#just one person with a life expectancy longer than the eggs in my fridge

[standingontheoverpassscreaming]

now Biden has covid???? Tbh the universe could do the funniest thing rn and clear our ballot

[theonewiththefanfics]

Tomato - Tomato (one-shot)

Synopsis: One is an international rock-star. The other is his loyal assistant. Both are complete morons in love. Also - she’s allergic to tomatoes, and it is important.

This started off as something completely else. hope you enjoy :D

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Assistant!Reader

Genre: fluff, minor angst

Warnings: two idiots pining for one another, swearing, mentions of allergies and EpiPens

Word count: 3492

Being an assistant to someone famous wasn’t all glamourous parties and wild nights out with celebrities. It was scheduling last minute flights and not sleeping for three days straight as you packed a million bags and then repacked because their stylist sent you knew pieces and the old ones no longer fit the aesthetic of the week.           It was also making sure that they were up by six AM with a hot coffee at their bedside ready to help them wake up as you lay out a detailed plan of the day down to the minute, while you yourself basically only had a two-hour nap because you had to finish off 568 handwritten notes to be sent out to each of the contacts in their phone. Or at least that’s what Y/N’s life was like being the personal assistant to none other than the modern-day prince of rock Harry Styles.            Said rockstar was actually still asleep when Y/N entered his room, ripping open the curtains and letting in the rising sun. He groaned, pulling up the bedsheets that’d ridden down his form during the night. “Not that I don’t like seeing your gorgeous face in the mornings….” he mumbled into the covers. “But I don’t like seeing your face in the mornings when they start at six bloody AM.”           Y/N snorted and rolled her eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to get rid of the sleep that still lingered in her own body. “You were the one that said you’re fine with seeing Lambert at eight for a fitting.”           “When did I say that?” Harry scoffed, only the top of his messy bedhead seen from the cocoon he’d built around himself.           “Would you like me to pull up the text messages, the calendar or the e-mails?”           Even with her back turned as she rummaged through his closet for him to put on some clothes, she could sense the middle finger he threw at her, and she smiled.           Despite everything, despite the zero sleep and stress always coursing through her veins, Y/N loved working for him. He treated her as a friend, not just some lackey he paid to, but most importantly, comparatively to the other people she’d worked for in the same line of business – he treated her as a human.           If something went over the deadline, Harry didn’t scream or yell at her and tell Y/N how incompetent she was, instead he asked what kind of help or assistance she needed to get the job done, or maybe if she just needed some time off to gather herself and look at the problem with fresh eyes.           “I hate how organised you are,” Harry groaned, finally throwing the covers off.           “If I wasn’t, you’d be in a ditch somewhere.”           She heard him scoff and two feet plop against the hardwood floor as he made his way towards her. “Is that how little faith you have in me?”           “You don’t even know what day it is!”           “Who does in these times?”           Y/N shrugged her shoulders and handed him a pair of boxers, some loose jeans, and a flowery Hawaiian shirt. “Are you telling me I’m wrong though?”           She looked over to her side, a smirk playing on her lips while he squinted his green eyes at her. “No, but it doesn’t mean I like getting called out, especially this early in the morning.”

          With a roll of her eyes and a shove at his shoulder for him to move to the bathroom, Y/N handed him the clothes, moving downstairs to start making him some light breakfast and get herself a cold glass of water.           You see, she’d been working as his assistant for close to two years, and they’d grown not only as people around one another, challenging their beliefs and world views, but as friends too. And, well, Y/N would be lying if the emotions hadn’t evolved from platonic to falling in love. Not that she’d ever admit it. He was an international sensation, and she was the girl who got him vegetarian croissants at the airport.           She dragged a hand down her face as she clicked the stove on and took out a carton of eggs from the fridge. Y/N knew how he liked his omelette to the T, mostly because when she’d spent the first night of quarantine with him a year prior right as the pandemic had started, Harry had wanted to do something nice because she couldn’t go and see her family any more, so he’d gotten up at seven to make breakfast for both of them. The only problem was, he hadn’t asked if she had any allergies, so as he added bits of tomatoes, parsley, cheese and scallions, Harry hadn’t expected Y/N’s eyes to go wide at the first bite as she dropped the fork.           “Harry…” Her tone had been cautious. “What’s in this?”           He was sweating. Was his cooking really that bad? He just wanted to do something nice and there he was screwing everything up. “ ‘S just some of my favourite things. I’m sorry I didn’t ask, I just thought you’d like it.”            “I do, but this tastes like it has tomatoes in it.”           He nodded. “Yeah. It does.”           Gently she smiled at him and pushed the plate a bit further away. “Could you grab me a coat, and if you have any – an EpiPen?”           “An Epi – oh shit!” When the realisation hit him, Harry was jumping out of his seat, running to one of the cupboards and rummaging through in a panic all the while apologies flew non-stop from his mouth.           Y/N in the meantime had gathered her purse and mask, making a call to the nearest hospital to explain the situation to which they responded they’d be waiting for her arrival.           “I’m so sorry!” Harry ran up to her, a first-aid kit in his shaking hands. “Please don’t die! I didn’t want to kill you, I promise! I just wanted to make you some breakfast cause you do so much for me, and now you’re stuck here, and – oh god,” he cried. “I’m going to be prosecuted for killing my assistant.”           She didn’t mean to, but the snort came out of her nose either way. “Harry.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please calm down. I’m not going to die.”           “You’re allergic!”           “Yes, I am, but I only had a small bite. The ER is just a precaution.” Y/N took his palms in hers and squeezed them. “Now take a deep breath with me…” They did so, holding it for five seconds and letting it out for eight. “And calm down a bit. I’ll go give myself the shot, and then I’ll drive to the hospital.”           “Let me,” Harry begged. “Please, let me at least drive you to the emergency room. God, I almost killed you with an omelette, it’s the least I can do. I – I could also help you with the shot, I won’t hit an artery, I promise -”           “Harry, you’re barely coherent. Not to say anything, but you’d have a bigger chance of killing me in a car crash, than from that tomato.” Y/N gave him a smile. “I’m gonna be fine.”           With that, she left him to venture into the bathroom and did the unpleasant part of stabbing herself in the thigh to alleviate her body from the allergy symptoms. She sat there for around five minutes before she felt that the swelling of her tongue and itching in her throat was starting to subside, which meant the epinephrine was working.           “Okay,” she huffed, taking her purse from the couch where Harry had been sitting, hugging the accessory. “I’ll be back in probably around two hours. Do we need anything from the store?”           He shook his head. “Just come back home, please.”           Y/N would never admit how her heart thundered in her chest when Harry said to come back ‘home’. “I will.” She promised. “Don’t you worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Styles. The money’s too good.” She winked at him and then left Harry pouting on the couch, but she couldn’t get through the door, before he jumped up, yelling, “wait! Do I need to get rid of every tomato in the house?”           “No,” she laughed. “I’m good to be around them. Even touch them. ‘S just my insides that don’t agree with it when they meet.”           “Okay.” He nodded, hands on his hips. “Alright. I’ll uh – I’ll be waiting. I’ll make you something else.”           “There’s no need for that, Harry.”           His eyes widened at her words. “I swear I’m not trying to murder you!”           “Oh my god,” she muttered shaking her head. “Just – just relax. Okay. I’ll send you hourly updates.”           He bit his lip. “Make it every ten minutes.”           “Harry –,”           “Please?” The way he was giving her puppy dog eyes melted her heart.           With an eye-roll, Y/N waved at him and promised to update her boss at every possible moment and confirm that he hadn’t, in fact, been the reason for her demise. Well, he was the reason for the demise of her low standards in men, having taken them and thrown them up to the Moon, but unless her feelings were miraculously requited or if one of the Marvel characters, she was obsessed with came to life, she’d have to stick to what was available. And in her mind, that wasn’t Harry.           “What are you thinking about?” His voice startled Y/N out of the memory, and she shook her head, adding salt and pepper to the beaten eggs.           She shrugged. “Just about that time a year ago where you secretly tried to off me because you were too nice to say you didn’t wanna quarantine together.”           The groan he let out was of royal embarrassment, and it put a wide smile on her face, as she took one of the forsaken fruits and started to chop the red ball into small pieces.           “You’ll never let me live it down, are you?”           Y/N raised her eyebrow at him. “Your failed murder attempt?” She snorted. “Of course not! It’s like you don’t watch the crime shows and murder documentaries when I have them on. You really haven’t learned anything.”           Harry stuck his tongue out at her and moved to her side, dropping some chives into the mix as well. “Well given how it wasn’t a murder attempt, I wouldn’t consider it a fail.”           Her hip bumped his, and only then did Y/N really give him a once-over. As always, he looked amazing in whatever was on his body, but what made him even cuter in her eyes was the sleepiness still lingering in him.           Harry’s movements were a little bit sluggish, eyes half-closed and small sighs passing his lips as he sipped onto the coffee she’d come to his place with. The shirt sat loosely on his body, the first two buttons left open while he’d tucked the bottom of it into the jeans, having found a Gucci belt and cinched it around his waist, giving it a more eighties look rather than the sixties vibe he usually had with his suits.           The brown hair was still messy and dishevelled, and Y/N could barely, just barely restrain herself from running her fingers through it, but what she didn’t know Harry was struggling just as much.           All he wanted to do was pull out the bottom lip Y/N had gotten in between her teeth and kiss her senseless, to have her fingers dig into his arms and leave crescent shaped imprints on his skin.           “So, uh…” He had to start a conversation otherwise his mouth would find itself on Y/N’s mouth in a second. “What’s Lambert got in his schedule? How many outfits is he thinking?”           “Two or three, I think,” she said, pouring the mixture on the pan and letting the slow sizzle erupt around them. “He’s got this one suit which I think you’ll really like – all leather, but it needs to be altered.”           Harry hummed, and for a second both of them relished in the domestic feel of it all. They’d had many moments like it before, especially during the spring and summer seasons of 2020, and Y/N couldn’t help but relish in her memories at them.           “Harry?” It was like her voice snapped him out from a trance. “Could you pass me a plate please?’           “Uh, yeah,” he stammered for a moment and then nodded, wordlessly going to a cupboard and taking out a white marbled plate. That single piece of kitchenware probably cost more than her life insurance, but it was definitely aesthetic if nothing else.           Silently Y/N plopped the omelette onto the plate, placing it on the kitchen counter and went to get him a fork, however when she turned around, he was facing her, chewing quite agressively on the inside of his cheek.           “You okay?” she asked, coming closer. “I can call Lambert, reschedule it for later. He wouldn’t be too happy about having to wake up and then – “           But Harry shook his head. “It’s not that.”           “Then what?”           He didn’t say anything. It was like he was trying to decipher the best course of action, and when he ultimately did, Y/N was pressed up against the counter, Harry’s forehead against hers with two ring-clad hands cupping her cheeks.           “Harry,” she breathed, out her lips brushing his making the air in her lungs hitch. “What are you doing?”           “Something I’ve been dying to do for a year now. If you let me that is.”           “I -,” The words were muddled up in her head. Of course, Y/N wanted him to kiss her, she wanted him to ravish every part of her body. The fantasies and dreams she’d had at night would be incriminating proof if her feelings were on trial, but despite it all, her brain was usually in charge and would overrule any decision made by her heart. “Harry, we can’t.” She whispered, voice breaking.           “I -,” Horror morphed onto his features as he took a step back. “Did I misread the signals? Did I do something you don’t wan –“           “No.” She grabbed onto his cheeks, trying to calm him down, his body practically melting into hers. “I do.” She didn’t need to explain what she meant. He understood. “So much it hurts me sometimes… but Harry, you’re my boss. My employer. It… it wouldn’t be right.”           “Why? How can it not be right, when it feels like the rightest thing in the world?”           “Because, Harry,” she huffed. “You’re my boss. And what’s worse – I love working for you!”           That made both of them laugh, the tone of her voice as if she was more annoyed than anything else. “ ‘Nd why’s that bad?” He nudged her nose with his. “I’d hope my employees like working with me. What kind of a person would I be if I thrived on them being miserable?”           “Because if I didn’t, quitting would be easy.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “And if I quit there’d be nothing stopping us from dating.”           Harry bit his lip, finger trailing along her cheekbone. “There’s nothing stopping us now either. There is no clause in your contract that says you can’t date people who you work for or with. Sarah’s with Mitch, and they’re the happiest they’ve ever been. They’re even having a baby…”           Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know. But that’s different. They’re on equal levels. You and I, however… I don’t want people to think I got my job because I slept with you, or some shit. It’s bad enough some already do so.”           His brows furrowed, and Y/N saw how his jaw clenched. “Who?”           “Strangers.” She shrugged. “I know you don’t look at comments like that online, but I see them. My DMs are filled with that. Gossip magazines. The point is – there are already unsubstantiated rumours about us. This would give them the confirmation they’d need.”           “How can it confirm something that’s not true?”           “There are still people who believe vaccines cause autism. Even when their ‘proof’ has been discredited and shown to be just complete bullshit, most don’t like to admit they’re wrong, so they’ll look for whatever tells them they’re right.”           Harry huffed throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. “So, where does that leave us? In love, but without being able to do anything about it? Because I can’t.” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to just pass you by without kissing you, or not pull you into the bed when you wake me up, or press you against the wall and not have my head between these two gorgeous legs.”           Y/N groaned slapping his chest and dropping her forehead against his peck. “That is so unfair. Why do you have to tease me like that!”           “Oh, sweetheart.” The rumble was deep and shot a wave of heat straight to her core. “This is no teasing.” The smirk on his face when she looked up at him was shit-eating. “Trust me, if I was teasing, you’d be begging for me.”           She’d imagined him between her thighs more times than it was appropriate considering he was her boss, but hot damn, did it feel amazing when his lips crashed onto hers, and she let him. In her dreams, his lips hadn’t been just pressed to her mouth but other places which were more south, but it was still one of the best feelings in the world.           The kiss left them both breathless, and grinning and satisfied, yet begging for more, teeth nipping at the soft flesh.           “I’ll put out an official statement, if you want,” Harry muttered against her mouth, unable to stop pecking her lips now that’d he’d gotten a taste. “But please, please, please… for both our sanities go out on a date with me.”           It seemed like Y/N was the one contemplating the best plan of action now when her brows furrowed and she looked up at him, pressing and unpressing her lips, as the swelling from the kiss grew. “Did you by any chance have a piece of that omelette already?” She had a suspicion it wasn’t just from the kiss.           His eyes widened, and then his head dropped to her shoulder. “Not again!”           Y/N rolled her eyes lifting his face by the chin so he would look at her. “How about EpiPen first?”           “Fair enough,” Harry grumbled unlatching himself from her and going for his keys and wallet, already preparing for the short drive they’d have to take. “But then a date?”           She raised her eyebrow, taking out the box Harry now kept under the sink with at least three EpiPen’s for emergencies. “In a hospital?”           “We could be going dumpster diving for all I care, and I’d count it as a date.”           Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to do so much better than that; you’ve almost put me in anaphylactic shock twice. Now come on.” She motioned with her head towards the bathroom. “Stab me and take me to the ER.”           “Fucking tomatoes,” Harry grumbled, taking her by the hand and not letting it go even for the short walk.           “Tomato-tomato, you’re the one that kissed me.”           “That I don’t regret.”           Y/N smiled, turning towards him, and taking him by the nape of his neck pulled Harry down for one more kiss, groaning at the feeling of his tongue dancing against hers.           “Y/N!” He pulled back with a gasp, shock on his face.           She just shrugged her shoulders. “We’re already going to see the doctors anyway.”           Harry pushed her shoulder and made her sit down onto the toilet. “Take your pants off before my kisses kill you.”           “Yes, daddy.” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows as Harry moaned, squeezing her calf.            His eyes were dark as he looked up at her. “Next time this happens, you’ll be begging me.”           Her wicked smile was so full of happiness he couldn’t help the one that grew on his face. “I’ll be keeping you to it. Now, dear sir.” She handed him the EpiPen. “Hit me with your best shot.”           And although it’d been now two times in their lives where Harry trying to do something good and make the other feel just as good had done pretty much the opposite, when they got to the emergency room, their smiles could be felt even under their masks           Harry watched with blushing cheeks as Y/N explained the situation to the nurse, especially when one of them threw him an unsavoury glance, eyebrow raised high as if saying ‘again? One time wasn’t enough?’.           “No more tomatoes.” He promised. “And also - it wasn’t on purpose!”           Y/N squeezed his palm, chuckling. She may not be able to give a shot at eating a tomato, but she sure as hell was going to give Harry one. After all, she had almost died for the man. Twice.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​ @raylovessarcasm @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @harryhub​

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: I’m at work and I wanted to write a bit for my book, but hahahahahahaha I can’t stop procrastinating. Also, this was something comepletely else centered around Christmas, then New Year and the Valentines, but I just couldn’t and it morphed into this. Maybe this Holiday season when it rolls around I’ll post it :D

P.S. if anyone’s had a septoplasty (repositioning of the septum) - how was it? how painful is it? kinda starting my journey towards it cause apparently I can’t breathe out of my left nostril, but I’m kinda scared ngl. I’ve read some horror stories about having holes and pieces of the cartilage fall out afterwards :/// 

P.S.S. what did ya think? my tags are always open, just drop a message if you wanna be added :)

P.S.S.S please don’t plagiarise or repost my work on other platforms (wattpad, AO3 etc)

[solastia]

The Dragon’s Lair - 7

- SEOKJIN’S POV -

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x F!Reader (although she’s kinda OC now huh?)

A/N: Kinda on the short side, I apologize. But I wanted us to get a quick peek into Jin’s side of things and where his mind is. Any guesses on who his mate might be? ;) 

*****

He wasn’t sure what had woken him up. The house was silent beyond Namjoon’s snores that he could hear coming through the old walls. He waited a few seconds to see if he could hear anything else or catch a scent, but it was all clear. There was just something pricking at his mind - something making his instincts go wild. He’d blame the fact that he was in a new house but this wasn’t a new feeling. 

It had begun when his ride here had traveled past the sea. He’d gotten a whiff of fresh ocean air and his fur had instantly bristled up. His claws had lengthened involuntarily and he’d had to exercise every scrap of self-control he possessed so he wouldn’t leap out of the moving vehicle and run full-shift towards whatever that scent had been. 

Seokjin groans and cracks open his eyes, still heavy with sleep. He might as well take a trip to the bathroom while he was already awake. He yawns and forces himself out of the comfy bed, scratching his belly sleepily. Even now, the scent was clear to him. There had been the smell of the ocean, yes, but...something else. Something other like him. 

The realistic part of Seokjin’s brain said maybe his exotic side had simply found a scent it liked and that’s that. But when he allowed himself to be more fanciful, like now when it was three am and he was still half asleep, he listened to the Sphinx screaming, “mate, mate, MATE!,” and he didn’t hate the idea. 

He’d been alone for so very long that it sounded like a dream. A fairytale ending for his Cinderella story. 

Not that Namjoon was any sort of evil stepsister, nor his mate that exuded naivety and goodness from every pore. If anything, he knew that he was particularly blessed to have Heechul hyung looking out for him and talking this human into taking him in. He would have dealt with having to be in the shelter again, but quite honestly he was too old to do well there. He was a grown Sphinx used to independence and being at the top of his hierarchy. 

He finishes in the bathroom and sighs heartily, deciding sleep was going to be impossible now. Might as well help himself to the kitchen. He shuffled quietly there and peeked inside the fridge, horrified once again by the contents. How have these two been keeping alive? The fridge only contained very basic ingredients like eggs and milk, a bottle of soy sauce, and not a single vegetable in sight. 

He settles for making a couple of fried eggs, using them to top off the bowl of instant rice he pilfered from the cupboards. He gives it all a splash of soy sauce so it’s not completely flavorless and sits at the kitchen table, eating his little meal slowly. 

It always seemed like nights were harder for some reason. Like the dark vastness of the sky reminded him of how empty his life had become - of how much he missed his parents. 

He’d seriously lucked out when the two had walked into the shelter all those years ago. He’d been a bit older than the usual desired age for hybrid adoptions so he hadn’t expected much when Heechul had escorted the couple towards the exotic section. He’d stayed in his corner of the room playing his video game, but he’d kept an eye on them as they smiled and shook hands with all the desperate little ones crowding them. They seemed genuinely nice, with smiles that lit up their eyes and the man always making his wife laugh. 

When they finally got close enough, Seokjin greedily scented the air, thinking if he ever had someone pick him he hoped they smelled as good as these two. The man - though obviously old for a human - smelled strong and healthy. Faint hints of cigar smoke and old books clung to him almost as much as his mate’s scent did. And his mate - the wife - smelled exactly how Seokjin had always thought a mother would. A light hint of expensive perfume couldn’t cloud the endorphins that were coming off of her in waves from being surrounded by the little ones. She was older too - perhaps younger than her husband by no more than a handful of years - but she too seemed to be in good health. She smelled so comforting to Seokjin that he stopped paying attention to his game and let his little avatar get killed three times in a row as he glued his eyes on the woman. 

