church (inside which the parents shush them, luckily, because Jake would never be able to handle that). He also gets handed the baptism-baby and silently thanks a God he doesn't actually pray to that the kid stays calm in his arms while everyone is staring.

- between Florida and Jail things get quite bumpy for the Santiagos re: Jake, because he's missed several events, and involuntarily made Amy miss a few as well because she didn't feel up to it, and, well, they all don't really know what to think of that, really, especially since Amy couldn't tell them the truth about WitSec (except for Matteo and Julian). But they do make it to the annual cabin week that year, and they're still so happy from being back together and actually moving in with each other and just having each other back, for realz-realz, that Jake completely forgets to be anxious about re-meeting the family and Amy completely forgets to be anxious about how she acts in front of her family, and they all basically get the lovey-dovey show of their life. Which is surprisingly reassuring for them all.

- some of the Santiabros, one abuela and, unexpectedly, Camila send Jake things when he's in prison. Even during his short stay, he gets picture updates of the family (and Amy), and some Cuban snacks and sweets (that he refuses to trade or barter with), and a letter-set from Camila (so he can write to her daughter, which she's sure Amy'll love). It's all very sweet, but most of all it's a very clear sign that despite it all he's absolutely a part of the family now and no Santiago is going to let someone from their family fall. They throw him a small-ish party when he gets out, without really mentioning what the party is about but just a general welcome back.

- once they're engaged things turn even more. All the tias and tios who were still suspicious of him (a boyfriend is a very unstable thing) finally accept him as much as they can (a fiancé is a thing for the future, however). The baby-testing and husband-duty-testing definitely amps up during every single event.

- post-wedding (which they're all still bitter about not attending but oh well), Jake actually gets handed proper jobs during events. Before, he was always dragged in as a helper or general support, but now he gets his properly assigned areas. Which, as Amy lets him know, means he's definitely a Santiago-Peralta now even if he hadn't taken her name.

- there's a bit of a rabble during a birthday party for one of the brothers when Amy is heavily pregnant, because Camila and Victor expect everyone to follow their planned schedule and do things properly and whatnot, while Amy is at that stage where she needs to sit down a lot / wants to nap a lot / feels unwell really fast. Jake is extremely adamant about her doing what is best for her, while Amy feels the pressure of being the perfect daughter, and it ends in yet another scene where Jake tells Camila where, exactly, she can stick her schedule if his wife needs that time window to lie down in her childhood bedroom (okay, maybe that's not his real word choice, because he'd never dare say that to his mother-in-law, but the point comes across). Amy is mortified, Camila is angry, and Victor for the first time ever thinks he might actually be the right one for his daughter. The santiabros give him several high fives in secret later on.

- Victor is completely convinced once he watches Jake carry sleepy baby-Mac through his cousin's quinceañera like he's the most precious cargo in the world, which he is. There's a crazy party happening, with all the stuff that Jake would usually go wild for - cake, party games, silly costumes, good drinks. But instead he holds his son close to his chest, and stays off to the sides so the noise doesn't bother him too much, and tells Amy to go back and enjoy herself every time she checks in on her two boys. And when they leave earlier than everyone else, because Mac really needs to go to bed at home and Jake doesn't want to drive through the complete darkness with a baby on board, Victor gives him the first hug ever to say goodbye to his son-in-law and his grandson.

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta #amy santiago #peraltiago #the santiago clan #the santiabros #headcanons

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bbyboybrock--archived · 4 years ago

Text

The New Hampshire House (Trap House Imagine)

Summary: You and the trap house boys decided to travel to New Hampshire for a week to film Sam and Colby’s new series. Trouble arises on the first night.

Written: 2020

Word Count: 2,250

Warnings: Swearing, murder, haunted house

Masterlist

Slowly sliding through the mist came a faint human-like figure and went into the new house. I shrugged it off as my imagination and helped the guys carry everything inside.

When Sam, Colby, Jake, and Corey invited me on this trip, the last place I expected to be was in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere in New Hampshire. I knew we would be doing the typical stuff for the week: haunted overnights, explore videos, and midnight rituals. What I didn’t know is that they lied to me about our lodging situation. I was told we were going to be staying in this nice Air BnB in a cute little neighborhood. They even showed me pictures. But when we flew in Colby announced to me, because he had already talked to everyone while I was asleep on the plane, that there was a problem with the original house and he had to book this one last minute. We’ve been at this house for about 20 minutes and let me tell you, Bradford, New Hampshire looks and feels creepy.

“Y/N, come in the living room, we have to talk.” I heard Sam shout from probably the living room.

“Coming!” I exclaimed. I walk into is what I think is the kitchen and spot Colby walks into a different room. I follow him and find everyone sitting around together.

“Y/N, we have to get a few things for this week and we need you to stay here and set up some stuff,” Sam explains when he sees me.

“What? No way! I am not staying in this creepy house by myself! Why can’t we all go or one of you stay we me?”

“We’re going shopping for food and supplies for the week. The rental is small and we need to get a lot of things.” Colby explains, patting the seat next to him for me to sit.

“Sure leave the four of you in charge of getting the food we’re going to be living on for the next week. You know what, I’m willing to put feminism back a few years for this. I’m the woman here and I’m probably going to be doing all the cooking anyway. I’ll go grocery shopping, Jake can stay home.” I sit on the armchair by myself and cross my legs; I’m not going out without a fight.

“Y/N, you know if we leave Jake, we’ll never get the deposit back.” Corey jokes.

“Fine, then you stay Ye Rock.”

“Fuck that, I’m not staying here.”

“Then why do I have to?”

“Please, Y/N, we’ll all owe you big time. We’ll be gone for an hour—two hours tops. We just need someone to charge the equipment and double-check that we have everything.” I throw my hands up and sink into the couch. There is no way I’m going to win this argument.

I wave goodbye to everyone as they pull out of the driveway. I scan the street one more time before locking the door. We’re really the only house out here. Nothing but dirt and trees for miles. If I didn’t know any better, I would think we were in the middle of the suicide forest. I check all of the equipment that Sam and Colby left behind for me to charge. I stay downstairs for 20 minutes after that before going upstairs to my room to unpack a bit. I close the door and start putting my clothes away.

Knock, knock, knock.

I go and open the door, knowing that I’m the only one home, to find nobody there. It’s probably just one of the guys trying to scare me. Maybe they wanted to get a prank video done and make me the subject of their torture. I close the door and go into the closet to start putting some clothes on hangers again. I see a box probably, from the owners, tucked away in the corner. I know I probably shouldn’t open it, I’m a guest in this house. But my curiosity gets the best of me and I get the desk chair and climb on it to reach the shelf. After a few misses, I grab the old dusty brown box. I blow the dust off and open it to find old newspaper articles about this house.

THE DAILY NEWS: MAN MURDERED IN HIS OWN HOUSE

Mark White (Age 37) was murdered in his home today. He suffered head wounds and had multiple stab wounds. His wife (Arianna White, Age 35) found him dead in the family room with the possible murder weapon. Police officers found no fingerprints on the evidence…

Out of all the houses in the area, Sam and Colby had to choose the murder house. They probably did this on purpose. I go through the box I see pictures of a man and a woman, probably Mark and Arianna, standing in front of the house. Then I pick up another newspaper article.

DAILY NEWS: WOMAN MURDERED IN HER HOME

Arianna White (Age 35) was murdered in her home today. She has suffered gunshot wounds to the head and chest. Mrs. White’s husband was murdered last month in the family room and his wife was found there dead. Her children found her dead when they came home from school and called 911. The family was in the process of moving.

They have to be fucking with me. There is no way that this group of people, the group that is always doing spooky shit, just happened to book an Air BnB where two—possibly more—people have died. On top of that, them leaving me home along with wouldn’t be a coincidence either. There have to be hidden cameras around the house. How did I find the one room in the house that conveniently just had this box in it?

“No, absolutely fucking not. Nope. Fuck you guys. I’m over this, you picked the wrong bitch.” I shout to nobody in particular and put the box back. I grab my laptop and head to my bed to binge the series I started yesterday.

I must have been tired because I fell asleep while watching the show. It’s dark now and the house is unusually quiet. I sit up and turn on the light to look for my phone. I grab it and unlock my phone to a text from Colby saying that they dropped off the groceries but had to head out for something. He said that they didn’t want to wake me up, so they left without me and would come back with dinner. I rolled my eyes and head downstairs. I pass by the thermostat on the way down and turn on the heat. For the middle of summer, it’s oddly cold.

When I get to the kitchen I check to see what the four dumb asses managed to get us for provisions. Surprisingly, they got things that we can have for actual meals, on top of snacks. I grab the stovetop popcorn and begin to make it. I turn around and hear a loud crash behind me. The bags on the dining room table were now on the floor.

“Y/N,” I heard a faint voice say. This has to be a prank. They guys have to be home and hiding filming me somewhere.

“Get out of our house, Y/N.” Now I hear two faint voices one sounded like a man and the other sounded like a woman. This getting weird. Maybe they hired a woman to help prank me. Or maybe one of them finally nailed their fake woman voice.

“You guys can stop now! I’m actually scared so you won. You come out and welcome me to the prank war.”

“Nobody’s here, Y/N. No one is going to help you.” The voices are getting closer.

“I’m never doing another video with any of you, ever again. If you don’t— if you don’t come out right now I’ll move out.”

“Then leave!” Something else falls somewhere else in the house, causing me to scream and jump back into the hot stove. If it’s not the guys, then the ghosts of this house are still here holding a grudge against their killers. I start getting goosebumps and the hair on the back of my neck as I turn off the stove.

“Sam, Colby, Jake, and Corey you better fuck off right now!” I yell as I start running to my room. This house is huge it’s easy to get lost.

While I’m running things are flying and falling behind me. I’m going to kill them when I see them. After what seems like forever I finally get to my room. I lock the door and slide my back down it. I grab my phone from my back pocket and dial Colby’s number. As I call, I feel things getting thrown at the door.

“Hello—”

“Are you guys fucking with me right now?” I ask as I move myself to the closet.

“What do you mean? We’re not even home right now.” He sounds only mildly panicked, I don’t even know if he’s faking or not.

“Cole Robert Brock, are you and your asshole friends somewhere on property pulling a prank on me?” The banging on the door stopped and I poked my head out of the closet door.

“No, we’re on our way home from a witchcraft store for some ritual ingredients that we couldn’t find at the store. What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, things are weird here and I’m over—” A loud bang at the door causing me to scream louder than I think I’ve ever done in my entire life.

“Oh, shit. Okay, we’ll be right there.” I hear Colby and everyone else running in the background. I don’t know if it was my scream or if they heard the bang in the background, but now they’re done fucking around.

Colby stays on the phone with me while I go back to hiding in the closet. A few minutes later I hear footsteps approaching my door. When the footsteps get close enough, that when the loud banging started up again, causing me to scream.

“Oh, fuck, sorry. Y/N, it’s just us, open the door.” Colby says on the other line.

I take a few deep breaths and open the door to reveal my idiots, scared out of their minds. I drop my phone and wrap my arms around Colby. I didn’t even realize I was crying until Colby hugged me back and started stroking my hair. Normally, I hate it when he does this because his rings get stuck in my hair, but right now I just need this hug from my best friend.

“What the fuck happened to the house?” Jake asks, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean? It was your guys’ prank.” I pull away from Colby and look at the four of them in disbelief.

“Uh, not it’s not. The box in your closet, the stuff in your bathroom, and the two dummies outside are our pranks. All this other shit was all you.” Corey says, picking up broken glass and dropping it on the floor.

“No, it wasn’t. Do you honestly think I’m that good of an actress? I broke character like two months ago when I tried to convince Sam that Colby fell into a ditch the last time we did an overnight. Do you genuinely think I could sit here, screaming and crying for fun? Or that I would somehow have the time to break all that shit and stage the knocking on my door.” I wipe my face and step back to finally let the boys in my room.

“She’s not wrong guys, she does share a brain cell with us. I don’t think she could pull this off. She didn’t even know we were coming here until this afternoon and she can’t think that fast.” Jake says before flopping himself on my bed.

“You know what Webber, I may be scared, but I’m not scared to throw these hands—”

“Guys! Let’s think about this. Couldn’t it have been an earthquake or something? Or the movement of Y/N running. It’s a pretty old house.”

“It can’t be an earthquake dude, I’m pretty sure New Hampshire hasn’t unlocked those yet,” Corey explains.

“Okay, first of all, Sam I’m pretty sure you called me fat but I’ll deal with that later. Second, Corey, you’re so fucking stupid, I swear to God. I’m constantly worried about your well being. And thirdly, Colby either you’re sleeping in here with me or I’m sleeping in your room with you because I refuse to sleep alone tonight.” I explain, sitting down on the floor.