Heechul actually herded the pair towards him and he set down his controller and bowed formally, wanting to make a good impression despite the fact that he knew they would never pick him. He’d thought they’d merely shake his hand and move on, but the man had kept asking him questions about his hobbies and what he wanted to do when he grew up. The woman kept staring at him with her hand held to her chest like she’d been shocked by something. 

It wasn’t until a half-hour later when Heechul had called him into his office with the pair that he realized she’d decided she wanted him. A mere few minutes and she’d decided she was his mother and no one else’s. “You’re so handsome I fell in love at first sight, my Jinnie,” she’d always say. 

He’d had nineteen wonderful years with them before pneumonia took them both within days of each other. Nineteen years filled with happiness and laughter with two of the most loving people he’d ever met. He missed his routines with them - the fishing every weekend with his dad, cooking with his mom, the Sundays all three of them would sit around with face masks and watch movies. 

When they’d passed away, his heart had broken. He’d known it was inevitable - they were both getting old and frail - but he’d thought he’d have just a little more time with them. After the funeral, he waited with bated breath for someone to storm in and drag him off to be put down somewhere. When nothing had happened, he’d grown steadily more careless, often forgetting he wasn’t supposed to be on his own with the big house and vast wealth. He’d carried on with his life like he knew his parents would have wanted him to. He kept going to med school since his dad had pulled so many strings to let him attend, he tried going on dates that never went anywhere, he hung out with his friends whenever he had the time. Life went on. 

Trying to stop the robber had been stupid of him - he knew that now. He should have just let the man get away and then never reported him so he’d be left alone...but once he spied his mother’s favorite pearls in the man’s hand he’d lost his shit. He’d fully shifted, letting his wings out and knocking over a couple of vases with their width, and his nails expanded until finally he’d roared and the robber had screamed and thrown the nearest item at his head in his rush to escape. Unfortunately, that item had been his mother’s bird statue that was made entirely of gold, so he’d been knocked out cold. His friend had found him after he hadn’t shown up to their gaming session and called the police and an ambulance, where they took his blood and found out that he was a hybrid with deceased owners and proceeded to shove him in the nearest pound while they contacted his mother’s very distant cousin. 

He’d never even gotten to meet this so-called cousin before the fat lawyer that smelled like fried chicken rushed him out of his own home, making him leave behind even the belongings that were his. He had no idea what use the cousin had for his manga or video game collection. Let alone the used sports jerseys or his hamper full of dirty clothes. 

Thankfully Heechul existed and he’d been able to contact his old caregiver before he was sent to the state center. He knew that place was a death sentence. And now here he was, in a strange home with barely anything besides his small suitcase. He missed his dad. He missed his mom. He missed feeling loved and hopeful for the future. He missed the way his dad always knew what to do. He missed the way his mom would brush his mane and groom his feathers while she sang. 

Seokjin cleared his throat and swiped at his suddenly wet cheek. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He shook his head and went to the sink to wash his dishes, heading back to his room when he finished for another sleepless night. 

****

Life in the ‘Dragon’s Lair’ (as he’d taken to calling it, despite said dragon’s constant eye-rolling) began to take on a new normal the longer he was there. Days began to blend into each other as he struggled to adjust himself to his new reality, but Namjoon and his mate were a great help. 

Luckily, his tuition had been prepaid by his father and the cousin had no way of taking his education away from him, so he still took his classes - albeit mostly online because he wanted to stay in his room most of the time. 

Money was thankfully of no immediate issue. There was more money in the book than he’d felt comfortable sharing with anyone, enough that he could still go years without a job if he needed to. He also knew that if he needed it, he could always ask Heechul for help, although the other would make him work in the cafe for it. He might do it anyway just for something to do. 

Namjoon and his mate were simply wonderful. His old friend had grown up into a great person who was sweet and intelligent, good to the people he cared about, and strong in ways that he probably wasn’t even aware of. His mate Star was just as good. She was funny and kind, with just enough sass to be interesting. And they were both sickeningly in love with each other to the point that Seokjin had to leave the house quite often to get some peace. Not that it upset him - he was incredibly happy for Namjoon. It just sometimes emphasizes how alone he was. 

But yes, Star was great. There was just...something about her. Something that drew him to her. Not in a sexual or attraction kind of way...more like - primal. Like the animal side of him saw her as a protector. Which, he supposed she kinda was since she was housing exotic hybrids, but still. He couldn’t figure it out. He was certain she was completely human, but sometimes underneath the frankly nauseating amount of reptile musk that she was constantly covered with, he could catch hints of the forest in her natural scent. Sure, there was a forest nearby, but why would the scent cling to her like that? There was something there and luckily for him, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good riddle. 

Beyond that, there was still one other pressing issue. His mate. 

He knew they were out there. He knew he’d caught their scent. When he’d passed the sea he’d been certain they were there. He just needed to find them. He didn’t want them to be alone too. 

“Jin, we’re about to head to the mall. Do you want to come shopping with us? The weather’s clearing up and I promised Namjoon we’d go to the ocean,” Star asked with a bright smile as he exited his room. 

“The ocean?” he responded, his brain halting for a second. Fate was working her magic, was she? 

“Yeah, he’s been wanting to go for a while but it’s been too cold. I thought we’d rent a small beach house and spend the weekend. So you’ll need swim trunks and towels, stuff like that. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine too. It’s up to you.” 

“No,” he rushed, feeling his ears go red with embarrassment as he let his eagerness show. “It’s fine. I’d love to go.” 

“Great!” Star grinned, threading an arm with his as she leads him out to the yard. “We’ll have so much fun!” 

He nods silently, his nose trying in vain to catch that salty scent on the air again. 

I’m coming. Just wait for me. 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief,@whiskeycherrypie donated $25, and requested Sam/Dean, very late seasons, switching. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

The second hunt, after, is when things start to feel real again.

First job was the shapeshifter and even after just a few weeks of post-almost-apocalypse vacation they were rusty, as much as they ever got rusty. Sam broke his damn finger, which Dean made fun of him for, and Dean limped around on a half-busted shin that Sam can just stop smirking about, any time now, but they felt—like what? Hard to pin down. Like they were stepping out into a strange world. Like they'd fire a gun and didn't know if it'd recoil the same way it always would, because the world was different. New. At least, Dean kept feeling that way, and he thinks he's known Sam long enough to guess Sam was feeling about the same. Every part of that job was—feeling for a step down in the dark, and then being surprised when it was there. Sam flicking through the local paper checking obits, cautious when he pointed out a possible connection, like he hadn't done the same thing a hundred, thousand, times before. Dean going through the trunk and pulling out their supplies and holding a fistful of silver bullets in his hand and thinking—is this it? Sam, getting the motel room after, when they'd been to the Urgent Care to check out Dean's stupid shin that it turns out, okay, wasn't broken after all, and the woman at the counter asking what kind of room, and Sam hesitating, and glancing back at where Dean was propped up in the office doorway.

But it was right, in the end. They did right. They saved most of a day and killed the bad thing and it turned out that after everything they were still the same guys they always were. After the world ended it was supposed to be maybe something else, but, shit, the world didn't quite end after all, and it turned out… Sam gave his stupid shin a few more days to rest up and kept his finger splinted and then after a week there was Sam, laptop open on the table when Dean came in for breakfast, and he said, "Hey, you want to work?" with every expectation that Dean would, and that—that was new, kind of, in the way that Sam wasn't trying to distract himself or Dean, and it wasn't to patch up some broken thing that couldn't be fixed, and it wasn't because they owed anything to anyone. It was because it turned out that after all this was who they were, and Dean looked at Sam over the island while he whipped up some eggs semi-capably (although he never used enough salt) and Sam glanced over his shoulder when the toaster popped and saw Dean looking, and raised his eyebrows like—what?—like this wasn't just the best hope of Dean's life being realized, finally, right here in a hole in the ground at eight in the morning, on the wrong side of forty. "What's the job?" was all Dean said, then, and then—that was it. That was that.

Second hunt's a success, too. Vetalas, in Wyoming. Dean hates Wyoming. Not for the people or the scenery or the weather, even, though the weather can be a bitch, but because you can't get anywhere with a damn mountain leaping up into the middle of the highway and having to drive three hours the wrong direction to get to where you're going. Sam has heard this argument, and rolls his eyes mostly, but this time, this second hunt, he laughs, and stretches out in the passenger seat with the window rolled down and his elbow hanging out, and it's summer and he's stripped out of his jacket and has his sleeves rolled up and he just looks—good. Dean recites his lines: "Lander to Pinedale should be, what, forty minutes, but no, we gotta drive a hundred miles out of the way to get around this stupid—" and Sam sighs and says his line, which is, "Don’t you like driving?" and Dean says, "Don't get facts in the way here, man, that is not the issue—" and it's… the same ruts, the same life, but Sam's face is all folded up in glad creases, his dimple carved in so deep it looks like it's going to set up residence there full-time, and Dean eases off the gas a little, stretches out the drive, even if it's around the same damn mountain they've circled three times, looking for the same damn vetalas. They find them, of course, and they kill them, and they find three men drained of life in the cellar at their cabin but there are two more that Sam and Dean save, and on the drive back to Kansas through the night Sam's not in that same sunshine mood but he's not anything but content, either. Dean had—he'd hoped, in some shriveled part of himself that hadn't really had much luck with hoping—and maybe the last few years he'd gotten some proof, that what he'd wanted was what Sam wanted, too—but to have the proof, right here, it's—he doesn't pray, really, but he says inside his head very clearly thank you, to whatever might be listening. It's all he's got. He hopes it's enough.

They stop for a booze restock, for stuff to make dinner, and back at the bunker Dean's slow, watching Sam unpack his half of the car. His finger's still splinted but it can probably come off, soon. He gets his backpack on his shoulder and his duffle over his arm and the twelve pack in the good hand, and glances at Dean, and says, "What?"

"Nothing," Dean says. Sam's eyes narrow in that tiny tiny way where he smooths it out so fast he must think Dean won't notice, but Dean's honest, here, and he smiles without meaning to, and Sam frowns at him but smiles back, confused. Dean claps him on the shoulder and Sam shakes his head, says, "Dude, what?" and Dean says, "Nothing, you deaf? C'mon, let's get the beer in the fridge before it gets any warmer," and Sam shakes his head again and says, "You're the weirdest person I know," and Dean looks over his shoulder and says, "Takes one, Sammy," and he's just—sure. Sure, all through his body, from gut to his heart to his stupid brain, always lurching, looking for the exits. What a thing.

Spaghetti and meatballs, for dinner. The sauce is from a jar but Dean takes his time with the meat. Half pork, half beef, the spices he likes, a bunch of garlic. Sam practically inhales it and gets sauce on his chin and Dean grins at him until Sam colors and says, "Shut up," and swipes it off with the heel of his hand, and then shrugs and licks his palm. They're on season two of Game of Thrones and they watch an episode, and Dean wants Joffrey to die and asks Sam to tell him it'll happen soon, and Sam just smiles and says, "Dude, I'm not giving you spoilers after how long I had to wait to read the books. Hold your horses." Dean mutters, "I'll hold your horses," and Sam raises his eyebrows, but Dean just waves a hand instead of getting into the bickering match they could.

They get fresh beers and Dean says, "Hey, let's—" and so they head upstairs to ground level, and Sam brought two spare bottles each, and they go around to the back side of the big abandoned power plant where there's an ugly concrete bench they hung out on, sometimes. Especially before, when the bunker was fuller than it is now. A place to be quiet, to breathe. To watch the moonrise, as they're doing now, and drink in quiet companionship, their knees touching because they both tend to sprawl, and they've never, ever minded each other's warmth. Even when they were pissed at each other, or when it hurt.

Dean holds his beer in both hands, leaning his head back against the stone wall. Sam's quiet at his side. A three-quarter moon, so it's bright enough to lay white-silver on the planes of Sam's face. His nose, a gleam of that goofy ski-slope swoop. His brow. A light shine on his hair, and brighter on the silver that's started to come out in it. Dean's always been a little entertained by that—Sam's four years and a handful of months younger than him, and it's Sam who's been going grey faster—but he never said anything about it because—well, it's just something, that's all. Sammy, with grey hair. He's so damn lucky to see it he can't really pull Sam's pigtails about it.

Everything else, though: fair game.

"Never have I ever?" Dean says, after who knows how long sitting in silence. They're on their second beers, anyway.

Sam huffs. "You're kidding," he says. He tips his head on his shoulder, looking sidelong at Dean in the dark. "Anyway, wouldn't you just get… trashed, at that game? You've done everything, right?"

"Very much underselling your weird kinky shit, brother mine," Dean says. Sam's eyebrows jump and Dean's stomach rushes hot, in a way he didn't expect, even if he's been halfway thinking, all day, about how they were going to get here. "Try this: never have I ever… ate out a chick during shark week."

Sam half-scoffs, weak. Dean raises his eyebrows back, and Sam says, "Seriously?"

Dean spreads a hand, expansive, and Sam says, quiet, "This is so stupid," but then, because Dean knows his brother very well indeed, Sam takes a drink, and Dean says "Ha!" out loud and shoves Sam's shoulder, and then says, after a second's thinking, "Dude, seriously?"

"It's just blood," he says, and it's not exactly defensive but there's a shard of it buried somewhere in there. Dean laughs, half-surprised and half-not. "Not like we don't deal with it every day. You should broaden your horizons."

"Oh, my horizons are plenty broad," Dean says. It's bubbling in his chest, now, ready to come out. This is stupid—"This is stupid," Sam says, out loud—and teenage, and dumb, but he feels… "Come on, your turn," he says, and Sam lets out this long exasperated sigh, but even in the moonlight Dean can see that he's smiling, and Sam says: "Okay, fine: never have I ever had a threesome."

Dean sits up straighter. "What, seriously?" he says, derailed, and Sam shrugs, and of course Dean has to take a drink because Sam knows that Dean—and then it's on, really.

Dancing on the edge. The things they know about each other, the things they might could guess. Dean kills his last beer on never have I ever had sex in a movie theater, and he tells Sam after that that he needs to live more, and Sam smiles at him kind of bitchy and then says, "Hang on, stay here," and Sam gets up and half-jogs away, disappears down the recessed hidden driveway that leads to the garage, and Dean sets his bottle down among the empties and rubs his palms over his thighs, letting the warm denim scratch him up, taking a deep breath. It feels too big to say. Even if he's sure. It's too big to even be true, if it's…

Sam comes back, quick, like he ran the whole way. He has two more beers and the bottle of bourbon they bought today tucked under his arm. "Okay, sucker," he says, handing Dean an open bottle and plumping back down on the bench. Their thighs are solid together. He clinks his bottle with Dean, setting the bourbon down at their feet. "Never have I ever…" He licks his lips, shine in the dark. "Slept with a demon."

Dean blinks. He takes a breath. "I don’t think that's how you're supposed to play," he says, and Sam bites his lips between his teeth and shrugs. Maybe he's a little tipsier than he seems, even if they're only three beers down. Sam takes a drink, quick, but his eyes are focused on Dean's face, the moon a little behind his shoulder, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek but drinks, too, and Sam lets out this quick short breath that—Dean doesn't know, what that means. He feels caught at something.

"Did you—" Sam starts, and cuts off. Quiet, for a second. Dean's cheeks feel hot. "I didn't mean… I meant on Earth, not in…" Awkward. The air goes out of Dean, realizing that Sam's trying to give him an out.

"Me too," he says, voice weird in this way he could be embarrassed by but—he isn't, and Sam's face turns away, and even with full moonlight Dean can't tell what that expression is.

He puts his beer down. "Never have I ever slept with a vampire," he says.

Sam's chin ducks down. Dean licks his lips and folds his hands between his knees. Sam puts his beer down, too, and braces on the edge of bench. There's barely enough room between them for his hand to fit; his knuckle presses against Dean's thigh and Dean licks his lips.

"Never have I…" Sam shakes his head, huffs. He looks up, out at the empty farmland spilling out from the back of the plant. His eyes shine, open, though Dean doesn't know what he's looking at. "I've never slept with a guy. On Earth, I haven't."

Dean bites the wet off his bottom lip, dragging, and then ducks down and gets the bourbon instead. Twist of the cap and a glug goes down—christ, hot. He coughs. "I hate the cask strength shit," he says, and Sam says, "Wuss," thin, and Dean could bicker back but it's here. Here. All this stuff he didn't know Sam was thinking about—things Dean kept secret, and things he didn't—and he didn't mean to dredge it all up at once but maybe it's better. Like this, in the dark. The night warm, smelling like grass and the weeds growing up among the fallow field, and Sam's knuckles still pressed up right there, where if Dean put his hand down he'd cover them.

"Do you remember that time in, uh," Dean starts. Swerving around the mountain, the long way through the dark. Sam's head turns towards his, a little. "Montana, I guess it was. Somewhere. You were… seventeen. That July. You got so wasted."

"Whose fault was that?" Sam says. Dean grins, makes sure it's wide and wicked, and Sam glances up at him and huffs again, more of a laugh this time than whatever the last one was. "That was when we invented beer bowling."

"Yeah, and you sucked," Dean says, and Sam shakes his head and leans back against the plant wall, tipping his head back to look at the stars. They did play, ten-pin with glass shattering because the only ball they had was a half-rounded rock. Then they sat out with Sam tipsy and Dean getting that way himself, only twenty-one and not quite as sure of what he was doing as he is now, and they just… talked. He can't even remember about what. They just sat and they were together and it was about the happiest Dean was that whole year. Like if he could just have that, forever, things would be okay. That was… god, twenty years ago.

"One more round," Dean says, now. Sam's eyes close. Dean leans the bottle on Sam's thigh so he can feel it. "Never have I ever kissed you."

Sam's eyes pop wide when Dean picks up the bottle, and takes a drink. He sits up straighter. Dean lets the burn of the swallow go all the way to his stomach, a bonfire there, and watches Sam's face as the thoughts flicker across it, limned in moonlight. Sam opens his mouth, and closes it, and he's not mad just like Dean knew he wouldn't be mad but it's still enough of a relief that Dean tips the bottle his way, says, "Technically, you did too, so—"

Sam takes it out of his hand but doesn't drink. "No, we didn't. When?"

Dean wipes his mouth, dragging his hand over his chin, and down. Sam's watching him. "After the second trial," he says, finally. Sam frowns. "Your fever was pretty bad. You kept talking about…" He shakes his head. All sorts of things Dean doesn't like remembering. About worth, and right, and being clean. Nonsense, as far as Dean was concerned, though he didn't know how to say it that way, then. With how it was. Instead he leans back against the wall and says, because it's true, and he can say it now: "I just wanted to… I guess, to prove something. How I didn't think of what you were saying the same way you did. How I didn't believe all that crap you were saying about yourself. It was bad and I didn't want you to believe it, either, and I didn't really know how else to… You didn't remember, though, so I guess it didn't do the trick. To be honest, thought I was a better kisser."

Sam doesn't smile. It was a pretty weak attempt. He stares at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder.

How it was, then. In the hotel, where Metatron was staying. When he found Sam on the floor and about had a heart attack. Sam's skin burning and ice-cold by turns. His body this huge out of control thing, being taken over by something Dean didn't understand. He woke up while Dean was trying to drag him to the bath, but he wasn't really conscious, hardly making sense. Babbling, half-frantic, trying to make Dean understand—how it was okay, how it was fine if he burned, if somehow the trials scoured the marrow out of his bones, because it was just right after all he'd done and all he hadn't, and it was a use for him, when he hadn't been worth anything in so long. Dean had told him no, over and over, and no again, and he'd slapped Sam at some point to get him to shut up, to try to shock him out of the awful monologue, but Sam didn't even register it, clinging to Dean's shirt while the tub filled, the sack of ice Dean had brought bobbing to the surface. It can mean something, Sam had said, nodding, tears in his eyes, trying to smile, and Dean wanted to throw a chair through the window but he grabbed Sam's face instead and he said it does and Sam shook his head, confused, and Dean leaned in against him, ready to cry too, and instead he…

"I thought," Sam starts, and immediately stops. His hands twist around the bourbon bottle. "I dreamed that."

Dean thinks of a joke to make, something about Snow White, but he keeps his mouth shut. He remembers it, clearly. Sam's mouth, hot and dry against his own. His hands clenched in Dean's shirt, and on the side of his neck. Weak and strong at once. If Sam dreamed it, what does he remember?

Sam looks down at the bottle for almost a minute, Dean counting it away with beats of his heart. A breeze picks up, light and warm. A cricket, somewhere, chirping and then going quiet. It could feel bad but it doesn't. It could be terrifying, but it's just—Sam, and him. Like always. Like it will be, always. He knows that, now. No matter what.

Sam smiles, eventually, for no reason Dean can tell. He wipes his thumb over the rim of the bottle and then takes a drink, two long swallows that are loud as they go down, and then he takes the bottle away from his mouth and puts his hand on Dean's jaw and leans in and kisses him. Brief, hot. Not dry. His mouth tastes like bourbon. It tastes just like Dean's.

Sam leans back. Dean takes a deep breath. Sam looks at him, very close, and Dean puts his hand on the side of Sam's neck, his fingers sliding into Sam's hair, and Sam's lips quirk and he nods and Dean leans in and kisses him, again, slower, pressing in soft with his lip plush against Sam's, tipping to make it good, and his jaw's cupped in both big mitts and Sam opens for him and it's…

He pulls away eventually. He must have been breathing, during, but he hardly sees how. Sam kisses the corner of his mouth, weirdly sweet, and his hands drag down to Dean's chest before he pushes back, blinking. "You better remember that one," Dean says, and Sam smiles briefly, but shakes his head, not letting them off the hook.

"I didn't…" What goes there? Dean could guess but he doesn't want to. Sam's thoughtful now, but his hand's on Dean's forearm, because Dean's hand is—oh, still locked there on the side of Sam's neck, holding on. Sam's still, doesn't seem to mind, and Dean lets his thumb brush over Sam's stubble. Familiar. The world new, and not-new.

Sam squeezes his arm. "Did you start the stupid game just to say that line?" Dean shrugs. Sam rolls his eyes, and detaches Dean's hand from his neck, and stands, but pulls Dean up at the same time, and this time when he kisses Dean it's—full, real, Sam holding him close and Dean lifting his face up for it and Sam getting an arm around his shoulders and Dean pressing his mouth open, just a little, licking Sam's top lip and getting a slow, deep inhale where Sam's close enough that he can feel it.

"Sammy," Dean says, and maybe there's more to say. More that should be said, if this is what—but Sam shakes his head, and says, "Come on," and scoops up the bourbon and his empty beers, and so Dean scoops his up, too, and follows Sam around the plant and down the stairs to the bunker and to the kitchen, where they drop the bottles in a rattle of glass into the recycle bin Sam insisted they get, and then Sam looks at him in the light, his hair a little rucked-up at the back from where Dean was messing with it and his mouth a little pink and his expression just… considering, open, honest, and Dean looks back, not trying to hide a thing. How can he? It's Sam.

*

In the morning, Dean wakes up slow, alone in his room. He has a shower, taking his time, and wraps up in his robe, and comes into the kitchen to find coffee made but no breakfast, and he pours a cup and thinks about eggs, or maybe waffles if he wants to wrestle that ancient cast-iron waffle pan down from the top of the shelf, and he's thinking mainly about the food but he's also thinking, of course, about Sam, and it's only about five minutes of him standing there with his hip against the kitchen island before the door creaks, distant, and then—Sam, in the doorway, shining with sweat.

Dean's stomach flips, very slightly. It's just Sam, soaked and gross after a run. It's every morning, like the last, except, of course—

Sam hesitates for just a second. His mouth turns up at one corner, a little rueful, and then he comes in and grabs his metal bottle from the fridge, and gulps water. Dean turns to watch him, coffee warm in both hands, and when Sam's done he leans against the fridge, breathing deep, and then says, "I don't know, it feels like it should be weirder," like he's continuing a conversation they were in the middle of without interruption.

"Nothing weird about being hot for my bod," Dean says, calm, and Sam snorts. He looks at Dean sidelong, and then turns and really looks at him. Looks, from Dean's mouth to his slippered feet, and it's not much of a view in the robe but Dean spreads his arms out, anyway, and Sam bites his bottom lip, half-smiling. Dean sets his coffee on the island, runs his thumb along the lipstick-red rim. "You know," he says. "It doesn't ever have to be more than this. Just… how we've got it. It's good, now."

"It is," Sam says, easy. He twists the cap back on to his bottle, sets it on the counter, and folds his arms over his chest, and he's still just looking but Dean feels, now, the difference in it. It's just Sam but it's also… maybe a new part, a Sam that Dean didn't really get before, and the consideration there, the curiosity, the attention, it's… He tilts his head back, looks at Sam right back. Sam smiles.

Last night they did nothing more than kiss. Dean stepped close in the kitchen and tipped his head up and Sam met him, one more time, and it was soft and a little strange and a little new, but it felt right, in a way that's been full in Dean's chest, from the first moment of Sam's hand on his face to—well, it hasn't gone away.

"I was thinking I'd make waffles," Dean says, still buoyed in it. "You want one or two?"

"Two," Sam says, and Dean nods, and Sam gets the pan down—showing off, tall bastard—and then goes off to shower, and Dean mixes up the batter and butters the pan and pours in the mix and watches for when the steam stops, eyes on the cast iron but his thoughts around the corner of two hallways and down a few doors, and when he's got four waffles stacked on two plates and he's wondering if he's gonna need to send in a rescue team, Sam comes back into the kitchen with wet hair and says, "I'm going to run a marathon," and Dean blinks at him, entirely derailed, and says, "What?"

A marathon. Apparently Sam's been thinking about it for a while. His runs, he says, in the morning, are usually five miles, but he's been running a little longer each time, and he's at seven now without much worrying about the extra distance. He wants to go the whole way. See if he can do it, he says.

Dean's busy smearing as much butter as he can feasibly fit into the squares of his waffle, but he gives Sam a look. "If I can, he says," Dean mutters, and maybe it's against usual policy to give Sam full credit but it gets a surprised blink and then Sam looking down at his own syrup-free plate with a soft curve to his mouth, so—worth it. Dean cuts a four-square bite and pauses, watching the melty puddles form on the plate. "So, what. Are you going to enter one of those city things? Am I gonna have to drive along the route with Gatorade and applaud from the sidelines? Are you dressing up as a moose for charity?"

Sam shakes his head. "I can donate to charity on my own time," he says, although to be honest Dean's now taken with the moose idea. Sam sees him thinking about it and rolls his eyes. "No. But—I can figure out a route with my phone. Just around here. Anyway, it can't hurt, for the job."

"Yeah, I'll let you chase down the next werewolf," Dean says, shaking his head. Marathons. His brother.

They finish eating about the same time. Sam sips at his coffee while Dean sucks maple from his thumb. "You want to find a job," Dean says, while Sam's piling their forks and plates together, "or do you want to go for another jog? Gotta get up to twenty-six miles somehow."

"Twenty-six point two," Sam says, standing up with the dishes in hand, and then he leans over and brushes Dean's thumb away from his mouth and kisses him, again, and Dean grips the edge of the table and Sam's shoulder, his mouth pushed open on Sam's tongue, sliding in easy like he's got the run of the place and doesn't expect an ounce of resistance. Fair enough. Dean tips his head back and tastes Sam, syrup-and-coffee, and when Sam pulls back his eyes are half-closed and he licks his lips, and his eyes drop to Dean's mouth.

"Weird?" Dean says.

"Should be," Sam says, quieter, but he stands up, and lets his thumb drag over Dean's jaw before he steps away, to the sink, and he doesn't say anything more when he puts the dishes in and stands there with hands braced on the edge for—ten seconds, twenty, thirty—before he turns the water on.

Dean could say something but there's nothing to say. It's weird. It's not. That it's not is weirder. He gets up, refreshes his coffee with the hot from the pot, says, "I'll look for a job," and goes to the library, and lets Sam think, with his hands in soapy water, and quiet to do it in.

There are odd stories—news of the weird never fails to deliver—but nothing so pressing as to drag them across the country on an urgent mission. Dean doesn't feel the need to fake anything, either, to yank out of the bunker on a long drive of not talking through the night and too-loud music and burying their thoughts into means/motive/monstrous opportunity. He sends some links to Sam's email and goes and finds clothes instead, finally, and figures—well, today's a day off. He changes the Impala's oil, washes her. Goes through the trunk, sitting on a stool dragged over from the garage's weird little office, and makes notes of what they're out of, what needs replaced. More salt. More holy oil. Or—not more holy oil, since they haven't seen hide or nor hair of angel or demon in weeks and weeks and maybe never again, and he sits, then, with the empty flask turning over and over in his hands, looking into the trunk, thinking about—how the world is, now. How there's downtime. How, incredibly, there are marathons to run.

In the library, later, Sam's reading on his laptop. "That thing in Pierre might be something," he says, without preamble, and Dean nods—it could be—but then Sam says, "I sent it to Jody, to see if she and the girls want to take a look."

Dean sets the empty flask on the table. Sam's eyes barely flick to it. "What are we gonna do, then?" he says, and Sam sits back in his chair, laptop lid half-closed. He half-smiles, looking down at nothing, and then he looks up at Dean again.

They sleep together that night. Nothing complicated. Dean's room, and the lamps all off but the one over on the table by the door, so Sam's half-haloed in amber light this time, instead of the white moon. Dean's shirt comes off but Sam's stays on, and they're still in their socks, and Sam leans over Dean on one elbow, touching his chest, curious. It's not romantic, or urgent, but Dean keeps smiling, and Sam finally catches him at it and whispers, "Shut up," and kisses him when he opens his mouth to protest that he wasn't saying anything. While they're necking Dean gets Sam's jeans open, and slides his hand inside, and Sam bites his lip but he's half-hard, and gets harder while Dean learns the shape of him. Sam rocks a warm palm over where Dean's swelling up and Dean rips at his own belt, unzips, and then rolls them over so Sam's on his back, and Sam grips his hips, looking up, his hair loose on the pillow and his face just…

After, Dean wipes his hand on Sam's shirt. "Dick," Sam says, and Dean says, "Hey, it was already a disaster, I just added to the general—" and Sam rolls his eyes and nudges Dean off, and pulls the shirt over his head, tugging it off careful from the back. Dean rolls onto his side, looking. Sam's shoulders, and his back. Muscle and, miraculously, no scars. His skin that same all-over bronze, like he's immune somehow to farmer tan. Sam tosses the shirt in the same vague direction that Dean's went and then looks over his shoulder, finds Dean looking. Half-smiles. He lays back, his head on the pillow, and tucks a hand underneath it, looking up at the ceiling. Dean just keeps looking at Sam.

"It should be weird," Sam says, after a second.

"It's a little weird," Dean says. Sam snorts, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Sam's head tips, on the pillow. He looks into Dean's eyes, then at his lips. He reaches over and presses his thumb against Dean's bottom lip, and Dean lets Sam dent it, pulling, and then he flicks his tongue against Sam's skin. Faint salt, faint bitter. Sam drags his thumb down, wet trail over Dean's chin, and then settles his hand on Dean's chest.

This. This is weird. Sam looking at him, quiet. Sweat's still drying in the middle of Dean's back and he has the sense of what it feels like to have his brother's hand on his dick full in his head. The body part, though, that—matters, of course it matters, but it feels secondary to Sam just... fully present. That they're both in the same weird, weird boat, and that it could go on like this forever, and it wouldn't change a thing.

"I don't want to wonder about it anymore," Dean says. He gets his hand on Sam's wrist, squeezes. "There's—I don't know, man. There's a bunch of crap we should probably be talking about, freaking about. But it's…"

"Beside the point?" Sam offers, and Dean nods. That's it. Sam nods, too, and closes his eyes, and maybe that makes it easier.

Dean closes his, too, and it's just the amber-colored haze of dark, and the kinda-too-warm of the bed, and his hand sticky and needing to be washed, and vaguely wanting a shower. And he's an adult, and he's fucked before, and so it's also that one article about that disappearance in Winston-Salem that he's been half-thinking about all day, wondering if there's more—and then remembering that they're out of milk—and then, when Sam's thumb drags over his pec, under his nipple, the vague jolt of: Sam, and maybe that should be all that fills his head but Sam suffuses every other thought. Dean can't make any more room in himself than he already has.

"Did that woman in North Carolina disappear at night?" Sam says, after another minute.

Dean's eyes fly open. "Shit," he says, to Sam's frown, and they sit up at the same time, and then—it's them, and the job, and nothing's really, in the end, that different.

*

Sam keeps running. He tracks his step count with an app, figures out mile by mile how far he can push it, how fast he can go. Dean goes into Lebanon by himself one day, hitting the post office and the market and just getting some air, and then he rolls to a stop at the single stop sign and checks his odometer, and then drives—a square, basically, twenty-six miles around the farm-fields both worked and fallow, and he imagines what it would be like to run the whole way. He's run for his life, and he's run for the lives of others, but just to do it for himself—no. He gets Sam, most every way, but this one is gonna stay a mystery, he thinks.

"What took so long?" Sam says, when he gets home.

The milk's still mostly-cold. "Estelle wouldn't stop hitting on me, man," Dean says, hauling in his half of the load, and Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean slots the barely-frozen pizza into the freezer and stocks the eggs into their holder and then, when Sam's done putting the cans onto their spot on the shelf, tugs at Sam's belt-loop and gets Sam surprised and then leans up and kisses him, pressing him against the dry goods, and Sam kisses back good and pleased and open and then, when Dean sets back down on his heels, touches the back of Dean's ear and murmurs, soft, "If I knew angry old ladies got you hot I would have tried something different, last night," and gets Dean laughing, unexpected, tucked into the corner of their kitchen.

They've been slow with each other. Dean has more experience but he didn't realize how much more. Sam's not uncertain, not nervous—incredible, how not-nervous Sam is, and Dean got finger-shaped bruises on his triceps one day when Sam just held him down and kissed and kissed and kissed him, body-confident and knowing, smiling pleased and half-smug when he pulled back and Dean was nearly dazed with wanting him. Little shit. Still: Sam's not a virgin, not by half, but he was being honest when he said he'd never screwed a guy—on Earth, that is, and Dean knows exactly what he meant by that qualification, and it was a very very brief conversation afterward ("It doesn't count," Sam had said, firm and honest there too, and Dean had nodded because, after everything, he trusts Sam to be honest), and they left it at that.

It's Sam who brings up more. Dean's content to follow. It's Sam who gets Dean's jeans open one night, petting at the base of his dick and sliding down to cup his balls, long fingers and big broad palm, and it's good but it's Sam who hmms, and then says, "Mind if I—" and crawls backwards down the bed—Sam's bed, the mattress tipping with Sam's weight—and Sam who bolsters Dean's dick up out of the split of his fly and breathes there, eyes flicking up the length of Dean's body where he's propped on his elbows, briefly dazed. "Go ahead," Dean says, voice coming from somewhere approximately at the center of the earth, and Sam snorts, and fists Dean capably from root to tip, and then leans in and licks, flat and deliberate up the spine of it, a wet warmth that shocks in Dean's thighs and between his shoulders and sparking in his hands, making him fist into the blanket. Sam's eyes are closed, like he's concentrating. Dean tips his knee out wide and touches Sam's cheek, and Sam's mouth tips up at the corners, and he shifts forward and takes the head in his mouth and—oh, that. He doesn't quite know how to get his mouth around it at first but he figures it out quick, and he sucks the tip and licks under the crown and fists the rest and when Dean's close, clenching, Dean says, "Come up here," and Sam opens his eyes after who knows how long and they're black, practically, and he crawls up over Dean's body still jerking and Dean kisses him, licks the taste of himself out, and Sam breathes hot into his mouth and groans when Dean comes, looking down at the spill over his fist, and he says, "Fuck, that's good," rough and true. Dean pants through it for a few selfish seconds before he squirms down to return the favor, and Sam's mostly-hard just from sucking Dean, and he's weirdly a gentleman when Dean goes down on him, hands off and careful until Dean lifts off, gulping, and says, "Like you mean it, dude," and Sam laughs and then grips him and that's how they learn that Sam likes dick just fine, in fact, and that Dean likes even more how much Sam likes it.

Sam runs farther. Dean paces him, one day, when they fell asleep in the same bed and mostly managed to sleep through the night together, except for some moment around three a.m. when Sam kicked too hard and Dean threatened blurrily to murder him or dump him out of the bed, one or the other—and way too early after that, Sam nudged him awake, lacing up his running shoes, said, "Come on," and Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head and then, well, he came on.

Seven in the morning, autumn settling over the farms. Cold enough that Sam's breath fogs and Dean rubs his hands together, sitting in the idling car with the window down while Sam stretches his hamstrings. "You look ridiculous," Dean says, just to say something. Sam ignores him, of course. "How far are we going?" he says, instead, and Sam says, "Thirteen," and Dean checks the odometer and says, "Okay, Speedy Gonzalez, you just say—" and Sam says, "Go," and takes off, and Dean rolls his eyes and lets off the brake, and the Impala rolls forward, chasing Sam down the farm road, the sun glinting behind them so the whole damp stretch of gravel sparks silver. Nine miles per hour is the pace Sam asked for and Dean keeps it going, on the far side of the road while Sam lopes along on the left shoulder, and it's boring but not as boring as he thought it would be. He keeps an eye on the speedometer, makes the turns just behind Sam as the roads weave around the cornfields, the soy beans, the farm that's just gone to dead-dry grass that waves in undulating strange patterns in the morning breeze. He goes through Zepp one side one, side two, switches to AC/DC and cranks it during Big Balls so loud that a bird startles up out of the bushes by the road, and Sam laughs, coughs, keeps running. His pace doesn't slow, not by a step.

Sam stops, finally. An hour and a half, and Dean has to piss. He parks, turns off the car, while Sam breathes hard with his hands on his knees. "How was that?" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, still panting, and Dean can't wait any longer and goes over to the other side of the fence post and communes with the morning.

"Dude," Sam says, vaguely accusatory, but Dean only shrugs, and zips up when he's done. When he turns back around Sam's leaning on the car, sweat slicking his hair back behind his ears, and Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam shrugs. "That was good," he admits, finally. He's drinking the water bottle Dean's had sitting in the passenger seat the whole time. "Too fast to go the full twenty-six, but—yeah. Good."

He looks—content, again. Not smug, not even really glad. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, leans back against the car. Looks out over the little pond, the trees around it. Dean smiles, while Sam isn't looking, and then says, "Well, I left my gold medals at home, but if you want you can run back and get it—" and Sam rolls his eyes, and gets into the passenger side, and Dean gets to fake-bitch then about Sam's stinky sweaty ass on the vinyl, and it's a good morning, like they all are, anymore.

On the way home from a hunt—Ajo, Arizona, and vampires, in what Dean insists is the most ironic job they've ever been on—Sam has Dean stop at a drugstore. Two in the afternoon. Dean heads for the booze aisle and gets a six pack, and swings through the specialty candy and gets some pre-Christmas stocking filler, and then he walks around the aisles looking for Sam, and finds him in—

"Condoms?" he says. Sam glances up at him, holding a box, unfazed. Dean feels the black orb eye of the security camera on the back of his neck and feels—surreal. He tips his head. "I mean, not to go all sex-ed, but it's a little late, don't you think?"

Sam snorts. In lieu of responding he turns the box around in his hand and—not condoms. Astroglide. Dean licks the corner of his mouth and watches an old lady go by with her little cart on the far end of the aisle. "Yeah?" he says, and Sam lifts a shoulder, says, "You have a preference?"

Long time since Dean's had to think about it. He hitches the six-pack onto his other hip and comes and stands next to Sam, looking at the options. Fire & ice, spermicidal. Water-based. Sam's radiating heat, enough to feel six inches away, and Dean thinks about Sam thinking about this: driving through the cold desert, both of them tired after a night of chasing down the vamps, planning to crash in Amarillo. A motel, in Amarillo. He feels boring, normal. Shopping, with a bag of red-and-green Kisses in hand, and the wall of intensely pink pads and tampons looming at his back, and his—brother, waiting, while Dean reaches for the silicone-based KY he used to buy, when he used to have to buy it. The packaging's different but he's guessing the product's the same. He puts it in Sam's hand and Sam looks at it with his cheek sucked in on one side, and then Dean says, "You want something with, I don’t know, electrolytes?" and Sam says, "Yeah," and so Dean goes back to the wall of coolers and pulls out two Powerades, and Sam meets him at the cashier with rolled bandages and aspirin to replace what they used up out of the kit during this hunt, and the woman at the counter glances at their faces as she's ringing them up and Dean says, smiling, "Can I get a two-pack of lighters, too, miss?" and she's like seventy if she's a day but the charm offensive still works, and she's over-the-top as she hands them their receipt and tells them to be well, and Sam's giving him a sidelong look as they take the bags out to the car but, shit, Dean's had enough people giving him looks in his life, and Sam gets to but just about no one else does, now.

A motel, in Amarillo. Raining in west Texas like it never does. They get tacos and margaritas at a hole in the wall and it's still early, when they get back to the room, and Sam checks the stitches on Dean's shoulder—still holding—and Sam takes two aspirins to help with all the bruising on his side, and then Dean eats a Kiss from the mess of the Walgreens bag, and then he tosses the box holding the lube onto the closer bed, and he says, "So," and Sam shrugs, and says, again, "You have a preference?"