“Wait, can we talk about this seriously. If none of us set up this prank, then who the fuck did. Do you think the owners of this house are doing this? Because if they are, I vote we get the fuck out right now.”

“Why would they even do that?” Sam asks, now joining me on the floor.

“To scare us before they murder us, brother,” Jake says jokingly from my bed.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Corey says from the door.

“Can we be serious for one second—” Sam is cut off by the lights going out, covering us in a deep velvet of pitch black. Not even the windows are helping. All five of us scream but dare not move.

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gucciwins · 4 years ago

Text

Into You

Breakup’s bring heartache but they also bring a new beginning.

Word Count: 8658

A/N: Angst, it was fun to write. Honestly, I really loved this ending. I struggle with endings but this felt like the perfect one. Relationships take work and no communication can ruin that. Remember to love and to trust. I love you

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Julia: Dinner at 7 Cafe Habana

Julia: He won't be there

You sigh at the sight of the second message. It's pathetic that your friends have to let you know, but you don't want to run right into him. It is the last thing you need but the thing you want most.

Pathetic.

Y/N: I'll be there x

You look at the text you sent and sign grateful for her reaching out. You haven't seen your friends in a few weeks, and it's been months since you've been to your favorite restaurant. Everyone knows how hard it's been since the breakup. They aren't choosing sides, but sharing a lot of the same friends is hard. You live in the city, and he's always on the road, it's only fair he gets to go out with them because you know you'll have other opportunities.

You wore a comfortable sundress and black flats, not wanting to drive in heels. A gold bracelet on your wrist, fingers bear no rings like you usually did. A ring tan sitting on your right index finger makes your eyes foggy, but you shake the thought away and enjoy the ride down PCH window down the ocean breeze coursing through your hair. Joni Mitchell on blast to overpower your thoughts of memories connected to this exact drive you're making.

Walking in, you take a deep breath and smile as soon as you open the door. The smile drops instantly when you see who's sitting two seats away from Julia right next to Jeff. Brown curls and a broad back. Tattoo's on display. You see her mouth an apology and lifts her phone. You walk out without a second thought, hoping they didn't see you.

Your phone rings once you're back in your car. It's Julia, so you answer.

"Hey babe, I didn't know I swear. He walked in with Jeff talking about how he was here for the weekend then going back home to London."

"It's fine, toots." You sigh.

"Are you doing okay?" She asks voice a bit low.

You're trying to choke back your tears, but it's hard. It's hard because he's so close yet so far. He seems fine, perfect even, and here you are crying in your car like a loser.

"It hurts, and it hurts to know he's fine. He's not hurting like I am. I miss-" You cut yourself off as you feel your tears falling down like a waterfall. "I want the pain to pass."

"Sweetie, do you want me to meet you at your apartment?"

"No, just let them know my sister called me and that it was a family emergency, but everything is fine. I'm going to head to her house for the weekend. Hug, my nephews. Stuff my face in cupcakes."

"As long as you promise to bring me one."

You laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. "That I can do."

"Next Saturday, Alex's birthday. Say you'll show up for him."

"I'm there. Got his gift all wrapped up."

"You're not alone." She reminds you. "Despite all you think, you're still our friend."

"Thank you. I love you, toots."

You know breakups are never easy, but this one flipped your entire world upside down. You're not sure what's up or down, left or right. All you know is you gotta keep putting one foot in front of the other.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The music is loud. It hurts your head, and you can't hear yourself think.

It's perfect.

It's been so long since you allowed yourself to go out and drink. A party with friends is a guaranteed good time.

You decided to dress up. The way you dress is an excellent way to hide your emotions or so you've been told. A black dress, your favorite black dress. The little back dress that every woman is supposed to own. You paired it with red heels your sister gifted you two Christmas ago. Makeup was simple, but you did go with a bold red lip. It always made you feel more confident.

You're three shots in when you hear a voice behind you. You ignore it at first but turn around when they say your name.

"Jake?"

"In the flesh." He jokes.

"Oh my gosh!" You bring him in a hug before pulling back to get a good look at him. "I didn't know you were in town. Do you know Alex?"

"No, his sister is my girlfriend."

Your eyes widen. "No, we talk once a week, and you've never mentioned the girlfriend. Since when?" You punch his shoulder.

"We've been together close to eight months now." A big grin on his face.

"My best friend is all grown up. Committed relationship, met the family, next is moving in or baby if you're following your dad's footsteps." You tease.

"No, baby, but we are moving in together. My lease in Seattle is up, and she has hers for another year."

"I'm happy for you." You place a hand on his forearm, letting it rest there. "She's amazing, and we get along so well. It's perfect."

He nods, and you keep chatting as if no time has passed. It's comfortable with Jake, he's been your best friend since childhood, and although your sister thought you'd end up together, it just didn't work. You kissed once, and it was like kissing a wall. It's a sibling love, one that will never fade.

He clears his throat, causing you to look at him. "I heard about," You cut him off before he can continue.

"Think everyone has, but I'm good. I won't lie and say I've been fine because I haven't been, but I'm getting better." You tell him truthfully.

"Was it bad?"

You run a hand through your hair. "Awful. No yelling, we never liked to yell just lots of crying. I did the crying, and he did the heartbreaking."

He nods and hands you another shot that you accept happily.

"I was so lost the first week that I thought about moving from the state, the country." You laugh at the thought now. "But here is home, at least for now."

"Have you seen him? I know he always disliked me."

"That is true, could never get him to see you were just Jess to my Cece."

"Obviously, I was Cece." He fakes a hair flip.

"Well, of course, all I do is go home and break out singing to any song."

"Never change, buttercup." He kisses your head and then tenses up.

"Think I'd be six feet under if laser eyes existed."

"What makes you say that." You go to turn around, but he doesn't let you.

"He's at a table with Alex. Drink in hand, looking our way, and he doesn't look happy. Do you think he's going to march this way?" His hold tight on you.

You groan and lay your head on his chest. "If he made eye contact with you, then yes, he'll be over soon, so that means you got to go find your girlfriend, and I need the bartender's attention."

"Always a phone call away. We leave on Friday, dinner Wednesday." Jake walks away and quickly finds Annie. He whispers in her ear, and she looks your way. A big smile on her face and you blow her a kiss. She grabs it and stuffs it in her boobs. Annie's a weird one, but she's the best.

Knowing he's watching you makes you uncomfortable. He wasn't supposed to be here, this was your night, and now you just want to cry, don't even care about drinking anymore.

You walk out to the balcony and smile at the sight of the moon. LA doesn't allow much stargazing, but the moon always shines bright. Now would be a perfect time for a smoke, except you don't do that. Always were miss goody-two-shoes.

"Nice night." His voice interrupts your thoughts. "A bit chilly for Los Angeles." The deep, smooth voice sends chills down your body, not the weather.

"Weather is always unpredictable here." You mutter.

"How you've been," Harry asks, stepping closer.

"Fabulous."

Sarcastic answer. How typical of you.

"I haven't been that good either."

You're close to tears. "What do you want, Harry?"

"I wanted to check on you. Haven't seen you at any gathering of our friends." He twists his H ring, keeping his hands busy. "Bit worried."

"They're your friends, don't get no right going anymore."

Harry's three steps away. "Not true, everyone in there cares for you. Just because we-" He stops.

He can't even say it. He broke up with you, and he can't even say it.

"They all love you."

"Yeah, well, I wish I loved myself."

Harry flinches as if you've slapped him. The words hurt him, but not as much as they hurt you.

"Don't say that, love."

You turn to him. "I'm sure you want to be friends, and that's great, but I can't now." You let your tears run down your face, not caring that he can see. "I love you, and I was sure you were it for me, but I can't stand being around you without wanting your arms around me. I can't see you talk to everyone yet, not talk to me, but most importantly, I hate that I don't get to be the one going home with you anymore."

Harry remains quiet. Green eyes are filled with tears.

"You have to understand."

"No" You step close to him, heart close to beating out of your chest. "You have to understand that you destroyed us for your career. To benefit yourself, not caring what you broke along the way. It's been one month, and all I can think is that I'm not good enough for Harry Styles, the rockstar. No, he needs another famous person on his arm, not an elementary school teacher who doesn't own a pair of Gucci shoes."

"Please let me," Harry's voice cracks.

"A year. Twelve months. 365 days. All for what, all for nothing. "I love you," and "we'll have a small wedding." It was all a lie. I was just kept around for fun while you took a break from touring. Maybe I'll be good enough to write a song about."

"You don't get to do that." He cries.

"Why not!" You tell. "You broke up with me with no warning out of the blue. We had sex on the kitchen counter, and fourteen hours later, you broke my heart." You have so much sadness and anger, and you know you're close to drowning. "I had no choice but to let you go, but for all I know, you've let go of me weeks before."

"I don't know what to say."

"You're not the man I thought you were." You walk away from the hand on the door. Your back to him, his shoulders are shaking in sobs. "That's the most disappointing thing, you lost yourself in the industry now you're just one of them."

You walk out and catch Julia's eyes. She goes to step forward but stops herself when she sees you shake your head no. You can name everyone in that room, but you know that at the end of the day they'll pick Harry.

It hurts, but all one can do is pick themselves up and move on.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The days go by slow, but Summer has finally arrived. The California heat is only rising, but it’s a cooler day, and you're at the beach when you look over at your sister laughing as her husband splashes her with water.

Your stomach twists in the worst ways possible, you're jealous and green isn't a good color. You've spent most of the time caring for your two nephews seeing as your sister and husband worked not that you minded you did have the summer off.

It's been four months since the breakup, and some days it feels like it was yesterday. The pain comes crashing back when you wake up and stretch your hand out to touch him but tense up because you know when you open your eyes, he won't be there.

Malibu beach is not a place you've frequented, but little Ty asked for this specifically, and none of you never learned how to tell him no.

You close your book and grab your phone from the bottom of the bag. Slip your hoodie over your head, the breeze picking it up, and adjust your black shorts. You signal to Tess that you're going for a walk and that you have her phone. She sends a thumbs up. There you go on a walk with your back towards the sun.

It's funny, before dating Harry you walked the beach every Sunday on your own. Enjoying the laugh of families and the seagulls flying high. Then he joined you and together hand in hand, you'd walk down talking and sometimes just taking in the silence allowing the waves to do all the talking for you. Towards the end, he'd convince you to stay in and cuddle him, and beach Sunday became cuddle Sundays. You can’t remember a time you did go on a walk alone again when you were with him.

In the end, you lost both. Lost Harry and lost the love of the ocean because of the painful memories tied to it. With time you must remember the things lost and changed, but this is something you're reclaiming. Routine is constant and good. It gives stability and strength.

"Sweetie," you hear someone yell but keep on walking. It's probably a child going in too deep.

You stop when you hear your name being yelled and turn expecting to see Tess but instead are met with kind blue eyes. A sincere smile on her face. It's Anne.

"Oh dear, thought it was you." She says.

"Hi, Anne." You say a bright look of surprise on your face.

Anne steps in close and puts her arms around you in a big hug. A mother's embrace is one you've longed for and will continue to long for the rest of your life. Anne treated you as a daughter from the moment you met, and that's something you're sad to have lost.

"You look so tan, how long have you been in town?" You ask, admiring her as you pull away.

"A week. Came down to visit Harry." She offers a small smile at the name of her son.

"That's great. Summer's a good time to enjoy the ocean here." Anne nods, agreeing. "How were you able to spot me?" You ask genuinely surprised she was able to do so.

"I'd recognize you anywhere. The yellow jumper helped."

You look down and chuckle. "It does shout "look at me.""

You stand there a few more seconds looking around nervous to ask her to join you, but you really liked her company, and as much as you like being alone now was not the time.

"I was just walking down, would you like to join me?" You look down at your toes afraid she'd say no.

"Oh, yes, my dear. Sounds fantastic."

She takes a step forward, and off you go. It's quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but allows you to get lost in your own thoughts with no pressure of not starting a conversation. Your thoughts are calm, it might be the ocean or Anne, but you're grateful. Losing Harry wasn't just losing him, it was losing everyone that he introduced you to. You were friends for over a year before you started to date. You met Anne a month into the friendship, and it was easy. She doted on you for your kind and quiet nature. She had said something about your aura being pure.

You didn't have a mom, she died when you were three in a car accident. Your dad being in and out of rehab but enough to keep the roof over your head. Once Tess turned eighteen, she got an apartment and moved you both in. At eleven years old, you got the call your dad died. Tess adopted you, and ever since then, it was the two of you. That is until she met Andrew in a biology class. He helped Tess pass with an A. Turns out that he was studying to be a doctor. They started dating once the semester was over and didn't look back. Tess was always a good student, maintaining A's and B's while caring for you. Andrew learned of the situation and didn't leave like most people would do no, he stayed right there. He became a constant and even began to help with school work and projects. You always told Tess that you were preparing her to be a great mom. Andrew's family was very accepting of Tess; they treated her as their own, but you never felt like you belonged. It was the perfect family, but you didn't see where you fit in. Tess knew that, but she reminded you that she wasn't going to walk away from you that you would always be her number one. To this day, it stands true, obviously falling a little under her children, but love still strong.