Shadow of a smile on his face. Dean gives him a look and Sam raises his eyebrows, all innocence, and Dean says, "You're a dumbass," and goes over and pulls Sam in by that godawful orange jacket and kisses him, and then he goes into the bathroom.

He takes his time. Showers, cleaning up. Leans his forearm against the wall and leans his head against his forearm and pushes his fingers inside, on the thin glide of the little complimentary bottle of conditioner, reminding his body that this is—yeah. This is good. He comes out with a towel loose around his waist and finds Sam mostly-stripped, leaning back on the bed with the TV on mute and his hand in his boxers. Dean glances at the screen—ESPN, showing basketball highlights—and says, "Jeez, you got a kink you haven't told me?" while Sam snaps the TV off, and Sam says, flushed, "Not my fault you took forever," and Dean says, frank, "Figured you wouldn't want any Mr. Hanky guest appearances on our first trip on the backroads, but if you'd rather—" and Sam says, "Jesus, Dean," and Dean grins like an asshole, and Sam rolls his eyes, and—

Sam's screwed women like this before, turns out, and knows to go slow. Dean's on his back, his one leg caught over Sam's arm and the other curled around Sam's hip, and he's not sure slow is slow enough. "Fuck," he says, grinding his head back against the pillow, and Sam kisses his jaw, murmurs, "Sorry," and Dean grips his shoulders and says, through a groan, "No, you're not," and Sam smiles against his skin. Dean knew it. Little shit.

Sam lifts up on one elbow, touches Dean's cheek. He drags his hips back, pushes in. Dean breathes shakily out and Sam's expression changes. "Is it—" he says, but thankfully doesn't ask the stupid question. He leans in, tilting Dean's hips to a new angle, and pushes again, and Dean drags a hand down Sam's chest, and Sam's watching his face, he knows, watching everything, learning him, figuring out what he likes, like he has with every new thing they've tried—probably cataloguing it on some insane chart, like he's been doing with the running—but just now, Dean doesn't care. He didn't realize how much he liked this, or how much he could. "God," he says, gripping Sam's hip, "go—" and Sam, thank christ, for once does what he's told.

Sam sucks him, to finish him off. When Dean's spent, Sam spits to the side, and then slides back up, kissing Dean's nipple and then the sweaty angle of his collarbone and his jaw and his cheekbone and the very end of his eyebrow, for some reason. "Freak," Dean sighs, content, and Sam cups his other cheek and says, "Back at you," quiet, and Dean tips his head in towards Sam's and breathes with him. Sam's mouth tastes like dick and it's a combo Dean is extremely fond of, but that's not, anymore, anything new. He reaches down and holds Sam's dick—still slick, because this is indeed the good lube—and half-hard, and sensitive apparently after doing its work, from how Sam hisses, and squeezes his forearm. Dean says, "If anyone gets to complain," and Sam lifts up then, and watches Dean's face while he slides a hand back between Dean's thighs, and presses gently. Dean bites the inside of his lip but lets Sam try it, and after a second Sam—slides a finger inside, where he's busted Dean open, and Dean lets his knee fall wide with the slick sting, and wonders. How much he could take, if Sam asked.

In the morning, Sam goes for a run. Dean stays very firmly in bed. "How'd it go, Romeo?" Dean says, drowsy in bed when Sam finally gets back, and Sam says, "You know that makes you Juliet?" but then, while Dean's frowning and trying to dredge up a comeback, he says, "Sixteen miles, mostly eight miles an hour, and I brought back coffee," and Dean lifts up enough to see the carrier on the table, steaming, and says, "You're forgiven for the Juliet thing."

He has Sam drive. He's feeling—hard to pinpoint, how he's feeling. Still cloudy, over Texas and then over Oklahoma, and Sam's driving a regular level of fast so they're going to get home around maybe dinnertime. He's thinking about steak—they could stop at that butcher in Smith Center—when Sam says, "Hey, let me ask," and Dean grunts, and Sam says, "What's it like?"

No guessing what he means. Dean says, "I mean, my ass is sore," and Sam rolls his eyes, and he's not being a dick about it or anything, and Dean thinks about how to answer. What's it like.

What came before doesn't matter, so much. They already talked about how only Earth counts, and that's true for a bunch of reasons, but on a physical level there's just no comparison. Even on Earth, though, this was different. What came before was mostly something Dean was okay with, either because he wanted it or because he needed it or because he had a job to do, and he's not someone who dwells on shit that could be different, and he doesn't really wish any of that was different. No point in it, and it doesn't bug him. It was always better, though, when he liked the person, and he got that sometimes, and when he got that it was… good, but. Maybe what he and Sam have isn't romance, isn't some big sweeping thing like from a movie—if Sam tried to sweep him off his feet, or vice versa, they'd probably just bicker and then fall over—but. But. What was it like?

He's been quiet too long. "It feels good," he says, honest. Lame, and Sam knows it, from how he glances across the seat. Random section of I-35, while Sam passes a semi. Dean watches the approaching road rather than look at Sam. "I don't know, man. Hard to describe. When you're with someone and you're figuring out what works, what makes the fireworks, that's the same from either side. But it's…"

Quiet, again. In the corner of his eye he can tell Sam looks at him, and he shifts his weight. His ass does hurt. Sam's got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, in the jockstrap department. That he can get used to; the weird feeling under his breastbone, this thing he's been carrying all morning, that's going to take a little longer, maybe.

"Jessica used to say she felt like she was taking care of me." Said—casual. Dean stares across the bench seat, can't help it, but Sam's just looking out at the road. One hand at ten, the other at about five thirty, his hair tucked behind his ear. His jaw clenching and then unclenching. "I don't know. I didn't get it—felt the other way around, to me—but I always… wondered, I guess."

Taking care? Maybe that's it. Dean finds he's holding his hand over the weird feeling in his chest and shakes his head. Last night: Sam's head bent next to his, Sam's chest against his, his back drenching sweat against the bed, his body loose-open finally to Sam's dick after so long of the punishing stretch. Sam's hips grinding in against his hard and low, and his arms around Sam's shoulders, and his eyes closed and just—taking, feeling the slick parted jolt and feeling Sam quicken and feeling, deep, in this jolted raw way, how Sam was getting close and Sam was winding tight and how Sam was coming, how he hitched and crushed in and breathed strange and didn't make any other sound but held Dean still and close and tight while he unloaded. With other men Dean was tired or sore or impatient, wanting his turn. Last night, he held Sam's shoulders and felt Sam's face duck in to his throat, and Sam's lips pressing there, and he put his fingers in Sam's hair and twined his leg around Sam's and wanted it to go on and on. Perfect.

"Guess you'll have to try it and find out," Dean says, after way too long.

Sam glances at him again, and pulls into the right lane, and settles in for the long drive. "Guess I will," he says, and he's watching the road, and so maybe doesn't notice the deep breath Dean takes, and lets out slow.

It turns out a marathon is not, in fact, twenty-six point two miles. "Technically," Sam says, while Dean's on his back under the Impala, "it's 26.21875 miles."

Dean rolls out on the bench to give that the incredulous look it deserves. On the stool, Sam shrugs. "Why," Dean says, "on earth, ever, would anyone care."

"It's the rules set by the competition," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and slides back under the car. "It's just the length. Same reason a football field's a hundred yards."

"Isn't it the length of the run that Greek dude did?" Dean says, later, chopping up potatoes for salad. Sam looks surprised, but not as annoyingly surprised as he's looked other times. "Did the length of that change, somehow?"

"Dean," Sam says, patient, "I hate to say it, but I am not in charge of the rules committee for marathons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

During dinner Sam's doing math. 26.21875 isn't that much longer than 26.2. In March he did twenty-five miles in three hours and fifty-five minutes, looping back from the pond and then running way out to town and back again, and he's nearly there. "What's the difference between 385 and 352," he mutters, and Dean doesn't bother even attempting to work it out in his head before Sam says, "Thirty-three yards."

"Doesn't seem worth making a whole-ass rule about," Dean says, but Sam's just ignoring him at this point, probably looking at his dumb running spreadsheet, and that's fine. Thirty-three yards, Dean thinks.

There are weird old surveyor tools in one of the archive rooms. One morning when Sam's back from his run, soaking off the ache in the shower, Dean figures out how the hell to use the damn wheely thing, and he walks it off. He drags his boot in the dirt, right in front of the stairs down to the entrance, and then walks it out: ninety-nine feet, up the driveway, out to the gravel road. Almost exactly the length to the gate. Dean smiles, and walks back from the gate, and then marks ninety-nine feet precisely, with his boot and then with three stones, so he'll know.

Sam's planning for May 1. Dean doesn't ask why; he figures he can guess. They find a job, April 21, and it's a family of ghouls that's gross and shitty and time-consuming to put down, but they manage it on the seventh day, at least, so they don't overshoot the deadline. Sam sleeps in the passenger seat while Dean drives straight through all the way back from Pensacola. When they get back to the bunker it's two in the morning and Dean has to shake him awake, and he blinks in the barely-moonlight, and Dean has to say, "Up and at 'em, Sasquatch," for Sam to rouse, and Sam follows him down the stairs and into the bunker and through the dark halls and then, quiet, straight into Dean's bed, barely kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket before he curls over the pillow, sighing into the mattress. Dean stands at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Then he goes upstairs, and does the thing he's been thinking of doing for weeks, and when he finally gets back to bed he strips down to a t-shirt and boxers and slides in right up against Sam's back, and Sam doesn't wake up but he does make this tiny sound in his chest, when Dean's arm goes around him, and Dean sleeps, finally, like the dead.

Thursday's a slow day. Sam's not running again, apparently, until Saturday—he ran pretty flat-out a few times during the hunt, and Dean guesses that's probably training enough. Because he is, in fact, supportive, Dean makes food that Sam actually likes—chicken breast and broccoli and some stupid grain thing that he read was good for slow-release energy, and Sam says, "I didn't know you knew what farro was," which proves that in fact it's Sam who's the dickhead, but then Sam practically inhales all of it, so. Success. They watch Chariots of Fire so Dean can remember the stupid song, and Sam goes and does his weird yoga stretching after that, and then they sit together in the workroom and make silver rounds for a while, since Dean got a load of pawned shitty jewelry in and it's one of those chores that falls down the priority list when bullets are flying, and then when they've packed up the bullet boxes, and there's really nothing else left to do with the day, Sam stands up and stretches with his fingers reaching way up and his body arching, pulling long after the hunched work, and Dean's mouth goes wet, and he says, without much thinking about it, "Hey, Sam," and Sam says yeah without hardly paying attention, and Dean says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Sam looks up at him. Dean lifts a shoulder and Sam takes a visible breath, and he says, "Smooth, Dean," but it's not a no.

Dean shaves, while he's waiting. He takes a whore's bath in his sink, and waits in his boxers just like Sam had, that first time, sitting on the little loveseat in his room. Sam comes back in a t-shirt and unzipped jeans and bare feet, his hair barely wet at the ends, and he frowns at first at the empty bed before he sees Dean, sitting, and Dean says, "Took you long enough," and Sam says, "Don't start."

He's not nervous. He lets Dean kiss him slow, though, laying together on the bed, and with Dean's hand in his jeans, and he's hard all the way and wet at the tip and a tight grip locked on Dean's hip before Dean finally slides his jeans down, feels. Damp, and a little soft, and small, and he rolls his hips back against Dean's thumb, making this deep sound in his chest. "How do you want it?" Dean says, and Sam shrugs and then laughs, shaking his head. "However," Sam says, honest, and Dean rolls his eyes and kisses him and then pulls his jeans all the way off while Sam pulls his shirt over his head, and Dean gets him on his knees, then, pulls his hips back, and applies his mouth to Sam's asshole, and that's not entirely new but Sam yelps, flinching, and Dean has to hook an arm around his hips and hold him in place to lick in deep, like he wants to.

"Tell me," Dean says, and Sam groans. He's reaching past Dean's arm, fisting his dick. His balls warm and heavy, and his body—open, yeah, from the shower, from prepping himself, from knowing how—from watching Dean do it, from doing it himself, sliding his fingers in and working the muscle soft and learning how it can be good. Sam's hips push back and Dean breathes out hot, ducks his head down, suckles one of Sam's nuts and then licks back up over the flattened-wet hair and the crinkle of his hole and scrapes his teeth over one asscheek, and Sam's hand reaches back and grips his shoulder and Sam says, deep, "Are you going to fuck me, or what," and Dean slides up, kisses between Sam's shoulderblades, presses his dick swelling up in his boxers against Sam's ass.

It'd be easier if he kept Sam on his knees. He turns him over instead, and Sam's—god, hot for it, his dick huge and curving up to his navel, his chest flushed in that deep way it gets when he's nearly ready to come, his eyes heavy. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Dean lube himself up, and when Dean slots a slick thumb inside Sam—still tight, christ—Sam's eyelids dip but he just pulls his knee higher, and reaches down and feels Dean's dick, fingers slipping over the head. He gathers his balls up out of the way while Dean pushes up between his legs, and he's watching down between them, avid, for the moment it happens. Dean watches Sam's face instead, and on the push inside—Sam's lips part, and his jaw loosens, and his breath stills, and his eyes—Dean pulls back an inch, slides in deeper, and Sam's face tips up and he meets Dean's stare, dragging in air, gripping Dean's thigh, arching. Dean gets a hand on Sam's jaw and holds him there, their noses brushing, and he feels it, the moment Sam's body ripples. How Sam lets him in.

Sam doesn't come from being fucked. Not that Dean expected him to. Dean holds his balls and kisses his jaw, his mouth, lets Sam bite his lips, while Sam jerks his own dick, and when Sam finally spills he groans, his thighs twitching around Dean's hips and his asshole rippling. Dean slides his hand up, following Sam's, squeezing and getting the wet over his own fingers, and finally his dick slides free from Sam's body. Sam says, low and surprised against his ear, ah, and Dean loves him, is all, and always has, and always will, and now is, really, no different.

"So," Dean says, much later. His head on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's fingers in his hair. "What's it like?"

He'd watched Sam clean up. His nose wrinkling as he wiped between his legs. Sam had said, "You like this?" and Dean had said, "The proof is in the pudding," and Sam had stared at him and then said, horrified, "Never talk again." He'd gone and got them both beers as repayment, and now those are gone, and they've cooled off but the bed's still kind of gross and smells like sweat and jizz and, honestly, Dean's about as comfortable as he ever is.

Sam's fingers go still in his hair. "Huh," he says, after a few seconds' thinking.

"Told you," Dean says.

Sam pulls, what little he can pull, at the top of Dean's head where he should really trim it up. "I'll think of something," he says, and Dean says, "Sure you will, Wordsworth," and Sam says, "I don't know why I thought this would make you less annoying," and Dean says, "It's a gift," but he's smiling, tipped in against Sam's side, and he can't see it but he'd bet that Sam is, too, or at least that Sam's got that dimple tucked into his cheek. Sam's hand spreads, cupping the back of Dean's head, and his mouth brushes Dean's temple. Yeah, Dean decides, warm. Dimple. Maybe two.

On Saturday, Sam goes for the run. His route's pretty simple. Looping west away from the bunker and back for thirteen miles; looping east and back for the other thirteen. The point two gets sorted out somewhere in there, as Dean understands it. He offered, a few months back, to pace Sam in the car if he wanted, and Sam looked surprised but then shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said, and Dean knows it's true. Still, he set out water at few-mile intervals—no one's out here, so unless a rabbit stole one of the stashes Sam should get the benefit—and Sam's pace is pretty damn consistent, so Dean knows when he'll hit the various markers, and knows when he'll be home, when it's done.

Sam stretches easily, on the stairs by the entrance. "If you twist your ankle a mile out, call me, but give me time to laugh," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, dropping his one foot and pulling up the other. "Do you want me to grab a pistol? Starting gun, or whatever?"

Sam shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. "See you in a few hours," he says, and presses a button, and takes off, and Dean watches him go, down the driveway, to the gate, and then turning and running from the morning sun. Nine a.m. Dean checks his watch, and says, "Okay," to no one, and goes back inside to at least do something with the morning.

An hour and fifty minutes later, Dean's leaning on the gate, drinking a beer, when Sam comes running back up the road. "Woo!" Dean calls, sort of sarcastic and sort of not, and Sam's breathing hard when he comes up but he steals the beer right out of Dean's hand, takes a few deep swallows. "Hey!" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, burps abruptly, says, "Thanks for the water," and takes off again, and Dean checks his watch—right on time. Maybe faster. He finishes the beer, tasting Sam's salt on the rim, and then goes and sets up his minimal surprise.

He disassembled the bench those weeks back. Too heavy to move any other way. While Sam's completing the second half, Dean moves the pieces out of the side of the plant where he'd moved them, and puts the thing back together. Big concrete supports; concrete slab, that he about gets a hernia hauling back up into place. He's sweating, when it's done, but it's right at the end of the drive, just in front of his three-stone marker.

It's where he's sitting, forty minutes after noon, with a bottle of the whiskey Sam actually likes on the step, and two glasses waiting to be filled, and the sun coming down soft and easy, not yet hot or humid, not like it'll be later this summer. He stretches out his legs, propped on his arms, and watches down the lane while Sam comes around the corner again. Sweaty, tired, but keeping pace, and Dean doesn't mock or call out or say any of the dumbass shit he could say. Sam pulls out his phone, as he's running down, and Dean knows because he paced it exactly how many steps are left, exactly how far Sam has to go. Sam slows, as he's approaching the marker, and when his sneaker hits the stone he presses something on the phone and it beeps and he says, "Done," and takes a huge deep breath, panting.

He tips his head back on his shoulders, eyes closed. Dean watches him. His heaving chest, the sweat darkening his hair to black at the temples. His body.

"You set up a cheering section," Sam says, finally. "I'm touched."

Dimpling. Dean cracks the bottle, pours two glasses. "What can I say," he says, while Sam tips his head back down, tired. "I'm a fan."

"Sure you are," Sam says, tired. He sits down, finally, and takes his glass from Dean. Their shoulders together, and Sam's knee tipped against his. "Whiskey's probably the opposite of what you're supposed to have after a marathon."

"Well, good thing I'm not a stickler for the marathon rules," Dean says, holding his glass up to toast.

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling, "it is," and lets their glasses clink. They drink, quiet, looking out together at the warm day.

[prettyboybarzal]

Dancing with Our Hands Tied (6)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Smut (because of course there would be)

Previous Chapter // Masterlist

The arm around your waist was heavy, tattooed, and most definitely not Charlie’s. 

“Pierre,” you hissed. “Get up.” He stirred and tugged you closer. You pushed back against his chest, sounds of struggle falling from your lips as he curled his arms around you. “Let go of me.”

“YN, I’m severely hungover,” he grunted. “Can we fight later?”

“No.”

It’d been two weeks since you ended up in Pierre’s bed after a failed attempt to tell him off and since then, you’d slept with him at least three more times. You fell into a strict routine, one that didn’t include sleepovers. Surprisingly, though, you didn’t put up a fight when he started to nod off on the pillow the night before.

You shoved him one last time, this time successfully, and pulled yourself from bed. The first thing you did was pull the shades back to allow light into the room. He exclaimed at the invasion and pulled a pillow over his head.

“I’ll make you coffee, but then you gotta leave because I have things to do.”

Pierre watched you leave and sighed as soon as you were out of sight. Before getting back to your apartment the night before, he was yearning for you. Each time you were near him, he felt his hands twitch. Your midriff was exposed, jeans sitting low on your hips, and each time you passed, he wanted to sink his fingers into your flesh, or better yet, his teeth. But he couldn’t do that, not with all the eyes around you, not when Josh was clearly confused by the lack of fighting going on. 

It felt like he could breathe when you texted him to come back to your place, and when he finally slipped through your front door and his lips met yours, he was satisfied.

“You know,” he spoke as he entered the kitchen where you were making coffee. His voice was still rough from sleep. “We’ve never fucked in the morning.”

“And I’m okay with that.”

He laughed out loud, shuffling to grab a mug from the cabinets above him. You reached out and placed it back inside, then handed him a to-go cup. He rolled his eyes. 

“You’re the worst host.”

“That’s not what you were saying when I was blowing you last night.”

There was a knock at the door that prompted both your heads to snap up in confusion.

“That better not be one of the boys,” you grumbled. “I don’t think I could explain your shirtless presence in my kitchen.”

“Sure, you could,” he murmured, dropping his hands to either side of the counter beside you. He leaned in close, whispering, “You could just tell them what you tell me every time I’m inside you; I fuck you so good. You just can’t get enough.”

If there was one thing you’d learned about Pierre throughout these past few weeks, it was that he knew exactly how to throw your own attitude right back at you. 

“Gross, Pierre,” you said, slipping beneath his arms.