But with Anne, she didn't see you as someone broken or lost but someone who needed a bit more love. Love is what she has given you, she became your friend, someone you could trust in along with Gemma. It felt like your world was falling apart when Harry broke up with you because you couldn't turn to them, and your sister had her family to worry about. You always were good at becoming unseen when needed. Never wanting to be a bother. Except, here with her by your side, you don't know how you're supposed to let her go.

Anne stops walking and takes a seat in the sand, placing her sandals by her side, and you join her without questioning her.

"I waited for your phone call. Every day for the past week when Harry gave me the news even though I knew you wouldn't call." Anne cleared her throat softly. "I hoped you would."

You sigh. Those words were enough to bring tears to your eyes. You thought you were dried out of tears, but you were wrong. "I was close on many nights but- I-I it felt wrong too. He's your son, how could I do that to him?"

"He may be my son, but you're important too. My heart has enough space in there for you in a relationship with him or not."

You nod. Trying to wrap that around your head that she loves you even though Harry does not.

"The breakup came out of nowhere. The day before we're fine talking about adopting a cat and the next, he sits me down to tell me we're breaking up." You block the memories trying to resurface and trace small circles on the sand.

You did out a seashell and cleaned it off before asking your question.

"Did he tell you why he was doing it?" It hurts to ask, but you need to know if he was honest with her.

Anne sighs but nods. "He said that it wasn't going to work out. You couldn't handle the public eye anymore and that it would only continue to affect you and your job. Said something about not fitting the image."

A tear falls down, but you're quick to wipe it away. "He sat me down and told me we were breaking up. Didn't let me ask why or anything. A year together is nothing in this industry, we barely made it a month to the public eye. You'll be forgotten quickly, also tell me that because he was working on the new album, he needed an image more than the one he had."

"That's not who I raised him to be," Anne says, disappointment evident in her voice.

"Although he broke my heart, I still love him. I still love him as much as I did when we first got together. I just don't trust him."

Anne grabs your hand and links it together. She anchors you together because although she knows that she said you can count on her, this would most likely be the end of your relationship. Neither of you wants to admit it.

"It's funny, the first month I avoided every place we ever went together, and it was hard because we did a lot around here. There are roads I avoid completely. This is my second time back at this beach, and I loved it here." You run a hand through your tangled hair due to the ocean breeze. "But now I'm going back to these places, and I pray every time I get out of the car not to run into him even though that's exactly what I want to happen. It's cliche, I know, but I really did lose my best friend." The tears are falling silently, and you are grateful Anne doesn't comment on it, but you swear you can see her eyes glisten. You rest your head on her shoulder and look out at the waves, no clouds in sight, just a clear blue sky. How you wish your brain would look this blank.

There's so much you want to tell Harry now months after the breakup, but there's the fear of breaking down in front of him.

"Anne"

"Yes, darling." She responds softly.

"I-I uh-" You clear your throat. "If I were to give you a letter to Harry, would you give it to him. There are some things I need to get off my chest, and he needs to know."

"That I can do."

You sit up and grab both her hands and bring them to your chest. She looks at your love and sadness in her eyes. "You can only give it to him when you know he's better. He will need to hear this later when our hearts don't ache as much. When you as a mom realize he needs it. It'll be the closure we both need."

"I promise."

You make plans to meet for breakfast the next morning as she has no plans and knows he's busy. You'll deliver the letter and be on your way, closing that door behind you. You spend half an hour together more before you walk her down to the pier and make your way back to your sister. Heart heavy but not as broken.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You roll over and smile when you see Harry still asleep. He's lying on his stomach, and his head turned in your direction. You lay on your side, happy to admire him. There's a hint of a smile on his face, must be from the dream he is having. His long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, looking delicate and fragile. Not an inch of stress on his face. You can't help yourself and bring your index finger up to trace over his plump pink lips. Soft. You stop when you see him twitch a little but continue when he lets out a small snore. The room is quiet; your apartment is not located on a busy street, something your sister said was a must for when your nephews came to stay. You let Harry rest and get up going to the living room. You sit on the floor looking out at the window at the birds flying around, chirping away basking in the morning sun. You hear the creek of your door and know Harry is on his hunt for you. He's clumsy, so you won't be surprised if he crashes into the couch. He still must be tired. You hear a quiet "shit" and let out a chuckle. He stumbled around the corner with his misplaced shoes. You don't comment on it knowing he'd just turn the blame on you because he got out of bed for you.

"Poppet, after last night, I thought you'd like to wake up in my arms." Harry sits behind you, the blanket wrapped around him now being placed over you as he drags you into his lap.

"I'm an early riser, you know that."

He sighs into your ear. "Means I didn't tire you out enough last night."

"Oh no, you did just that. The bruises are proof."

He laughs and kisses your neck lightly three times.

"Coffee in the kitchen if you want some. Also, some muffins Gabby bought me for taking her dog on the hike with me."

"I want something else for breakfast." He whispers into your ear. His hand sliding up your thigh. He's met with your black shorts, he knows there is nothing underneath seeing as he put these on for you. "Will you let me?"

"Only cause you asked nicely."

Harry is quick to lay you on your back. Your shorts come off just as quickly, he pushes your shirt up to expose your breasts. He sits back on his knees and allows you to see how hard he is in his shorts.

"You're beautiful" He breathes out. "A true dream."

"You told me that last night repeatedly." You remind him how he whispered in your ear at dinner with your friends around how the red dress had him hard as soon as he saw you walk in. You knew that if he picked you up, you would not have left your apartment. The night ended precisely how you wanted with Harry in your bed. Three months dating, it felt right.

It was perfect.

He leans in, placing small kisses on your calves, slowly moving up to your thighs. He kissed last night's bruises gently, a reminder of how rough he got once he got a taste of you. It drove him crazy.

"Smell so sweet." He dragged his lips up to your core. His tongue between your folds, you moan softly under him. He pressed little kisses to your clit, you felt him smiling against you when he felt your thighs begin to tremble.

You let out a louder moan when he slipped a finger inside, your hands reached down to grasp at his hair. He pulled back to look up at you with dark eyes, smiling at you with wet lips.