“You were the one that started talking about giving me head before either of us has even had coffee!”

You only allowed yourself to laugh once you were out of the kitchen and away from his ego. 

The person started to knock again and you stepped up to the door to pull it open, revealing your overly excited parents.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, panic in your eyes as they pushed past you to enter the apartment. “What do you mean?” your father asked as he helped your mother shed her jacket and hang it on the hook beside the door. “It’s your birthday! You didn’t think we’d forget to celebrate with you, right?”

“A warning would’ve been nice,” you muttered, thoughts fleeting to the shirtless man in the next room. You stood in their way, blocking the path to the kitchen in hopes that they’d just head straight to the living room and you could discreetly get rid of Pierre. Your mother had other plans, grabbing a cooler bag from your father’s hand before marching to put the food she’d brought away in the fridge.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, hands fluttering up to her eyes as she shielded herself from Pierre’s naked chest. You were only a step behind her, your father two behind you, and when she turned to look at you, you could see the blush on her cheeks. “I didn’t know you had company.” “Pierre’s leaving.”

“Pierre? No way! He’s gotta join us for your birthday brunch!” your father exclaimed. Pierre’s eyes flickered to you and then went back to your father. “We still have to thank you for dealing with Sadie when she came to visit, and also for dealing with this one every day.”

“You have your work cut out for you with her,” your mother grumbled from where she stood in the kitchen, already reorganizing all your draws and cabinets.

“Just send him a fruit basket or something.”

“YN,” your mother chastised, plates set on the counter for just a moment so she could glare at you. “If your father wants to treat him to brunch, then we will treat him to brunch.”

“I love brunch,” Pierre spoke, voice just above a whisper. You glared at him and that stupid little smirk toying at the corner of his lip, but then your father clapped in excitement. “Besides, it’s your birthday,” he emphasized, eyes wide. “I couldn’t miss that.”

“Great! Then, it’s settled,” he spoke. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom, and maybe your little boyfriend will put on a t-shirt.”

You spoke in unison.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I’m not her boyfriend.”

But your dad was already down the hall, not that he would’ve listened to either of you anyway.

Pierre narrowed his eyes at you, you stuck your tongue out at him, and then he tried to catch it between his fingers, but you shoved him away to the hallway.

“Put on a damn shirt.”

As soon as he disappeared, your mother was cooing, “That’s Pierre?”

“Why do you say his name like that? Sadie says his name like that too.”

“Well, I mean, look at him.”

“I’d prefer not to,” you grumbled. She began chastising you about how miserable you were, and how there was a handsome man right in front of you, right in your kitchen as a matter of fact, and you better take advantage of it! You’re another year older! But, you let the words fall on deaf ears before leaving to find Pierre in your bedroom.

He was still shirtless, shuffling about the room for his belongings. He glanced up when you entered, and smiled as he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” you said. “I don’t know when yours is either.”

“Mine’s June 24th.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeated. He rolled his eyes at you and pulled the shirt over his head. “This isn’t how this is supposed to work. We fuck and you leave, or I leave. That’s it. You don’t need to spend the day with me and my parents. Are you out of your mind?”

“I think it'll be fun,” he said. “Maybe not for you, but definitely for me, and that’s my favorite kind of fun.”

---

From: Sadie

WTF? Why is Pierre at brunch with you guys? What’s happening? Call me ASAP. I’m freaking out!!!!!

You and Sadie were freaking out for entirely different reasons. She was freaking out because she thought this meant something. You were freaking out because you were stuck with Pierre for longer than you ever wanted to be.

“You’re one of Josh’s friends?”

“Teammates,” you corrected. Pierre took a glance over at you with a soft smile. “They play for the Blue Jackets together.”

“Oh! Oh, wow,” your mother remarked. She gave you not-so subtle wide eyes that screamed, again, how perfect she thought he was. “That’s an excellent job!”

“I’m very lucky to get to do what I love for a living.”

“And you two met because of Josh?”

“Yes,” you answered tersely, not wanting to entertain this conversation for the sole purpose of keeping your mother’s nose out of your personal, or not-so personal, life. But Pierre gave in to her, as you expected him to.

“Yeah, he introduced us during my rookie season,” he answered after swallowing a forkful of eggs. “I’ll admit that I made a really bad first impression,” he began, meeting your eyes over the mimosa you were bringing to your lips. “But she never really gave me the chance to fix it, so we just went on hating each other for a really long time.”

“Well, look at you two now,” your mother raved, waving her hands between the two of you. “All is well.”

“What fixed it?” your dad asked. “I mean, this one can be as stubborn as a mule.”

“Dad.”

“Sweetheart, I love you, but sometimes you just make your mind up and that’s that. You don’t budge. I want to know how he got you to change your mind! Teach me your ways, Pierre.”

“Uh, well,” he began, choking a bit on the drink in his mouth. He knew he couldn’t give them the real reasons. He couldn’t explain that the only way you could stand each other was if he was inside of you, so he met your eyes with a look of uncertainty. 

“It was after he helped Sadie,” you answered for him. “I figured that if he’d ruin his own night to make sure she didn’t die of alcohol poisoning then maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought he was.”

Pierre looked up at you again, eyes softer than before, but you avoided his gaze and instead focused on the food in front of you. 

Conversation picked up again, but it didn’t involve him. Your parents asked about work, you asked about home, and the conversation ended up circling back to Sadie once more. Pierre remained silent, taking in the relationship you had with your parents and how much you cared for your sister. He felt like he saw another side to you during brunch, a side that every other guy on the team had experienced and he’d yet to see. 

When the bill came, Pierre immediately reached for it, but your dad was faster and you yourself had placed your hand on his to push it away.

“They made you come,” you reminded him. “You don’t have to pay.”

“I wanted to come,” he corrected you. He leaned forward to speak directly to your father. “Mr. YLN, at least let me pick up the tip.”

Your dad sized him up for a moment, then sighed, “Fine.”

Pierre sat up victoriously, turning his hand in yours to squeeze the fingers that were resting against it before taking some cash out of his wallet. You flushed at the intimate moment and pulled your hand away. 

“Your father has one last request,” Mom announced as the group of you exited the restaurant. You turned to face her on the sidewalk, panic in your eyes. She glanced at your father, already nose deep in his phone. “Honey?”

“Huh?”

“Your next birthday surprise for YN?”

“I’m really okay with the birthday surprises, guys,” you murmured. “You being here is definitely enough.”

Pierre stifled a laugh beside you, and this time didn’t earn a glare. “Your father wants to go mini-golfing,” Mom butt in. “It’s this indoor glow-in-the-dark mini-golf he’s been following on Facebook for months now. If he doesn’t go, I’m gonna hear it for the next three months.”

“I can head home,” Pierre spoke, low and intended for you, but your father clapped him on the shoulder.

“No way, hockey star, I want to see that golf swing of yours.”

“Dad!”

“It’s not every day I get to hang out with an NHL player!”

And that’s how you ended up playing golf, in the dark, with your parents and your fuck buddy.

You never thought you’d be thankful to have Pierre around, but you were glad he stayed for mini-golf. Truthfully, you’d never been very athletic, but your dad loved sports, so you played them to humor him. Having Pierre with you just meant that all the competitiveness could stay between the men and you could enjoy sucking at sports with your mom. 

Then, you started losing all the golf balls. Honestly, your dad should’ve expected this very outcome when he decided to bring you to a glow-in-the-dark mini-golf place. 

You lost your ball, and then Pierre offered his and you lost that one too. Three holes later, there was only one ball left and your parents, as well as Pierre, were doubtful that you wouldn’t lose the last one.

“We’ll go get some more,” your dad muttered. “Hopefully, you don’t lose those too.”

You glared at him, earning a chuckle from both of your parents before they walked off to the front desk. As soon as they were gone, Pierre asked, “You’re not very good at this, huh?”

The smile was evident in his voice. 

“I don’t get three months of the year for golf practice like you do,” you muttered, refocusing on the club in your hand. “So, no, I’m not very good at this.”

“Well, for starters, you’re holding the putter all wrong,” he said. His voice was closer now and when you peeked back at him, he was only a few steps away. “Can I show you how you’re supposed to hold it or are you going to hit me over the head with it?”

“Try your luck.”

Pierre stepped up behind you, hands curling over yours to fix their placement. He peeled your fingers off the club, then placed them a bit higher than they had been. His breath fanned across your neck and your shoulders pulled up as a reaction, the tuft of air sending shockwaves through your body. He almost leaned in to place a kiss against your skin, but shook his head as if to scold himself for even thinking about it. 

“Don’t hit the ball too hard,” he spoke before taking a step back. You did as he coached you to and the ball went in the hole with one put. You exclaimed at your hole-in-one and twirled around to share the moment with him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders to tug you into his chest.

“Atta girl,” he remarked in the same voice he used in the bedroom. His hand trailed along your spine and down to your ass, fingers curling into the flesh as he drank you in. You almost got lost in the moment with him, despite yourself, but then your parents appeared over his shoulder and you were shoving him away.

“What are we celebrating?”

“Tiger Woods over here,” Pierre answered, nodding at you. “She just got her first hole-in-one.”

“She’s never done that before,” your dad laughed heartily. His hand came down to pat Pierre’s shoulder. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on her.”

“Maybe,” he repeated, eyebrows quirking up at you. The twitch of your lips gave away the smile that you were suppressing, but he let it go, considering it a small victory.

---

Your parents said goodbye after mini-golf, citing the long drive home as the reason for an early departure, but your mother gave you and Pierre a fleeting look that gave you the impression that they were only leaving to give you time with him. You must’ve said it a hundred times in a hundred different ways that you weren’t dating him, but your mom always liked to believe her own delusions and you could never change her mind. 

Pierre was quiet as you drove away from mini-golf and in the direction of your apartment building, but you weren’t any more talkative than he was. How could you speak when the day sent you into a tailspin? For the first time ever, you enjoyed being around him and when the day was coming to an end, you didn’t want to see him go. 

“Are you hungry?” you asked, voice light, simultaneously trying to keep the day from ending and also all serious conversation at bay.

“Yes, starving,” he answered. “It feels like we ate forever ago.”

“Do you wanna grab something quick?”

Pierre nodded and ended up pulling into a McDonalds not far from your apartment. He ordered a large meal after you ordered your usual, and then he threw a few other unnecessary things, like a kid’s meal and a third McFlurry. 

When you got back to the apartment, he spread it all out like a buffet and you filled your paper plates with food in silence. He felt like he was struggling to come up with something to say to you for the first time ever. It was always easy to rile you up and get you talking, but he was at a loss now and he didn’t have a clue what to say.

He settled on, “I like your dad. Not that it matters, or whatever, but he’s a funny guy. Loves to chirp you almost as much as I do.”

“That’s why I can put up with you,” you responded. “I’ve had years of dealing with him.”

“Did you just compare me to your father?”

“Don’t be gross,” you barked, smacking his arm. He laughed heartily at that, crinkles at the edge of his eyes as he dug into the fries in front of him. You laughed with him, amazingly so.

Conversation died as you ate with both of your minds running at warp speed. It was hard to make sense of the day, of how much you enjoyed each other’s presence, when you were still together. But you didn’t want him to go, and he didn’t want to leave, so neither of you even suggested it. 

As he started cleaning up what was left of his meal, your phone chimed and Charlie’s name flashed across the screen. He met your eyes over the phone momentarily before you unlocked it to read the message. You stared at it, biting the inside of your cheek as you thought, then responded quickly and placed the phone face down on the counter. 

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” he spoke. “And then, uh, I guess I’ll head out.”

He disappeared down the hall and left you feeling slightly stupid after texting Charlie that you were busy. In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have done that, but you had and now you needed to convince Pierre to stay. That’s what you wanted anyway, right?”

When he came back to the kitchen, you were throwing your food out and as soon as he stepped in to grab some of his belongings, you stepped up in front of him. 

“You’re not actually leaving, are you?”

“Don’t act surprised,” he murmured. He took a step forward, forcing you to tilt your chin up further to keep eye contact with him. His thumb came up to caress your cheekbone. “You wanted me gone all day.”

“And now I want you to stay,” you whispered. You pulled him closer from the belt loops and watched his eyes rake over your body. “At least for a little while longer.”

“Why are you playing with my head?”

The smirk you shared with him was wicked as you answered, “Because it’s fun.”

His fingers slid to the back of your neck while his other arm curled around your waist to pull you into his chest. You kissed in the kitchen for what felt like an eternity, much longer than you’d ever spent on doing it before, and finally, he lifted you up to carry you down the hall to your bedroom. 

He laid you back on the bed and undressed you slowly. He kissed each inch of skin as it was exposed from beneath the fabric covering you and his hands were everywhere, squeezing the meat that he hadn’t been able to touch all day, the skin he was dying to touch. He kissed down your stomach to your thong, finger hooking beneath the waistband to tug them down and get you completely naked in front of him.

“YN, tu es si belle,” he whispered, eyes flickering back up to your face. You flushed beneath his gaze and gasped as he situated your legs over his shoulders and leaned in, breath fanning across your core. He kissed the inside of your thighs while his blue eyes drank you in. Your chest heaved in anticipation.

He held your hips down as he dove in, and within minutes your back was arched and your legs began to shake over his shoulders. You cried out as you came, fingers curled into his hair, grinding against his mouth and nose as he worked you through it. 

When he finally pulled away, he kissed up your inner thigh to let you come down from your high. Then, he crawled up the bed to hover over you, shuttering as your hands slid beneath his t-shirt to pull it over his head. His jeans were next, and finally, his boxers. When his cock was finally free, he reached over to the drawer and grabbed a condom. You slid it on for him and he dropped his head to your shoulder at the touch of your fingers around him. 

The moment it was on, you began to flip onto your stomach. That’s how he usually wanted you, but he stopped you from moving and gathered your wrists in his hand to pin them above your head. His lips met yours again, desperate and needy.

You felt the head of his cock against your mound and groaned in sexual frustration, so he reached down with his free hand and aligned himself with your core. 

“You’re okay?” he asked. You nodded, bottom lip pinned between your teeth to the point of breaking the skin. He kissed you once more, hoping that you’d relax with him and you did. With his knee, he nudged your legs apart and then he pushed his head past your folds. As you arched, his lips met your collarbone. 

“Happy birthday, baby.” 

The pet name set you on fire, but you could hardly focus on it as he thrust into you. The movement of his hips was shallow and slow, nothing like the other times he’d been between your thighs. He held you close, chest-to-chest. The level of intimacy so intense compared to those times you’d shared before when you were simply using each other to chase a feeling. This was different, and you both knew it. 

“Luc,” you sighed as he filled you up, stilling inside of you for a moment to breathe and take in the way you spoke his name--a name you’d only ever called him once and he’d wanted to hear every day since then. “Please.”

“Patience,” he spoke, rolling into you some more. “I’ll take care of you, but I wanna take my time.”

So, you let him take his time and basked into the feeling of the way he filled you up and surrounded you. You listened to the way he spoke to you, softly and often in French, and you noticed the way he responded to your body, the way that no other man ever had. He read you like a book, as terrifying and insane as it felt to realize that, and you couldn’t get enough.

He finally dropped your hands and immediately, your nails curled into his back as he worked your body. He propped your leg up on his hip to thrust even deeper than he had before and with each roll of his hips, you felt him deep inside you. You moaned against his shoulder and he cursed loudly in French as you rolled your hips to match the movement of his.

“I want to cum with you,” you whispered in his ear. He sighed, then nodded before pulling back to thrust into you with a little more power behind it. His hands found your hips as he leaned back on his knees and thrust into you, pulling you down onto his cock as he did so. You were a mess beneath him and he watched your breasts bounce as he fucked you. 

“Cum, baby,” he whispered, returning to the position he’d been in moments ago. He knew you were close, he was right behind you, and as he returned to the previous position, you shouted out. “Come on. With me.”

“Luc, you’re so good,” you moaned. “You fuck me so good.”

Pierre’s hand found your clit, thumb circling the sensitive nub as his lips met yours in a rough kiss. His heart pounds in his chest as your orgasm finally reached you, whimpering and moaning beneath him as he chased his own high. It wouldn’t take long with you unraveling beneath him and, finally, he cums, hips stuttering as he filled up the condom. He dropped his weight onto you, breathing ragged, and your hands began to scratch the skin of his back soothingly as you both caught your breath. 

About a minute later, he rolled over onto his back and discarded the condom while you ran to the bathroom. He rested against the headboard and waited for you to come back, heart still hammering in his chest from an orgasm like no other. You returned and his eyes tracked your movement across the room. 

“Do you want me to go?”

You looked up at him, a bit like a deer in headlights, and answered, “Um, no. You can stay, if you want.”

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking just a bit. He coughed to clear his throat and nodded. “I’ll stay.”

[wireddless]

Codeine Scene (Five H. x Reader) [3]

Codeine Scene Masterlist

Authors Note: First off, I am SO sorry. New Years is always a slow time for me, and I did not mean to take this long to publish. Second of all, this chapter is a transition chapter into a much more fucked up story. I’m warning you now that the rest of this fic will get really really dark. I don’t recommend reading after this chapter if you can’t handle depictions of r*pe, murder, heavy drug use (cocaine, etc,) and other disturbing topics . I’m basing this story off of personal experiences, and in no way do I want someone who isn’t ready to read something like this to read this. This is like the last safe chapter, please do not read after this if you can’t handle the topics mentioned above

Summary: Klaus moves Reader up to Ben’s old room early in the morning. Afterwards, they eat breakfast and decide to trip on acid together. Five learns more about her than he expected to today

Warnings: Drug use (LSD[acid],) mentions of suicide, mentions of sex

Word Count: 3777

Taglist: @alexander-hamilhoe @dumdumsun

The gentle shaking of (Y/n)’s shoulder pulled her from her sleep. Klaus stood over her, harshly whispering her name. Looking towards his window, she could see the sky was just barely starting to light up, it was still early. 

“Klaus it’s like 7:30!” She quickly grabbed the sheet that was covering her from the waist down and yanked it over her head. A small groan left Klaus’s mouth and he yanked it back off of her. “It’s Sunday!” She tried convincing him to let her sleep in, but it was no use. 

“I talked to Ben and he said you could stay in his room!” Klaus wrestled with (Y/n) over the blanket, knowing she was still tired. Ever the impatient man he was, Klaus spoke again, “We gotta get you settled in right now!” 

“Fine! Fine. I’m up.” (Y/n) sat up and shoved her matted hair out of her face.  “Why right now?” Klaus looked at her like the answer was obvious. It wasn’t, of course. 

“Because trauma can be associated with places! Coming in here right after what happened yesterday could be an issue.” He grabbed a hair brush off of his dresser and pushed her to sit on the bed. Climbing behind her, he started to brush her hair. “Even if you aren’t reminded of it in here, it’s always good to be able to have some privacy.” He made valid points. 

“I guess you're right.” Klaus was extraordinarily gentle with her hair, pulling out all of the mats and even putting in the effort to put it in a low ponytail to keep it out of her face.  “Thank you.” (Y/n) turned and smiled at Klaus, pulling him into a quick, tight, hug. 

Ben's room was up the green stairway, across from Five’s room. (Y/n)’s face scrunched a little when she realized Five would be right across the hallway, but she didn’t complain. Her arms were a little tired from carrying her suitcase and heavier back pack up the stairs so early in the morning, but it would fade rather quickly.

Klaus opened the door and stepped aside, letting (Y/n) rush to the bed with her heavy luggage. “Dad replaced everything in this room a week after Ben died.” Klaus sat on the bed next to her luggage, and she plopped next to him. “He said old reminders would only set us back, so he made this one of many guest rooms.” Klaus peered in the closet, knowing that Ben’s academy uniforms were no longer hanging pristinely on the rack. 

“He didn’t die in here, did he?” (Y/n) turned to look at Klaus, feeling heavy sympathy. 

“Oh no! A mission went wrong, and I suppose we all messed up, but the monster inside his chest started tearing him apart.” Klaus’s usual, very happy energy, was replaced by a solemn, cold one. “He died in the infirmary.” Klaus looked down at the bedsheets. They weren’t the one that Ben had used. “I still talk to him every day, but it still makes me a little sad.” Klaus sniffled and rubbed his eyes. 

(Y/n) pulled Klaus into a bone crushing hug, knowing he needed the comfort. “That’s terrible.” She was a very empathetic person, relying more on feeling than thinking, so she was struggling to hold back her own tears. “Are you sure he’s ok with this?” 

“Yeah! He said something about moving on, and finally attempting to find peace.” Klaus clapped his hands once as he stood. “He’s kind of started meditating too, which is kind of weird, because he’s a ghost and all.” He stood and glanced around the room, getting a good look at it before (Y/n) would make it her own. “Let’s go get some breakfast after we unpack, huh?” 

“That sounds nice.” (Y/n) stood and hugged Klaus again, silently letting him know that she was there for him. 

The walk all the way down to the basement kitchen was unexpectedly exhausting. Six flights of stairs later, two flights between every floor, they were sitting at the table, staring at Five scrape his eggs off the skillet and onto his toast. 

“I’m not making eggs for you two.” His voice was monotone and annoyed. He wasn’t a morning person. “Take some responsibility and make them yourself.” Five grabbed his food and coffee, and looked at both of them before giving his usual tight-lipped smirk and blipping away, presumably to his room. 

Klaus released a few small giggles he was holding in and hopped off the island. “He always seems to add a little spice to life.”

As he was making his way over to the fridge to grab some eggs, (Y/n) asked; “Is he like this every morning?” Not wasting a second after her question, Klaus replied. 

“Yep!” He pulled out four eggs and set them in a clean bowl on the counter. “Without a doubt. It’s worse on weekdays too, because the classes he teaches are all early in the morning. Now do you want scrambled, fried, or boiled?” 

“Scrambled, please.” As Klaus got to work on making breakfast for the two of them, she thought about what Five might teach. “Hey Klaus?” 

“Yeah?” Klaus was stirring the already scrambled eggs in the skillet. 

“What does Five teach? I mean it makes sense that he’s a teacher, but I just can’t think of what he’d be so willing to teach for a living.” Klaus looked back at (Y/n) before down at the eggs again. Her chin was resting in her hands, and she stared over at him, waiting for his answer. 

“I think some sort of ethics class, like there’s different types of ethics, but that’s all I really know. He doesn’t really talk about work, and it’s a bit weird considering he was an assassin.” Klaus split the scrambled eggs in two separate bowls with forks in them and gave one to (Y/n). 

“He killed people?” (Y/n) dug into the eggs, shoving them in her mouth, listening for Klaus. 

“We’ve all dabbled with a little murder before, it’s not really that big of a deal for us, but he swore never to kill for someone else again, I’m pretty sure.” Klaus fillet out a little moan of joy as he started filling his own stomach with the eggs. 

“That must be why he was so unphased about what happened yesterday, that makes me feel a lot better.” She concluded, trying not to remember the way she nearly beat the life out of the man in Five’s car as she shoved more of Klaus’s eggs in her mouth. “These are really good!” 

“Danke!” Klaus thanked her in German, with a mouth full of eggs. He swallowed them and continued speaking. “That actually reminds me- you’ve done acid right?” (Y/n) thought on the question for a moment before answering. 

“No actually, but I did do shrooms a lot with my friends before I dropped out.” Her fork scraped the bowl, trying to get the last of the eggs. 

“Good! You have experience.” Klaus poured the last of his eggs in his mouth, straight from the bowl, before swallowing. “Would you like to do acid with me? You don’t have to, but I feel like this would definitely raise your spirits.” Klaus leaned toward her, waiting for her answer. 

“I’d love to actually.” (Y/n) swallowed the last of her eggs, and stacked her bowl with Klaus’s, before taking them to the sink to wash them. Klaus stood and followed her, digging in the breast pocket of his half-unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and pulling out a small square of folded tin foil. 

“Great! Now stick your tongue out.” Klaus unfolded the foil and pulled a tiny white square of paper, roughly the size of a phone keyboard key, out from the six-ish others in it. (Y/n) stuck her tongue out as she rinsed the now-clean bowls and Klaus placed the piece of paper on it, before sticking one on his own tongue.

(Y/n) stuck her tongue back in her mouth and sucked a bit on the paper. “So do I swallow it, or…?” The tab didn’t make it any harder to talk, thank god. 

“If you want to, but you absorb it faster when it’s in your mouth.” Klaus picked up the bowls and started drying them. “It’s not bitter at all is it?” Klaus asked, checking to make sure she didn’t take a laced tab.

(Y/n) focused on the tab again, not really noticing any taste. “Not that I can notice.” Klaus smiled as he shut the cabinet where he placed the bowls. 

“That means we’re all good! You can swallow it when the paper feels soggy enough, though, you’ve probably absorbed most of it by now.” Klaus led her back upstairs to his room, practically dragging her by her wrist. “Things are gonna get really funny for a little bit before you actually start tripping.” Klaus shut the door behind them and plopped on his bed. 

“Doesn’t it take like an hour to kick in?” This wasn’t her first rodeo, so she knew her way around at least a bit. 

“Yeah yeah, it’s kinda like shrooms? But the visuals and the trip are just a bit different, you’ll see what I mean.” Klaus grabbed a joint he had rolled earlier and lit up, taking a few puffs before passing it to (Y/n). “Just settle in for like half an hour and then get up to see how you feel.” 

•••

Tripping on LSD was a profound experience. (Y/n) wasn’t able to go outside, as it was raining cold, so she stayed inside, wandering around the house. She and Klaus made some really cool art, and Klaus held it over the vents to dry while she was walking around the house. 

Tripping felt like seeing the universe fully for the first time, and she could somewhat understand Klaus’s view of the world. Many times throughout the last three hours, she thought she saw Five blipping away out of the corner of her eye. She had dismissed it every time, of course.

Now the trip was peaking, and the visuals were insane. The air around (Y/n) felt like breathable, transparent, clay, and it was a little overwhelming with all the visuals, so she opened the door in front of her and quietly sat next to it, letting out a long, happy sigh. Closing her eyes, she paid attention to the gorgeous visuals she could see behind her eyelids. 

(Y/n) didn’t even notice Five sitting on his bed, staring at her from over his book. She was too focused on the movement behind her eyelids, and the euphoric feeling surrounding her, so when Five spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I think you have the wrong room.” The sound of Five closing his book reached her ears. 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I- I wasn’t paying attention I’ll leave.” (Y/n) stumbled over her words as she tried to stand, clearly embarrassed.

“No, no, it’s fine actually.” Five spoke, rather out of character. “A little company once in a while feels nice, and I see no harm when you’re being quiet.” His face was beyond distorted, but she could still recognize his permanent scowl. 

“Really?” (Y/n) settled back down, more relaxed and at ease. 

“Yeah, I don’t really care.” Five grabbed his book again, opening it back to where he was. “Just don’t be too annoying.”  

“I won’t don’t worry.” Five grunted quietly at her response. A smile painted itself on her face, and she slid all the way down the wall, with her head now on the floor with the rest of her. 

•••

And she was quiet. Five watched for like an hour and a half as her eyes slowly focused on something new in his room every few moments. She was quite taken by the math equations across his wall, and he found it rather cute. He started to find her less annoying, now understanding that she coped the way his brother did. 

He was alone once again in his room now, no longer accompanied by (Y/n). In fact, she was accompanied by one of her “friends.” She barely even knew the guy. 

Five could hear everything. Every moan. Every word spoken with the intent of being quiet, but wasn’t held under the gentle guise of a whisper. It infuriated him. 

Of course, he understood that she didn’t grow up in a particularly healthy home, given that she was in a homeless shelter at almost 18, so she didn’t understand healthy coping habits. It genuinely hurt his heart, if just a little bit, that he could watch another hurt soul walk down the same path as his brother. 

Klaus had gotten help for his addictions, and was off addictive drugs completely, but even Five understood that not everyone will be able to get the help they need. He wouldn’t say he had any feelings for her, but he still felt sympathy. 

Knowing that it was how she coped made hearing all of it a little easier, but he still wasn’t able to handle it after hearing it for fifteen minutes, so he jumped down to the kitchen, brewed himself some herbal tea, added a little vodka, and read his book, criss cross, on the table in the center of the room, attempting to ignore what was happening right across from his room. 

•••

Bailey had just left, and (Y/n) was exhausted. He was kind of an ass, and he treated her like shit in middle school, but he was a horny teen, and it was really easy to just invite him over.

The trip was fading out now. She was no longer peaking, and the visuals were far less intense. (Y/n), after standing at the stairs, staring at them for a couple minutes, deemed it safe to be able to walk down them. She knew it was normally safe to go down the steps while tripping, but something in her head told her to wait, so she did. 

These particular steps were a little steep, as well, so she made her way down slowly, leading herself to the kitchen in the basement. Her bare feet padded quietly on the floor as she walked to the stove, turning the heating element under the tea kettle on. The bags under her eyes felt so beyond heavy, and she knew she’d be sleeping deeply tonight. 

“You done up there?” Five’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. (Y/n) turned and leaned on the counter to face him. 

“Yeah, yeah, he left like ten minutes ago. I’m just really tired and want some tea to relax I guess.” Her arms were crossed, comfortably holding each other up. 

Five hummed in response. “Well I see we both thought of the same thing.” He lifted his mug of tea, peppermint maybe, and put it to his lips. 

“I thought you only drank coffee.” (Y/n) chuckled a little feeling the heat of the stove begin to reach her back. 

“Well it wouldn’t be very logical to drink caffeine so late in the day, especially when I have to teach an early class tomorrow.” Five flipped the page of his book, continuing to read while talking to her. 

“Makes sense.” Her words were drowned out by the high whistling of the tea kettle, letting her know she could pour it into the cup. Grabbing the tin of loose leaf tea, she hummed as she scooped it into the reusable tea bag that was next to it. 

(Y/n) dropped the tea bag in the cup, following up with the boiling water. She turned, bringing her and her cup to the table, now sitting next to Five. Five was a grumpy, annoying, old, man who has to grow up all over again, but his company was enjoyable, it contrasted hers in such a way that it comforted her. It made her feel like her ADHD was less severe, like her inability to focus was matched by someone who could do nothing but focus. 

Only a day had gone by since they met, and she was already comforted by him. 

Five shut his book and looked over at her. The more he got to know her, the more subtly enjoyable he found her. Her sitting not two feet from him didn’t bother him as much as it usually would. He was kind of ok with that. 

“You drink peppermint?” (Y/n)’s voice was scratchy and hoarse. She really did need the tea. 

“Yeah, it’s the least fruity from what I’ve tried.” He took another sip. “Simple classic.” He set it down and looked over at her, engaging in an unexpected conversation.

“I tend to prefer fruitier teas, I’ve noticed.” She looked down at the cup that she’d been drinking out of for a couple minutes now. “They go down easier and really comfort me. Reminds me of my mom, she only ever made fruity teas.” She took another sip, letting the warmth fill her up. 

“What happened to your mom?” Five looked back down at his drink, then back up at the girl next to him. “I noticed that you didn’t exactly live with her when we picked up your stuff.” 

“Yeah..” (Y/n) hesitated a little. He was awfully blunt. “I was like seven when it happened, but I’m told it was a double suicide, between her and dad.” Her legs were swinging a little nervously. “Mom sent me up to my room one night and told me not to come out until she opened the door, no matter what. The next day a detective came into my room and carried me out screaming. They were both dead on the floor. I lived with my aunt and uncle after that.”

“Oh shit.” Five didn’t expect her answer to be this upsetting. 

“Yeah. My uncle told me it was a double suicide, my aunt said the same thing, she manipulated me and made me think they did it because of me.” (Y/n) sighed into her drink, her distorted reflection staring back at her. “I don’t even remember what the scene looked like, just a lot of blood. I don’t look at anything about it either, don’t really want to relive it.” 

“That’s really tough, wow.” Five chuckled uncomfortably and finished his drink. “I didn’t know my mother, but my mom was a robot. She was pretty much indestructible, but she was fully shut off when our house was being attacked a long time ago.”

“Oh my.” (Y/n)’s voice was soft, hoarse, and tired. Her hand gently moved to rest atop his, not really knowing how else to reassure him, if he even needed it, of course. “I’m sorry about that.” 

Five didn’t even seem to notice his hand being covered. “No it’s fine, I got over it long long ago.” His words were just slightly slurred, and his eyes had reddened slightly.

“Well I’m here if you ever need like, a hug or something.” (Y/n) laughed. “I don’t really know how else to comfort anyone.” 

“It shouldn’t be your job to comfort anyone, that’s not your responsibility.” Five chuckled and smiled slightly. (Y/n) hadn’t expected him to smile, and it wasn’t as weird as she thought it would be.

Before she could even mention it though, Klaus’s happy, booming voice echoed in the kitchen as he practically skipped to the fridge. As she yanked her hand away from Five, she noticed the way he pulled his arm away as well. Maybe he did notice?

Klaus and Five started talking about something as he got off the table and placed his cup in the sink, but she wasn’t paying attention. Before her attention was quickly pulled to the floor, she thought on the way Five had wrenched his arm away. 

As anxiety inducing as it was, the LSD that was still in her system made it easy to quickly move onto the next thought. Before she knew it, a flash of blue wrenched her out of her head and she looked up at Klaus, now alone with her in the kitchen. 

“Hey, sweetie.” Klaus kissed her cheek and led her gently off the table and to the stairs. “Your trip going good?” He popped a black olive in his mouth. 

“Yeah it’s going fine, I really like it. It’s kinda different from shrooms, but not like a bad different.” She was just two steps behind him, trying to keep the same pace as him. 

“That’s great.” Klaus hummed as he popped another olive in his mouth. “These are absolutely amazing. I figured you would like it, it’s really calming and stuff for me. Makes the sad feeling kinda disappear for weeks after.” 

“Oh same, I’ve just felt creative and warm all day.” They stopped in front of Klaus’s room, Klaus still eating his olives. “I’m actually exhausted too, the trip felt really nice.” 

“Well I’m glad I could have helped.” Klaus pulled her into a tight hug, humming loudly. Hugs felt great on psychedelics, she had noticed. 

“You helped so much.” (Y/n)’s voice was slightly muffled by Klaus’s chest. She pulled out of Klaus’s chest, speaking again. “I’m gonna go to bed now, if that’s ok, I’m so so tired.” She laughed a little. 

“That’s fine, I’m gonna crash the moment I hit my bed, so..” Klaus smiled down at her, thankful for this mini-him. 

“Night night, Klaus.” (Y/n) and Klaus both separated to head to their rooms, both about to sleep deeply enough to miss a train going through the house. 

The stairs up to her new room were an almost pastel green color, covered by what looked to be years of grime and nicotine stains. It added character, she thought. The checkerboard floor at the top of the stairs seemed to lead her straight to her new room, which she was really thankful for, she was exhausted. 

Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting the old carved crystal just enough to open it. She closed it the same way, with just enough effort for it to work, she could have sworn she saw something blue flash near her, but she doubted herself immediately. Once she plopped on the bed, her fingers dragged her phone across the sheets towards her. 

It took (Y/n) two full minutes to open her phone, not remembering her password and then not being able to type the right letters slowed her down significantly. It wouldn’t matter though, because once she turned on some quiet music, she was fast asleep.

[darlingdtarot]

5/11/2021 - New Moon In Taurus & Horoscopes For All Signs

The New Moon in Taurus is here! This is a wonderful time of rejuvenation, relaxation, and peacefulness. The New Moon in Taurus will bring a sense of comfort to every sign, and provide a space for emotional security. Work on getting to bed a little earlier or perhaps sleeping in more on days where you can afford to. Reworking your daily routine to include some self-care is something highly encouraged by the Universe. When you start taking time for yourself, you will find that more opportunities and options show up for you effortlessly! You might be listening to binaural beats, Singing bowls, Guided meditations, and Subliminals. These are going to help clear your mind immensely which is going to recharge you. Switching up your nightly routine in order to wind down easier will help you get to sleep faster. Deciding to put your phone away an hour before heading to sleep will be beneficial in aiding your sleep. Reading books, drawing, or listening to music will also encourage you to express yourself or indulge in your imagination. Make sure to take naps throughout this New Moon in Taurus also as the days might make you feel a bit heavier. This is also a great time to renovate your living space as well. Some might be wanting to invest in new bed sets, furniture, or odds and ends. This is the perfect time to do so as you will feel more energized to fix the energy of your environments. When your space is cleaned and cleansed, you will feel so much more inspired to get to your daily routine. It's incredibly important to make your space around you into your sanctuary! Doing self care during this Taurus New Moon is crucial as well!

Meditation is also going to be a beneficial thing to harness during this New Moon Taurus! Don't fret too much about if you fall asleep during your meditation ; sometimes that's what you need at that moment. Try again after being fully rested! Some are being pulled to guided meditations on Youtube such as Past Life Regressions, Connecting with/Meeting your Spirit Guides, and Spirit Animal Meditations. This is the perfect time to really work on your spirituality and to better understand who your spiritual team are!

Rituals that you can do during the Taurus New Moon:

Let's cover some of the best face and skin treatment rituals for during this time, shall we? My grandfather always said to me growing up, “Cleanliness is Next To Godliness, And Your Body Needs To Be Cleaned Like A Temple”. This is going to be a wonderful time to focus on your Glow and to Clean YOUR body like the Temple it is. The overall vibe of the New Moon in Taurus going forward though is to take care of your skin through Face Masks, Facials, Sugar Scrubs, Baths or Bath Bombs. Deciding to have a spiritual bath can also be very healing during this time also as it will cleanse you going forward throughout the rest of the month. This can be baths that are taken with your favorite essential oils, your favorite candles burning, or your favorite crystals in the water with you. Focusing on Skincare by using your favorite oils before bed – Argon, Rosehip Seed, Raspberry, Marula, Carrot Seed, or even Jojoba Oil will help you increase your confidence this month. When we take the extra time and focus it on our skin, our mental space will thank us also. Some might be deciding to do the blackhead strips, charcoal masks, or under eye patches – and perhaps you have been debating with yourself on if you should get these things lately. Spirit is saying – Treat Yourself during this Taurus New Moon, dearest! You can also take this time to do an oil treatment in your hair, leaving it in overnight so it can absorb as much moisture as possible. Coconut oil is amazing for this, but beware if you have dyed your hair with henna as coconut oil can cause your dye to run.

One of my favorite things to do is create my own bath supplies, so I want to share my favorite recipes for Sugar Scrub:

½ Cup Brown Sugar

½ Cup Granulated Sugar

1/3 Cup Salt

1 Tablespoon Essential Oil of Your Choice!

Mix and then apply to your skin and all over your body. You can also add in coffee grounds, but I would suggest using more brown sugar as a cushion as the coffee grounds can be a bit rough against your skin. Sea Salt is also optional, but I generally don't use it unless I'm making a courser salt for feet and hands. Oatmeal masks are also amazing too as they calm inflamed skin or outbreaks of acne. Trust yourself and follow your intuition on what your skin needs most. I like to make two big batches of both peppermint and vanilla body scrubs during the holiday season so I always have them on hand throughout the year. These keep perfectly, so long as you don't get any water inside of the jar itself. Keep in a plastic container and get some out each time you're ready to go into the shower or bath. It's wonderful to use courser sugar scrubs right before you remove hair as well to exfoliate and lift the hairs you are wanting to shave or wax. Some might also be getting into Sugaring more over this period too, which your skin is going to thank you for!

Some Essential Oils I suggest for skin health and the yummy smell they have are as follows:

Lemon

Vanilla

Peppermint

Pomegranate

Frankincense

Another great, cost effective and organic home remedy facial treatment for those that don't mind doing a more nontraditional face mask - take an egg from the fridge, separate the yolk from the white into different cups. Whisk both separately, but save the yolk for later. Take the whisked egg white and begin to spread on your face. Let dry onto skin, then wash off. Go back to the yolk, give another whisk, then apply and wait until it dries again. Wash face off, and enjoy your skin feeling incredibly soft! I would do this every week as a teenager growing up as it was more accessible money-wise for me than affording face masks or oils. It really works amazingly! The whole process can take up to an hour, so make sure to have your favorite songs or videos ready to keep you company!

Horoscopes for Each Sign and Element over the New Moon in Taurus:

Please make sure to check your Sun, Moon, Rising, and Venus Signs as you might resonate more with their energies. :)

EARTH: 7 of Cups – Options, Options, and More Options are coming your way, Earth Signs! You might find that during this Taurus New Moon, which is a time of introspection and rest, you have more to do than any other sign. You're taking a lot onto your plate at once, but you know that you have what it takes to get everything accomplished. Some Earth signs are going to be pleasantly surprised with a gift someone got them over this period. It's going to be something sentimental, and perhaps something you will cherish for many years to come. I'm seeing a pearl, so you might be receiving a necklace or some form of jewelry from someone you love. For other's, there's this energy of you don't need all of the riches in the world to be happy. You're focused on the joy and sentimentality in the world currently rather than material gains, which is going to make you a lot happier in the long run. For a select few Earth Signs, you're starting to realize that everyone is on their own timing. If we were to all be successful at the same time, where would the excitement be? Know as you work hard that your time is coming soon – and what you're expecting is better than all the riches in the world.