"You're a tease, baby." You breathe out as he slips in a second finger. He moves slowly, building up the pressure.

He brings his mouth back down to your clit, gently grazing his teeth over it.

"Oh, fuck!" You gasp.

"C'mon poppet, come for me." A moan leaves your lips when his tongue picks up speed, making up for the loss of his fingers. "Please, let go for me."

You grip his hair harder, letting your orgasm take over your whole body. His tongue slowing down as you throw your head back and lay your hands on your side. He slowly works you through it until he sees your breathing come down, gentle kisses to your hips. He works up until he gets to your breasts. He leans in kissing each one gently. "Sorry, I neglected these beauties. I got so lost in you."

Harry continues to move slowly, but you have had enough of slow. You pull him up into your arms, until he settles on top and kiss him until it leaves you breathless.

You taste yourself on him, Harry kissing you harder as your hand begins to trail down to his shorts. He breaks the kiss and leans your head left, giving him more access to your neck, which he accepts quickly. He's slow and gentle compared to last night.

"Going to let me make love to you, poppet." You nod wishing he'd move quicker as he kicks his shorts away.

“Yes” You whisper, he’s building up the anticipation.

He lines himself up, slowly pushing in. You let out a whispered fuck at his size. He goes in gently, not wanting to hurt you, always wanting you to feel good.

Harry leans forward, kissing you as he begins to move against you.

"Baby," You breathe out. "B-baby-y-y faster."

Harry keeps your lips close, his breathing picking up. Whispered words against your lips. “I'm going to make love to you for the rest of my life. It's you and me, poppet."

Your eyes shoot open, and you're quick to look around. You're in bed, left side empty.

He's not here.

He hasn't been here for months. Why does he keep coming back? Your brain needs to let him go, but you know that isn't the one holding on to him.

You get out of bed and walk to the kitchen for a glass of water. There has never been an easy way to move on. This letter might be the best start.

Harry,

I love you. I'll always love you.

That's hard to stay, but it's the truth. You are my best friend. Remember the first time we talked on the phone and how we didn't want to hang up, so we talked about everything. From my first broken bone to your job at a bakery. You told me all about your childhood and all your dreams. At that time, I thought I would be at your side cheering you on as you were accomplishing them but that’s not the case. Just know that I'll be rooting for you.

I'm sorry I didn't fight for you. Guess it seemed like I didn't love you, but I did. I do. I think only ever having my sister on my side, I never realized I never learned to fight for those I love. Never doubt my love, it's real.

Don't be afraid to move on and love again, you deserve it. You deserve the greatest love out there.

Remember, just because you love summer doesn't mean it can stay because who knows what October can bring.

Maybe one day we'll find a way back into each other's lives, but until then, take care, H.

Y/N

You put it in the envelope and seal it. You write his name on the front.

It's time to close the chapter, time to move onto the next.

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October has finally rolled in, and you couldn't be more excited. Autumn brings in the cold and the changing of the leaves, but if you were to ask the students, it just means candy. For the month each Friday, a new activity is done in honor of Halloween. Your classroom is decorated in pictures drawn of your student's favorite movies. As well as small pumpkin string lights your sister gifted you last year. Your classroom door has black paper covering it and white ghosts—22 one for each student with their name on them stuck to it. You added caution tape to give it more detail. Then added small pumpkins around. It reads "Spooky Students" the class had a good laugh at the name, proper pleased.

The first week was simple, doing a math game.

Candy corn math.

The children enjoyed it, all having fun adding and subtracting. Tina ate one and almost cried because she thought she'd get in trouble. You assured her it was all for fun. Then let them all eat their treats as you played them Halloween music. Fridays are meant to relax and have fun. That's exactly what you show your students.

The second week they make spider headbands. Grace, your teacher assistant, helps with the cutting and stapling. The students enjoy gluing the spider's eyes most. It's an easy project when the students are focused on it. You have an hour of the day left and decide to play, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. It's starting, and as you're organizing the glues and packing away the scissors in their pencil boxes, Nicole, the front desk assistant, tells you there's a package you have to sign for. You nod to Grace to look over the class, and she gives you a thumbs up in return. As you reach the main office, you see a baker with two boxes chatting with Matthew Collins, the Vice-Principal.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, I assume this is for me." You say, pointing to the pink boxes.

"Good afternoon, got your kids treats, I see." He acknowledges.

You shake your head, stepping to look at the note sitting on top of the box. You flip it open.

Figured you and the children deserved a sweet treat. Take care, honey. xx Anne

PS: A dozen snickerdoodle cookies are waiting for you at home.

Anne, always so sweet and thoughtful. You had kept in contact with her after that time you handed her the letter. You came to realize you couldn't lose her, and she wasn't about to let you go without a fight.

"A good friend actually sent them, knows how excited we get for October." You tuck the note in your cardigan pocket.

"Well, that's a great friend to have. I hope your class and you enjoy it. Have a great weekend." Mr. Collins leaves, and you bid goodbye to the baker.

As you make your way back to your class with two dozen cupcakes, you can't wipe the grin on your face. They are going to be so excited. The cupcakes are half chocolate and half vanilla. The orange frosting swirled beautifully on each one, each topped with a spider ring.

You return, and all the kids are focused on the scene when Sally begins to yell at Linus as he's waking up for making her miss the Halloween festivities. Grace is quick to help you tell the kids you have a surprise for them all. The movie still plays as Grace places napkins on their desks.

"A friend sent me a treat for you all because she heard how wonderful you've been doing." You tell them slowly approaching closer for them to see the box in your hand. "Say, do any of you like cupcakes." Cheers filled the room with your words.

You both worked fast to give them each a cupcake of choice, no arguing whatsoever. Kind students you have. Grace grabs chocolate, and you grab the last vanilla for yourself. Grace lets you know she's going to get waters from the cafeteria to give to them.

You sit at the back counter legs cup, leaning against a llama poster that says, "We love learning." A small gift for Julia. You grab the cupcake and fix your spider headband before taking a picture to send to Anne.

Y/N: Cupcakes were a real success. I can't thank you enough. Love you, xx.

Anne: Don't you look precious.

Anne: Glad, you all enjoyed it. Love you xx

It's an excellent way to end the week with a sweet treat from Anne and good old classic Charlie Brown.

It is now the third week. The four first grade classes made a trip to the pumpkin patch. The school budget did get slightly raised this year, allowing you to buy small easy to carry pumpkins for each student. Parent chaperones are enabling you to make smaller groups to take each student to different activities. Your small group of six decided on the slide mountain that was atop of bales. It was fun, even going down yourself. Then that led you to picking pumpkins. Joey has trouble deciding before leaving the slightly bigger one when his arms got tired. You decided to get two big ones and two small pumpkins to take to your sister's house and you could carve together this weekend. It was now your turn for the hayride, and Chloe was really excited. She was the first one on, and as the trip went on, her head kept turning, wanting to see it all. This place really outdoes themselves each year, decorations only getting better. As it was closing time to go back to school, all students sat at the tables awaiting their apple cider and cinnamon-sugar donuts.

You were about to take a seat next to Henry, the shyest student in your class when your name is called. You turn around and see Jeff, Harry's manager, and friend.

"Hi Jeff," You step close and accept the hug he offers.

"How have you been?" He asks.

You nod. "Good, welcoming the cold weather."

"It is nice."

Your grin begins to fade slightly as the small talk gets awkward. It's been a long time since you've seen Jeff. Not at all, forgetting how important a friend he was to you as well as Glenne.

"What brings you here?"

"On a class field trip." You gesture to the table behind you, seeing the kids sneak glances at you.

"That is wonderful, good class this year?"

You grin thinking about each of your students. "The best."

"Her cider is getting cold." Susan whispers, the small wide-eyed blonde says to Joey, worrying for you.

"I've got to go back, probably going to bomb me in questions as soon as I sit."

"Of course." Jeff smiles in understanding.

"Tell Glenne I say hello. Take care, Jeff."

You turn around, heading to the table. You laugh as your students quiet down as you take a seat.

"Alright, what do you want to know now?"

The students always take your mind off everything. No conversation is ever dull, still trying their best to find out more about their teacher.

Although seeing Jeff was nice, he's not the person you wished to run into every day.

No, that someone has beautiful brown curls and emerald green eyes.

The end of day breezes by, back in the classroom, the students grabbed their backpacks and walked out front to meet their parents. As you tidy up the classroom, Grace walks in a tight smile on her face. You know she has something to ask, but don't pressure her to do so.

"Was that man a friend, we saw you with," Grace asks, wiping down the desks, "mom's were gossiping, thinking you were being asked out or was an old flame. Don't have to tell me, but he did look like a friend, at least an old one."

You close your planner, happy with the coming week's plan. "My ex's friend.." You explain. "We were close. He was always kind and welcoming. Lost a lot of people during the breakup."

She shoots you a small smile. "Never easy, but you don't get through it alone. Some people are meant to come into your life as lessons."

Grace's optimism never fails to make you grin. "That is really nice to hear."

"I keep waiting for the grand gesture for my ex to sweep me off my feet." Talking about this, tears at your heart, but it has weighed you down. "I just want to run into him. Go to our favorite places in hopes of seeing him even just for a moment."

"That means you're not ready to put yourself out there?" Her voice was full of curiosity.

"Correct. I love Harry, I always will, but my heart seems to be holding on for some reason."

"I'm a phone call away if you ever want to get drunk and watch movies and eat our weight in food." She offers sincerely.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Grace bids you goodbye and walks out. It's nice to be reminded you have people around you supporting you, but all you want today is to see the sunset and you know just the spot.

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Malibu is known for having the best spots for the ocean view and standing here, a blanket wrapped around you, hearing the waves continue to crash with the rocks below you believe it is. You came here because you know not many people know about this location and if the other two cars there say anything about it continues to be unknown.

Growing up in Southern California, you have always been grateful to have the ocean nearby. You and your sister would always make your way here to celebrate good days or to clear your head. You spent your day here when you got accepted into UCLA and when Andrew proposed to Tess. This place is full of good memories; it's like being there all the bad in your life disappears. Bringing Harry here for the first time was a big step in your relationship, it was you letting him get to know you, no barriers in the way.

You hear a car pull up, but don't bother looking over thinking the person might be heading down the trail. It's a couple, and you can hear the girl whisper something then heads off to the dirt trail. You're not sure how long you stand there when you take one final look before unwrapping the blanket and placing it in your trunk. Just as you are about to close it, you hear your name called.

You turn around quickly and are surprised to see him. You weren't even aware he was here, last you heard he was on the last leg of his world tour.

He's dressed in a black Columbia hoodie, grey Nike shorts, and black running shoes. His hair has beautiful long curls, and he's got a clean-shaven face, always made him look younger but does give a good view of his strong jawline.

"Harry," You breathe out.

Your heart is beating so fast you think it might jump out of your chest. You've been waiting for the day you run into him, but it was not today.

It might be the worst day. After a field trip with first graders, no one is making out as clean as they arrived that morning. Your lavender knitted sweater has sugar stains, and your old blue jeans have dirt on your knees from kneeling to help with the pumpkins. You wore old black converse never bothered with the dust, but this time you wish you had your back up pair. You don't even want to imagine how your hair looks. You snap out of your thoughts when Harry stops giving you a once over and breaks the silence.

"I always seem to find my way here." He tells you, looking down at his shoes.

You sit in your open trunk of your CR-V and scoot over to let him know to sit. He does so without saying more. It's a heavy silence, but you don't give it much thought looking out at the ocean.

"I got your letter."

The letter you wrote four months ago. If you're honest, you didn't think back to that since you handed it over to Anne.

"When?" You questioned.

"Two weeks ago," He looks over at you, staring at you, waiting for you to look over at him. "How long did mum have it?"

You lock eyes with him, his eyes filled with curiosity and kindness. "Since June." You look away, not able to take in all the emotions coming up. "Guess you were finally ready for it."

Harry nods and stands up, and he walks a few steps before making his way back to stand in front of you. He looks nervous about sharing, and all you can do is offer him a smile. He lets out a deep breath.

"I went on this date that Jeff set up for me, and it was awful. Nice girl, but everything felt wrong. It was wrong." He runs a hand through his loose curls as if to get rid of the nerves. "I looked at her, closed my eyes, and opened them, and the person I wanted it to be was not in front of me."

Harry's looking at you as you try to wrap your head around his words. You don't know how to respond. He was waiting for you, but he was the one who left you.

"You didn't realize it until then?" You're confused. It took him eight months to realize he made a mistake.

He stares right at you, not wanting you to miss his next words. "I realized it the second you walked out the door."

Your face drops at his words.

Harry runs a hand down his face before taking a step forward. "I tried to find you. I would go all over Los Angeles hoping to run into you, but I stopped after the party when you told me the truth."