Taurus: Knight Of Cups – Self-love that leads to a romantic connection is coming your way, Taurus! This is coming after some Taurus might have been in hiding or isolation for the longest time, but you're ready to emerge. The Butterfly is finally leaving the safety of the cocoon to spread their wings and enjoy the world! This is your vibe right now under the New Moon in your sign, Taurus. Allow yourself to explore new ideas or adventures in your life. This leap of faith is what is going to not only bring you to self-love, but to a healthy relationship, too. For some Taurus, you might be scared on how to approach a partnership or connection. Don't be as this person appreciates your genuineness, and wants you to only approach as yourself. Keep loving and appreciating yourself, Taurus. You bring a lot of beauty into the world! Also, if you feel the need to stay longer in your cocoon; that's okay! But please don't forget to come out and love on those who love you!

Virgo: Queen Of Wands – This Virgo's on Fire! You're focusing on your passions and becoming dedicated to your life purpose. Because of this, People are going to be finally giving you the recognition that you deserve. Allow yourself to focus on things that light that fire underneath you! That's what's going to bring you to abundance! Some Virgo's are going to have other's being jealous about them, because you are going to be thriving during this Taurus New Moon. You're glowing from head to toe, and it's making other's feel a bit on edge. Some might have gotten used to you always being their Yes Man, that they hardly even noticed when you started doing your own thing or started shining. Those in a relationship, your partner might be the one feeling jealous with all of the extra attention you're going to be receiving. False friends are coming to the light now too, Virgo. Some might be wanting to come back to find something to gossip about or just want to get into your good graces now that you're making a name for yourself. Focus on you right now. Work on you, and be your own Yes Man.

Capricorn: 8 Of Coins – You're working hard, Capricorn! You're putting in the elbow grease needed to level up or achieve more. You might be working overtime or deciding to take more time on your hobbies. This might also give you the chance to make a career from your hobbies too! Some Capricorn's are craving nature and this is The Universe directly asking you to spend some time outside. Connect with Mother Gaia and you will feel a lot lighter. Some are being called towards rivers or creeks. It might be beneficial to pack a picnic and sit next to water for a few hours, Capricorn. Some other Capricorn's might be deciding to get into a new exercise regime. This is going to not only raise your confidence with the endorphin boost, but get your body looking tone and fit! Remember to take your time with this, and to go into your exercise focusing on the self-care that comes with it. Don't stress yourself out too much or overwhelm yourself in regards to loosing a certain amount of weight. See this instead as getting active and going! For one Capricorn in particular, people are noticing that booty. (The Tarot card in front of me, this man literally has the nicest butt haha, so I think this is a message for some.) Regardless of whatever you're focused on, things are getting done, Capricorn! Great job!

AIR: Page Of Cups – Someone has been keeping an eye on you, Air Signs! This is someone who wants to come in with a declaration of their feelings. This isn't anything big, and for some Air Signs, you might not even realize this person has deep feelings for you. This could entail them doing small acts of service, traveling to you, or opening up lines of communication more. For some this person is at a bit of a distance, or might have felt like they were. They're coming back around, don't worry! Other Air Signs are going to be focusing on their own Self-Care routine. This could include spiritual baths, space cleanses, facials, watching that new series that came out on Netflix, etc. Whatever it might be for you, you're deciding to start turning your attention towards your own care more. Pampering yourself is the name of the game over the Taurus New Moon. Other Air Signs are starting to be less critical of themselves and really start to see all they bring to the table. Good for you, Air Signs!

Gemini: 9 Of Wands – You're pushing forward resiliently, Gemini! You might have felt that you couldn't achieve all you set your mind to in the past, but here you are! You're pushing forward every day and putting one foot in front of the other. You're strong and courageous, unwavering and persistent. This is why you are in the homestretch with what you're manifesting into being! Whether this be a deeper level of commitment, more recognition at work, or a higher paycheck – you're almost there! Some Gemini's might feel as if they are being pulled in ma different directions too. Know that over this Taurus New Moon it's okay to say no or stay true to your own boundaries. You don't owe anyone anything. Other than owing yourself the life you've always desired! Finish up this cycle, Gemini! You got this in the bag!

Libra: 2 Of Wands - There are decisions to be made about the future, Libra. Are you ready to take the leap of faith towards your goals and success? You're making plans for a better future in general. You're planning to be smarter in terms of business or just providing for yourself. Libras are not going to be taking no for an answer when it comes to their dreams any longer – no. You're deciding to start taking the bull by the horns to achieve what you really want. Some Libra's will have a change of heart from what they originally thought that they wanted or needed. I'm hearing, “What I thought I wanted, I don't actually want.” Interesting, Libra! Don't feel scared to change course! Just because you might have invested a lot into one path doesn't mean you should continue down it if it no longer resonates with your story (and who you are!)

Aquarius: Knight Of Coins – You're taking your shot, Aquarius, and it's looking to be a Bullseye! Trust in your talents and know that you have all of the resources to be able to accomplish your dreams. You're leaping into success, but The Universe also wants you to pace yourself as you're going forward. Yes it's good to keep pushing forward, but it's important to aim before you decide to shoot your arrow. Meticulousness is your biggest friend right now! Make sure to weigh all the pros and cons before making decisions as well. Some Aquarians might notice themselves having the Mitas Touch going forward! Everything you touch will be Gold, and you're going to really be bringing in that coin! In any event, whatever you're moving towards, Aquarius, is going to provide you with a new level of stability. Get excited!!

WATER: Justice – Divine Justice is coming your way, Water Signs! Are you ready for a major shift in your favor? Something you've waited for is finally coming full circle. For some, it's as if the Universe kept you in the dark so that when this finally got to you it would be a surprise. You're also being asked to get your life back in balance where it might not be. Getting back into your own equilibrium is going to give you better perspective as well. For other Water Signs your friends might be helping to give you insight on what is happening behind the scenes. There might be one friend in particular that is going to confide a secret in you. I feel this is going to be something that they haven't told anyone, so really hold this close. For one Water Sign in particular, it feels as if someone is testing you to see what you would do in a certain situation. A Cancer/Libra pairing could potentially be important.

Cancer: The Sun – Happiness and joy are all yours, Cancer! You are going to feel lighter than you have in quite a while. It will feel exhilarating and will give you a pep in your step to accomplish your work throughout the week. You're going to be focusing on the bright side, and finding the silver linings even in the disappointments. Things as a whole will be illuminated in a way that highlights just how blessed and abundant you are. Some are going to be spending more time in nature, perhaps taking up a nice camping spot near a creek or river. Butterfly imagery is going to be sent to you as a sign from Spirit. Take note of what you were thinking about when you see one as it's a message! Enjoy this time, Cancer! And be at one with Nature for a while, if you can. (Even if it just means buying a new plant for your room!)

Pisces: 10 Of Coins – Success and Abundance are coming your way, Pisces! Are you ready to be financially comfortable and to finally have a leg up financially? Now is the time to start planning for any trips you would want to take as well, as your money is coming in fast. Is there somewhere you wanted to vacation? Or perhaps a local attraction you wanted to attend? Put yourself out there and seize the day, Pisces! The Universe also is saying that you are going to be receiving a lot more material items in your world as well. Some might be deciding to treat themselves to a shopping spree, a spa day, or perhaps you're getting cosmetics done such as a haircut. Whatever that might be for you, allow yourself to do it! Splurge on yourself and let yourself live in some lavishness. You are worth it after all, Pisces.

Scorpio: The Star – Scorpio, you are feeling hopeful that things are aligning the way that they are supposed to! Keep trusting in the Universe as your Manifestations are starting to trickle in. You might start to notice this over the next few weeks just how quick the Law Of Attraction works for you. You're feeling inspired to take care of your home space right now, Scorpio. You might be cleaning house and remaking you nest, so to speak. You're decorating and feeling compelled to bring more comfort into your space. Trust this and keep filling your space with things that bring your soul peace. For other Scorpio's, you're being asked to take Spiritual baths and and nurture yourself more. A few select Scorpio's will be feeling as though things are coming full circle with another individual as well. There might have been someone in the past who didn't want to give you the time of day, but now they're back. It's your call entirely, Scorpio.

FIRE: 9 Of Cups – A wish fulfillment is coming your way, Fire Signs! There is an energy of calm and peacefulness sweeping over all of you, and it will bring clarity. Whatever it is that will emotionally fulfill you, that you've been manifesting for a while now, it will be in your life sooner than you know it. Are you ready for the blessings that are going to be waiting for you? A few might be deciding to pick up a new instrument too, and this is going to widen your imagination. It will make you feel more inspired as well to accomplish your work and make that coin! For other Fire Signs, you are watching romance movies (or rom-coms) and imagining how wonderful it would be for someone to do these things for you. That person is coming! For one Fire Sign in particular, your person plays the guitar and will offer to serenade you. Let them, Fire Signs! And don't be embarrassed or shy away – you deserve a declaration of love worthy of your time!

Sagittarius: Knight Of Swords – You are making ground in your life fast, Sagittarius! You're achieving a lot, and it's really starting to show. People are noticing that you're holding yourself differently. You're feeling proud of all you've done over this Taurus New Moon. For some there is going to be communication coming in with someone that you've been waiting on. This might be someone who travels a lot, or someone who has just been focused on themselves and their own abundance. They have a lot to share with you, and it's going to intrigue you all that this person has to say. For some, this person drives a red or white car. Other Sagittarius are going to be in frequent communication with someone completely new that is entering your life sooner than you know it. This bodes well for those Sagittarius looking for a partner online or on apps! For other's you might be hearing important news in regards to your home life or finances. This is going to bring good fortune and blessings your way.

Leo: King Of Wands – You are feeling yourself, Leo! You're on top of the world, and you're excited about showing your passions to the world. You're feeling that you can take on anything and be successful at it. This is true! Spirit wants you to remember that anything you put your mind to you can accomplish over this Taurus New Moon! Some Leo's are being asked to take break and recuperate. You've been running on fumes for a while now, and Spirit needs you to recharge as your life will be speeding up even more over the next month. It will seem like everyone wants a piece of you, Leo! So get some much needed R&R before you have to get going again! Other Leo's might be deciding to branch out on your own in regards to career. Whether this be a lip gloss business, or a homemade bracelet business, you will do amazing! But remember to go for it! The majority of Leo placements will feel as if they are closing out a chapter of their life and entering a more stable footing. Don't doubt!

Aries: The Devil – Aries, you are going to be in your head a lot over this Taurus New Moon. There's something that you want to be doing, or hoped would come around, that perhaps you feel a bit bound to. For some Aries you might be deciding to start over fresh in your life, and undergo a transformation. Good for you, Aries!! Do it! There's also an energy though of being too hard on yourself, especially while trying to obtain this glow-up, and The Universe wants you to see this as a form of Self-Sabotage. Spirit is also saying, “If being critical about yourself didn't help or work, why not try being your best friend instead?” See how things change when you look at your life from a different perspective. Take a look objectively and know that you aren't as trapped as your Ego is trying to make you think you are. You are being guided by Spirit over this New Moon period to find sanctuary within yourself, and to be content with where you are. Practice yoga breathing as well as this will clear your mind. For those in a toxic relationship, The Universe is telling you not to be scared to release this. After all ; when one door closes, another one opens!

[hotchley]

i swear i lived

when it’s dark, when he’s scared, when jack won’t stop screaming because he wants his mom and hotch just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, when strauss yells at him for screwing up, he thinks of the team and it’s like the world stops moving so quickly.

they ground him.

they remind him of who he is.

aka: memories of hotch the show didn’t give to us

i have not proofread it and it is purely self-indulgent so yeah not all of it make complete sense but it's been a long week and i needed to do something... fun? so now we're here :) 

also, this is an amazing way to celebrate one hundred followers

i’m not completely happy with the ending but we’re going with it

trigger warnings: major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced child sexual abuse

read on ao3!

It’s dark, and he can’t quite remember where he is, but he knows they’re on a case, somewhere in Florida which means it’s definitely worse than usual. Everything else is slightly fuzzy. He’s in a bed, he knows that much, but there’s nobody else around. The thought makes him panic. Why is nobody else here?

It must be late. That’s the only explanation for the darkness. And the only reason why he’s in a bed. But that doesn’t help him work out where everyone else is. He’s pretty sure Garcia said they’d be sharing rooms because she was travelling with them this time.

His t-shirt is stuck to him. He must have been having a nightmare. If he thinks hard enough, he can vaguely remember being hit with something, but the rest of it is a blur. If it was bad enough to wake him up, he’s glad he doesn’t remember it.

But he still doesn’t know where the team are and he can feel his heart start to beat faster and his breathing start to quick but he can’t afford for that to happen right now so he needs to calm down but he can’t because he’s placing so much pressure on himself to do it because it’s important but-

The team.

Think of the team.

When it’s dark, when he’s scared, when Jack won’t stop screaming because he wants his mom and Hotch just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, when Strauss yells at him for screwing up, he thinks of the team and it’s like the world stops moving so quickly. They ground him. They remind him of who he is.

And it’s incredibly sentimental, but then, he’s a sentimental person. He likes being nostalgic. He convinced Haley to keep a pirate hat because it was a memory of how they met and fell in love, and it reminds of him of how he would make her laugh. Jack took it in for show and tell.

The teacher had to excuse themselves to wipe away their tears.

He’s getting side-tracked. Thinking of Haley will make him tremble. He needs to breathe. He needs to think of the team.

Inhale for three.

There’s a blazer at the back of his wardrobe. He doesn’t wear it anymore. He would if he could, but he can’t. He holds onto it though. Because shortly after Jack was born, he got sick, like babies do. And Hotch was called in for some last-minute meeting with Strauss and a couple of the other higher-ups. Jack had been sick on his blazer, but he was in such a daze when it happened that it was only when he was rushing to his office did he notice.

Well, Elle noticed. She immediately took it off him and told him to just do his meeting without a blazer. He was a field agent; they couldn’t expect him to always look like the prosecutor he used to be.

She didn’t manage to get the stain out fully, and he can’t wear the blazer because of the extra damage she inflicted, but there was a small grin on her face when she revealed that it was slightly better. He granted her a smile as well. It was one of the few ones she received from him, and it made her feel like she really was part of the team.

They talk, Aaron and Elle. Twice a year. Just before the anniversaries of their attacks. She’s doing better away from the FBI. She has a daughter. Her name is Erin.

Exhale for five.

He had never really watched films as a child. There was too much risk involved, and most of his childhood was spent hiding, so there was never really the chance to go out with his friends to the cinema.

By the time he was old enough, being in a dark room full of strangers caused him to panic more than he relaxed and now, every time he goes out somewhere public, he finds himself profiling every single person because he needs to know that everyone else will be safe.

After the Charlie Chaplin film, there was a noticeable shift in the team dynamic. Morgan seemed to trust Jason again. Emily seemed more comfortable sitting with the girls and gossiping. Reid no longer hid his sleeves as much.

Movie nights became a bit more of a regular occurrence after that. There were days where Hotch would need to leave early because he needed to see Haley, and there were times where Reid would claim that he had already made plans, but on the occasions were they were all present, Hotch never really paid attention to the film.

He would be focused on the team. On how relaxed and happy they looked. Jason would smile at the screen, sighing when the film ended, pleased with all the loose threads being tied up and the characters finally receiving the happy endings they all deserved.

At the last movie night before he left, Gideon handed him a box. It was all the films they’d watched together, in DVD format so Jack would be able to watch them too. Hotch hadn’t really understood why it was being given to him and not one of the others, but he accepted them with a smile.

They’re proudly displayed on the shelves next to the tv, and whenever Jack wants to watch a film with his dad and aunt Jess, he picks one of those over anything else.

It’s working. Just think of the team and inhale.

That weird space of time, after the team accepted Rossi and he understood that things weren’t the same as they once were, but before Haley sent the divorce papers. There were some good memories then.

Like when some new bar had opened and they were doing a karaoke night and because Garcia knew the people, they’d invited her. And she of course, would not go without her favourite people so she had asked the entire team to come. Hotch had almost started crying when she hesitantly knocked on his office door and asked if he would be able to come. He’d never realised how much they loved him. He had always thought they put up with him because they needed to.

But when Garcia asked if he would sing with her because apparently, he was the only one with the right vocal range to do the duet with her, he realised that they did indeed love him. Even Emily was smiling as he allowed himself to be pulled on stage by a grinning Garcia. His voice was rusty- the last time he’d sung had been to Jack, and the boy had no concept of good singing anyways- but the hug she’d given him after, just for getting involved removed all of that shame.

She spent the night at his apartment because by the end of the night, she’d had too much to drink and he had offered to take her home. Morgan was already keeping an arm wrapped around JJ, and Rossi would have his hands full with Emily. Reid had been a caretaker his entire life, so Hotch dropped him home and said he would be fine.

She taught him how to make really good pancakes the next day. The recipe is still stuck to the fridge. Jack won’t eat any other type of pancakes.

And exhale. There were so many moments flooding to his memory now that they were all starting to merge together.

Morgan turning to him, Henry still in his arms. Things had been rocky since New York. Hotch knew Derek trusted him, and Morgan knew Aaron respected him, but they had both needed time to process what they’d said to each other then. Before they could actually make it up to each other, Hotch was lying about his hearing, Reid and Prentiss were getting trapped and Jordan Todd was struggling.

“Come on man,” he said.

“Everyone else is having their turn,” Hotch replied, not sure he wanted to hold someone so fragile and precious.

“Your part of everyone,” Morgan said.

Hotch had smiled and taken Henry from him. To his surprise, Henry had not started crying. Instead, he had wrapped his entire hand around Aaron’s pinkie.

“It feels like Jack was only just this size,” he said.

“You’re smiling,” Morgan whispered, stroking Henry’s cheek. Hotch looked up at him and saw that the rest of the team were conversing with each other, backs turned to the two of them.

“Derek, about New York-”

“I know. You never have to tell me. Now be quiet and let me take a photo of you.”

Hotch had rolled his eyes but allowed Morgan to do it. And if Hotch had asked Garcia to send him the photo of the two of them just smiling at Henry like the horrors they saw each day in that room didn’t exist because he wanted to frame it, well, nobody else was going to know.

Inhale.

After another case went badly- because now Jack was somewhere where Hotch would never see him, his ability to be competent had gone down the drain- Rossi came in, a bottle of alcohol in one hand, shot glasses in the other and Emily trailing behind him, looking uncomfortable as she was still unsure as to whether her presence was even wanted.

Dave left soon after he entered.

The moment Dave turned his back to them, Emily started apologising, saying she knew that was a them thing and she hadn’t wanted to intrude but Rossi had insisted that she go with him. Hotch had silenced her with a look, then proceeded to throw the alcohol away.

“I don’t want to drink,” he said.

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to drink because when Foyet broke into my apartment, the smell of alcohol is the last thing I remember before the gunshot and now every time it’s near me, I want to vomit,” he explained, not really sure what reaction he was looking for.

“I’m taking you home,” she said.

Because she knew he was looking for a fight. He was trying to egg her on, make her say something insulting that he could argue with because he needed to feel something other than pain and helplessness.

She would make him feel something other than that, but it wasn’t going to be anger. She was going to make him feel safe, even if it was only for a night. So instead of taking him back to the apartment- because she refused to call it his home- where Morgan had replaced the bullet and carpet to the best of his ability, but they all knew it was superficial, she took him to her home.

Brushed his hair because she could always tell when he hadn’t done it himself, and she knew he loved the feeling of someone he trusted combing it, so long as they warned him before they went near him.

He fell asleep halfway through, and there were no nightmares.

The blanket she draped over him is at the foot of his bed. It’s the one he wraps around himself when the nightmares stop his eyes from closing. It’s the one Jack wants when he’s feeling sick.

Exhale.

Derek and Spencer came to Jack’s second soccer game. They came to the second because neither Aaron nor Dave wanted to deal with the teasing if Jack’s team did even worse than they had previously done.

When Jack had spotted his two other uncles in the stands, he’d cheered so loudly that the other team had lost the ball and he’d managed to score.

Derek had cheered loudly, Hotch had breathed a sigh of relief and Spencer had politely clapped, his book tucked under one arm.

During their break, Penelope had turned up, homemade and healthy snacks for all the kids in little brown paper bags ready and waiting for them. Hotch had never seen a group of first graders so excited about eating grapes.

They didn’t need to come. But after everything and everyone that had been taken from them over the course of the year, Hotch understood why they had. They needed something good to serve as a reminder that not everything they did was for nothing. That in the world, there were still good and innocent things.

Every single one of them- Derek, Dave, Penelope and Spencer- had smiled when Jack came over, grinning because his team had won, even though they technically did not keep score in his age group.

The moment is seared in his memory because it was the first smile he’d seen since Emily “died.” And that meant more to him than the bag Penelope had specially prepared for Jack (it had his name on it, and a lot of superhero stickers for decoration) because it proved to him that they would heal and move on.

He’s signed the agreement to go to Afghanistan when he got home. The book Spencer had been reading during the game came with him, and now it sits on the shelf in his home, alongside all the other books that had ever been gifted to him.

He’s almost there. Inhale.