"I was harsh, felt awful at how I handled it afterward."

"Don't apologize," he gives you a half-smile, "I deserved that. Honestly, I needed it."

You both go silent. You're staring at one another, memorizing each other's faces that you had begun to forget. You could stare at Harry forever, and you always told him that he had a face one could get lost in forever, finding new details to memorize.

"Do you even remember that night?" You ask because you know you do. It used to haunt your dreams until it didn't. That day no longer lingers at the back of your head, but if you think back to it, all the emotions come again, hitting you harder than ever.

Harry sighs, "Every time I close my eyes."

You walk into your apartment, surprised at the quietness. Harry always liked to have music playing. He's sitting on the couch staring at the black screen of his phone.

"H, ready to cook dinner, got home early because you said you wanted lasagna tonight. Always faster when we cook together." Stepping closer to see why he's sitting so still on the couch.

"Sit with me." He whispers, patting the seat next to him.

You sit down, reaching to grab his hand, and he lets you. He squeezes it tightly before letting go.

"I love you." His eyes meet yours. He looks in pain. "But I'm breaking up with you."

A million thoughts run through your head. Harry's breaking up with you. He's leaving you.

He looks at you, waiting for you to say something. "It's not easy for me, but it's what's best for my career. I will be going back on tour soon, releasing a single. You wouldn't handle all the attention with paparazzi well, so I'm saving you. It's easier for others in the business, but you wouldn't survive this"

His words cut daggers into your heart.

It's best for my career.

It keeps repeating in your head, his job, he doesn't think you're enough for his lifestyle. You weren't enough to keep him happy.

"Harry, it doesn't-" The tears are rolling down your face, you can tell he wants to reach over to wipe them, but he holds himself back. "So this is it?"

He nods. "The end for us, but we can-" You cut him off before he can say, friends.

You already had him in your life as a friend. You can't go back to that not after knowing how he loves being the little spoon, how much he loves his hair being played with, but most importantly, how kind and gentle of a lover he is. He has so much love to give and do not receive that any more will break your heart: no kisses, no hugs, and no love.

You grab your keys, bag, and slip your shoes on. "Goodbye, Harry."

He stands eyes red, he looks sad, but he has no right. He wanted this, not you. His house had become a second home, but now you feel like an unwelcome guest. You walk out without looking back each step towards your car, making you cry harder.

This is the end. An end, you never saw coming.

It seems like you were both lost in the memory when you hear Harry begin to weep quietly. Your heart pulls you in two ways, wanting to comfort him or sitting there, letting him cry, but before you can decide, he's wiping his tears.

He lifts his head to meet your eyes, his eyes keep filling with tears, but he doesn't bother to wipe them anymore. "Are you happy?" he whispered.

You nod a small smile on your face to assure him. "I am. I'm not sad and miserable anymore, but I'm also not filled with sunshine. I lost a lot when we broke up; you have to know that," He nods letting you know he's listening. "I also found myself, found love I lost over the years. Found love in me."

He smiles when he hears that his dimples were coming out. "That day at the party, I was in the worst place possible, but I reached out to my sister and told her I needed therapy. I wouldn't have gone if it weren't for my sister's support. Honestly, you were in the back of my mind because you shared to me how important and impactful it was for you, and I know I had so much to share not just from the breakup but from my childhood."

"I'm glad." He chokes out his voice, rough from crying.

"I am too." You smile because this is nice. All the running you did didn't allow you to talk with Harry, but the time has come, and you're grateful for that.

"I wasn't planning on coming up here today, obviously," You gesture to your dirty clothes. "I had that pull to come here as soon as I was pulling out of the school parking." You confess to him.

"I finished a yoga class and was on my way home when I took the wrong exit," Harry corrects himself, "Or well the right turn looking at it now."

You're not sure where you stand with Harry, but you both know the feelings are still there. As if they never left.

"We can't pick up where we left off."

Harry nods, agreeing. "In that case, may I take you out on a date Sunday?"

"I'd love that, Harry."

You stand up and pull him in for a hug. You know you surprise him because he tenses up before wrapping his arms around you. You sigh as you feel Harry squeeze you tight. He breathes you in, and you can't help but let out a small laugh.

"Did you just sniff me?" You're laughing against his chest feeling his heartbeat pick up.

"Oi, don't laugh at me. You smell like strawberries." He defends.

"Pretty sure I smell like dirt and sweat. A field trip running around kids will do that to you."

"I disagree." He pulls back to look down at you, but you keep your head on his chest, liking being in his arms. "Always smell great."

You move to pull back, thinking it must be too much too soon for both of you, but Harry doesn't let you. He holds on tighter. "Couple more minutes, please love," He whispers against your hair. You nod and let him begin to sway you both gently as if you were both ones with the wind.

"Is it too forward to ask to kiss you?" Harry asks timidly.

You lean back and laugh before looking up at him, his eyes hopeful but also knowing. "It is."

"It was worth a shot."

Harry leans in to gently press a kiss to your forehead, his lips soft. He steps back after a few seconds. "I'll call you."

You nod. "Please do."

Harry holds his car door open but makes no move to step in as if waiting for something. You don't want him to leave.

"Harry," You call out. He turns around and shoots you a cheesy smile causing you to smile back. "I really want you to kiss me, trust me but,"

Harry nods in understanding. "Slow and steady, love."

You stare at him, and his eyes are bright and hopeful. Hopeful in their future together. "Slow and steady, we can do that."

Just like that, you and Harry both drive away from each other, but your future together has never looked brighter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Thank you for reading! I love you

Come talk to me and tell me what you thought of Into You

#harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles story #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles #my writing

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow.

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax.

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone.

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning.

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.”

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same.

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that.

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything.

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right?

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start.

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting.

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name.

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door.

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon.

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful.

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth.

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life.

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room.

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him.

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago.

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind.

“I get it,” Jody finally says.

Dean glances sharply at her.

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told...

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee.

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long.

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up.

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders).

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood.

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed.

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against.

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood.

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities.

Probably.

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this.

The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas.

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off.

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly.

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.”

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?”

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger.

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?”

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar.

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—”

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods.

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water.

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air.

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair.

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected.

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth.

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—”

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on.

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead.

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it.

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?”

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own.

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him.

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough.

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair.

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really.

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago.

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again.

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him.

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this.

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat.

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is.

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step.

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas.

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both.

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists.

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize.

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars.

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza.

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room.

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up.

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much.

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want.

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face.

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

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