Seeing them, all waiting and cheering- Spencer obnoxiously loudly and the girls less enthusiastically than he’d ever seen them- was what forced him to finish the triathlon as opposed to just giving up.

Then Beth had turned up, and he saw the subtle looks of approval on their faces. It was like a weight had been lifted. He loved Beth, and he knew Jack was going to love her too, but the team were fiercely protective of each other. If they didn’t approve, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

But they did. In fact, it was Penelope that convinced her join them all when they said they were going to go and get something to eat.

They had been all sat at one table, slightly squished, but happily stuffing their faces with fries and milkshakes. Hotch had been mildly horrified that Jack knew exactly what to do when Morgan said earmuffs, but he appreciated the thought.

It was when Beth leant over and said that his family was something most people could only ever dream of that he realised how lucky he was. Because she was right. His family was a complete band of misfits, and they all looked like they were dressed for different things, but they were still his family and he wouldn’t trade him for the world.

The image of Haley had come to his mind then, but to his surprise, it hadn’t hurt, and he realised it was because he was happy. He was home. Maybe he had never really left it and it was just about realising, but whatever it was, his face had split into a wide grin and he’d felt tears forming in his eyes as he thanked them all.

For coming to support him.

For loving him, unconditionally, in spite of all his flaws.

For everything they had done.

For all the things he couldn’t say, but so desperately wanted to tell them.

And because they were his family, they had just known. It was written all over their smiles.

He wasn’t saying their family was perfect. Bad things happened.

Derek had been falsely accused of murder, and then had the past he had never wanted anyone to know about brandished everywhere.

Penelope had been shot outside her home, the one place she had a right to feel safe in.

Spencer had momentarily lost his ability to speak, his ability to do the one thing that made him feel happy.

Dave had solved the case that had been haunting him since he retired, and yet there was no justice or closure in the outcome.

Jennifer had been forced to tell parents that their child wasn’t coming home and had to listen as they hurled insults because it was easy to blame her, the image of her son just a thought away.

Emily had been taken from them because the past she had worked so hard to destroy had come back to haunt her, and when she came back, it was to icy glares and distrust.

Yet they’d recovered.

Derek continued to reclaim his body.

Penelope carried on smiling.

Dave never stopped fighting for justice.

Spencer still rambled on, and so long as they weren’t on a case, the others tried to not cut him off.

Jennifer held victims and slept soundly at night, content that she had done her best, and that was all she could do.

Emily opened up to the team, no longer afraid that her past would drown her because she had people to help her stay afloat.

They had all eventually found each other. They had all eventually come home, no matter how long it took or how long they had to fight for.

In fact, he’s about to go home too.

He can hear them. They’re all returning. They’re coming to get him. He can relax now. His breathing returns to normal- maybe even a little bit slower than normal. The team, his family, the people he loves more than anything are here. Which means everything is going to be fine. The world will not be so dark. In fact, he can even see a sliver of light.

“I am so sorry,” the doctor said to the family waiting outside for the dark-haired man. He’d been mumbling to himself. Remembering better times. But then his body had just given up on him. Too much had happened to him for him to keep fighting.

“There was nothing anyone could do. Just know that he wasn’t alone. He was at peace. He was remembering all of you. I promise.”

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

[otonymous]

How To Get Your Groove Back

Dearest Nonny,

I just wanted to start off by saying that I’m very sorry you’re in this difficult situation.  I wouldn’t call what I’m about to discuss “advice” per se, because everyone’s personal experiences are different and what worked for me may not work for another.  That being said, please take what I say with a grain of salt — deconstruct it, take and use the things that vibe with you and toss the ones that don’t.

(Posting the rest of this under a cut.  For those who aren’t in the mood for IRL musings, please feel free to skip this 🤣):

I feel you, dear Nonny, I really do.  I also went through a similar experience and it took a lot of honest introspection on my part to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t at a place where I wanted to be.  

I think a lot of times, people in general struggle with expectations.  You mentioned that you majored in something you didn’t enjoy.  Have you stopped to ask why that was the case?  I know it’s not uncommon for people to enter a field of study they have no interest in just because it was expected of them (either explicitly or perceived) — whether it’s by family members or other authority figures, or maybe even friends and society at large.  Oftentimes, their intentions are good: certain fields are perceived as being more financially secure than others.  Maybe they thought it was a good fit for someone like you.

“You may not love your job, but hey, who does?  The most important thing is that it’s stable and pays the bills.”

Don’t get me wrong, financial stability is definitely important.  As per Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in the study of psychology, you cannot talk about self-actualization if your basic needs aren’t met.  You’ve got to make sure you have a safe home and food in the fridge before you can even think about painting that masterpiece, writing that novel or running that marathon.

(Maslow’s hierarchy of needs - accessed from Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslow's_hierarchy_of_needs.  Please note that while this theory has its critics, the basic idea applies in this case)

That being said, imagine you land a job related to your field of study.  Really try to picture yourself working there for a number of years.  If you didn’t enjoy it in school, do you foresee that you’ll enjoy working in this environment, day in and day out for x years of your life?

I am of the belief that one cannot stay for long in a place (literally and figuratively) where they are unhappy without losing a part of themselves.  It makes for a soul-crushing experience, and life is too short to spend it being miserable.  You owe it to yourself to seek your own happiness.  And while others can aid us in this journey, it is ultimately yours to make.

On a related note, I also feel that the concept of job security as earlier generations may have understood it no longer exists.  One rarely talks about loyalty between employers and employees these days, and occupations that were once considered sure bets in terms finding employment are no longer panning out.  Keep in mind that when I talk about employment, I mean jobs that actually offer fair and liveable wages.  So while this may not apply to you at the moment, dear Nonny, keep this in mind when you eventually land a job.  Not to be a downer or anything, but nothing is for certain except for the fact that YOU’VE got your own back, so look to your own two hands to make that magic happen.

Because happiness is a type of magic in and of itself, isn’t it?  And if you already know what brings you joy, half the battle is already won!  If you don’t, that’s cool too.  Just think about the hobbies you have now, or look to the things you enjoyed doing as a kid.  Which topics could you literally spend hours upon hours reading or talking about?  Do a deep dive and really brainstorm these things.  As per Marie Kondo, what really sparks joy in your life, and can you find a way to make a career out of it?

Now I’ll tell you something about myself as an example, dear Nonny.  I love to write.  I always have, for as long as I can remember.  The moment I could properly wield that pencil, I was making up stories to accompany messy Crayola drawings.  

Writing also opened doors for me.  Teachers took notice; I was placed in specialized programs and had my work published.  I took a single English course as a student in university as a breadth requirement and was awarded a scholarship from the department.  The last comment I received from my TA was an expression of his hope that I would consider pursuing a career in literature.

In spite of all this, I chose to pursue a career in something entirely unrelated because of the reasons listed above, opting to go for something safe in terms of job security rather than something I was passionate about.  And then the writing stopped.  Because it is incredibly difficult to find the time and energy to devote to the things you love when you are emotionally drained by your work.

I firmly believe that life is a journey and not a destination.  It adds unnecessary stress to think that one only gets one shot at a career when in reality, many people make several career changes throughout their lives.  Where you are now doesn’t have to be the end.  And while the profession I chose (and spent a long time working towards) didn’t turn out to be a good fit for me, it wasn’t a complete loss as it taught me about what I did and did not enjoy.

And dear Nonny, you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that when you are focused on doing something you love, you will never, ever, feel like an imposter.

So to recap:

Secure your finances first and foremost.  Make sure you’ve got the funds to keep yourself (and any dependents, if applicable) afloat and comfortable when you decide to make the jump for your dream career.  This might mean that you’ll have to stick with a job that is less than ideal for a while to secure your nest egg, so to speak, or you might have to spend your downtime developing your second (desired) career until it’s stable enough for you to make the transition completely

If you’ve got the choice, my dear, please ensure that the management you’ll be working under is taking the proper steps to secure the safety of their employees during this pandemic

If you can’t readily point to the things/pastimes you enjoy, make the effort to rediscover yourself.  Once you find what sparks joy, HUSTLE and make it work for you.  You’d be surprised by the way people can monetize their hobbies these days 😉

Above all else, dear Nonny, please know that you deserve to be happy, and that you have the power and capability to make it happen.  So go forth and live the life you want to live.

Wishing you the best of luck! - XOXO, Otonymous 💖💖

[inaure-forhalla]

because at this rate i will simply never have proper full written out bios for my muses, below the cut find some more detailed information about my muses that give you more info than just the vibey little blurbs i shat out at some ungodly hour of the day:

akllasqa mamani:

aklla is the daughter of a scientist that had all her titles stripped of her, and prohibited from working in the field after unethical experiments came to light. this doesn’t stop her from laying low and forming a personal lab, although under a watchful eye. she proceeds to learn and absorb all she can about genetic editing, and with the use of the CRISPR method and friends manning labs, she produces her own genetically edited egg. this is where aklla comes from, she’s planted in her mother’s womb and grows to be a girl who continues her life under a microscope. her mother is constantly poking and prodding at her, in a desperate attempt to note every deviation from regular behaviour from a girl who was tailored. aklla is diagnosed with anti social personality disorder in the future, and as a child is known to have conduct disorder. she’s been called a sociopath more times than she can count and is prone to sudden, and violent outbursts. all in all, a difficult teenager trying to maneuver through a society that works against anyone with any mental diagnosis.

jolene walsh:

honestly jolene’s the only one i have a full bio for, so because i’m lazy catch that here. 

vivian han:

vivian grows up in a house that values tradition, and in particular the image of a good family. her parents are not overtly religious, but they’re devout christian’s. they got married young, and without much thought and this leads to strife in their household. they start to fall out of love right in front of her eyes, but old time tradition and religious beliefs compel them to stay together despite divorce being the healthiest option for them both. being the oldest daughter in the house, vivian often has to play peacekeeper between her parents fights. she grows weary of it, but knows her options are limited. the older she gets, the more time she spends outside of the house. parties where the music is so loud she can’t hear her thoughts, she drinks away whatever she’ll have to face when she gets home. vivian is the fun girl, and the smart girl, and the party girl, and she does whatever she can to keep up every front she has. straight a student, but beloved by her peers. and only because she tries so hard. sometimes that comes with a small mean streak to be accepted by her peers, but she grows out of that quickly. guilt wears on her conscience heavily. an unhealthy relationship is all she knows as she grows up and so it leads her into her own. she dates a boy who becomes her ruin, but she tolerates it because that’s all she knows. she tolerates it even when he pushes her against a wall and she’s worried she has a concussion. he never hits her, and that’s his excuse. she files a restraining order after much thought and push from her friends. but it only makes her wild nights even worse, she has more pain to drink away now.

gabriel and ronan:

two boys that were once part of the same band, now leading two completely different lives. gabriel has always had his head in the clouds, always dreamt of life as a musician. his parents could do little to stop what his heart wanted. as a kid he’d play in shows any chance he got at school, and even kick started his own garage band with his friends. he never wanted to be the star of the show, gabriel was more than happy in the background. and that’s how he becomes the bass player of Golden Ours. he grew up in a bustling house that knew nothing about love, and it’s what he puts out into the world. his energy comes from genuine joy, and the desire to spread kindness. he’s a humble star from humble beginnings, and does his best to not let fame get to his head. naturally, there are slip ups, ones he does his best to hide. but all in all, he makes for pleasant company. not much tragedy in this one, rather typical if you ask me. 

ronan on the other hand grows up in completely different circumstances. the accident child of an alcoholic and a junkie, he never really knows stability in his life. his parents never have a good means to finances, and he picks up odd jobs as a kid to support himself if not his parents. he holds his father’s anger and defends himself after each bark and bite from his parents. he doesn’t grow up in a good house, and he doesn’t know if he likes them more when they’re sober or completely out of their minds. he swings a fist at this father at eighteen and is met with his ass on the curb. with little to nothing to his name, he sofa surfs as long as he can, gets himself jobs here and there, nothing that lasts too long. he comes across gabriel before the band hits the charts and it begins as roommates soon turned bandmates. he joins as lead guitarist. ronan’s one to butt heads with the band often, but at the end of the day, they’re family and family was meant to fight. but the disputes only heighten when ronan pushes them to take deals that come their way. change their look, change their sound, change change change for the mainstream media. they won’t take it, and so ronan does. leaves the band behind and embraces life as someone he doesn’t recognize in the mirror. he goes from alt indie rock to more mainstream pop rock. his manager decides what he wears, what he sings, what he signs up for. the money’s good, but he hates himself. but the money’s good.

mira deol:

mira lives a quiet life for the most part. second oldest daughter of five, their family is never without festivities. she’s a good student, not the top of her class, but trying. she sits in the middle of everything, never too loud, never too quiet. mira seems to breeze by life in the background and a part of her itches to be at the front of the show. she knows she’s not built for it, so instead she’ll smile and nod through it all. her life flips upside down, she becomes part of headlines when her family is killed at sixteen. in the middle of the night, the confront what they think to be a robber. her father and his broken english yelling downstairs, threatening to call the cops when a gun’s pulled out on them. mira, silent, watches from the top of the stairs while her entire family is sat down on the rug. one by one, they’re lined up and taken out with a single shot to the head. execution style. she scampers into a closet, and her hands search the dark floors for the gun she knows her dad has. and she sits there, as quiet as ever, hands shaking as she holds the gun in front of her. she thinks he’s left until she hears the creaks up the stairs and the closet door swings open. she closes her eyes and empties the bullets into her assailant without a second thought. mira’s found with blood, both her own and his, on her body. she hasn’t left the closet when they find her, a neighbour calls when they hear the last round of gunshots. her face takes the newspapers by storm and she’s a charity case. without any other family overseas, she moves in with her next door neighbours. a girl she knows from school. she suffers from traumatic mutism for a year. rehab and therapy get her to open up, and she cries anytime she speaks for another year. her life is spent in and out of therapy, and when she finally moves out and manages to get into university, she lives alone. everything about her life screams at her to live with company, but fear of what happens to company around her forces her into living alone. currently, mira is still healing. it’s been five years since her family’s death and she’s pushing herself back into society slowly. her emotions are hard to handle, and she’s incredibly clingy when she gets attached. 

buster jones:

buster lives a comfortable life. his parents work good jobs and they don’t expect much from him. as the youngest of a trio of boys, he’s the family’s baby for most of his life and he milks it for all it’s worth. he spends most of his time gaming, eating, or hanging out with friends. never the best student, but he manages to pull through with the tutors his parents throw at him a countless number of times. he doesn’t tell them that he’s paid kids to do his homework and essays, they don’t need to know that. but when both brothers leave the house, grow old enough to make it out on their own, the attention turns back to buster. buster who does nothing for the family but eat half the contents of their fridge, which can no longer be excuse as the appetite of a growing boy. so his parents make him take up a job, any job, they tell him, and so he goes to work at a mcdonald’s. he reckons it’ll be the least amount of effort he’ll have to put in, and impossible to get fired from. plus, free fries anytime he so pleased. he’s working through his last year of highschool, projected to have to take a fifth year if summer courses fail him. when he makes it to college he takes up criminal justice. not with the dreams of being a lawyer like his mother so hopes, but with the dream of getting into the fbi. only because it looks cool on television and he swears they know everything about area 51, and the gps’ that babies are injected with. an avid reader of conspiracies that he spouts like his life depends on it, what he doesn’t have in book smart, he also doesn’t have much in street smart. how buster makes it through the day, everyone wonders. but somehow he does.

elena castillo:

she grows up doted on. an only child, given the world at her every whim. her father loves her, her mother loves her, but doesn’t have to love as much since her father takes care of that part. her father dies when she’s eight, and her mother doesn’t take it well. elena had shown various talents at a young age, and the one her mother hones in on is her ability to skate. never having taken professional figure skating, her mother says it’s time for her to try. she doesn’t protest much, knows just how pushy her mother can be. she’s a good child for the most part, prone to temper tantrums, but mother knows best. elena’s mother focuses all her energy on her daughter, and it becomes obsessive. like a pageant mom, she signs her up for every competition under the stars. elena is bound to win most of them, and that’s because her mother doesn’t let her rest until she gets her routine down pat. elena’s perfectionism is taught and forced down her throat, it doesn’t come naturally. it doesn’t take long for the girl to embrace that figure skating has become her life. pulled out of classes on a whim just to participate in competitions, she learns how to catch up with classwork quickly without disappointing her mother. she never admits it, but she seeks validation from the one parent she still has. thinks maybe she’ll gain the same love she got from her father if she does it right. elena is quick to snap as she grows older. becomes her biggest critique, and with it comes a sharp attitude that she’s quick to lash out onto others. she projects her own insecurities, and drags people down to bring herself up. she’s now a professional figure skater, one of the best of her age at twenty. but it didn’t come easy, and she’s not willing to give it up easy. in front of the cameras and the crews she waves and smiles. once the lights drop, so does the facade and she doesn’t bother to lift a finger for anyone she deems not worth her time. she becomes more like mother, and over the years, they become more like partners than mother and daughter. their relationship is never healthy.

luciana pereira: prev lucarus

has the sexiest bio it deserves a read here

imogen, willa, devna mini bios coming soon !

[purplesurveys]

1268

The last person you kissed treat you right? Nah.

Would you be shocked if the last person you had feelings for texted you? I’m not interested in anyone; haven’t been in a while.

Is this upcoming year going to be a good one for you? Ugh, I dunno...I feel like 2021 was already such a peak. It’s scary to place high expectations for the next year because it’d obviously be a bummer if it ends up sucking. I can only hope it would be even just as halfway decent as this year.

What if you had a baby with the last person you texted? Biological impossibility aside, it would cause such a stir in the office, I presume. It would also be a big mistake, considering I don’t feel anything towards her and so I’m just not sure how large my commitment would be to the new life being formed.

Who knows your biggest secrets? Well most of them are with Gabie, unfortunately. Thankfully she forgets easily so I hope she doesn’t remember most of them anymore.

Do you care if people hate you for no reason? I care in the sense that I would find it laughable.

Are you in a good mood? Um I think I’m just neutral today. I recklessly took three cups of coffee yesterday and I’m still recovering from what feels like the world’s worst hangover, but I also like that it’s the weekend...idk, there are many elements that are either good or bad that make up my mood today, so I think overall I’m just meh hahaha.

Were you single on your last birthday? Yes.

Does it bother you when people respond with one word texts? Not really, unless it’s meant to be a response that warrants more than one word.

Have you ever ran from your own parents? I had plans to run away before, but until now I can’t actually tell if my feelings then were genuine or if it had just been an angsty puberty lashing-out thing.

Are you afraid of clowns? No. Is there someone you are dying to see? Any of my friends.

Do you have any hickeys on you? No, it’s been a while.

You just won $100,000, what’s the first thing you would buy? A new phone because the LCD on mine is B U S T E D as fuck.

Are you currently looking forward to anything? Getting my next paycheck lol. I allotted most of my last salary for other people – three birthdays (Angela’s, my mom’s, my sister’s – why are there so many Virgos?!?! Hahaha) and chipping in to help my dad for an unexpected plumbing issue that came up at home – so nearly none of it was left for me. Fortunately the rest of the month will be far calmer so I don’t intend on touching my next pay lmao. Is your hair long enough to put in a ponytail? Yes. I always want it to be long enough to be tied in a ponytail.

Is love worth fighting for? Yeah, I still believe so. The last time I did, it was just for the wrong person.

Is there anyone you wish you could be spending time with right now? I want to be with Angela, Reena, and Hans so we can watch the entire Memories of 2020 together :( I’ve been watching it by myself so far (I was the only one in our group who bought a copy lol) and it’s just not as big of a blast.

Will this Friday be a good one? I’m not sure yet but I know for a fact I’ll still be relieved since it will be a Friday...

Could you picture yourself getting married and having kids? Yeah but the image gets blurrier as the days go by.

What is your current mood? Dizzy from my coffee overconsumption; annoyed because I have OT work to do today; calm thanks to the cold and cloudy weather.

Did the last person you kissed name start with a J, C, B, I, R, S, Q, L or A? No.

Who last poked you on Facebook? Is that still a feature? I genuinely have no clue but I also don’t know if anyone ever did poke me. I was extremely introverted back then and wouldn’t have been a target for poking.

Is it harder to be rejected or to reject someone else? Be rejected.

What did you fall asleep thinking about last night? I went to bed with the biggest headache in the history of headaches and with a nagging desire to try throwing up from the three cups of coffee I took, so I was actually feeling extremely worried as I was trying to turn in hahaha. I had the worst scenarios in my head.

Who is someone who puts up with you no matter what? Angela. I actually just thanked her for it yesterday, since I was feeling emotional with the one-year mark of my breakup coming up.

Last person to call you? A delivery rider asking for directions to my house, as always.

Ever been told “it’s not you, it’s me?” Yes.

Do you like to take walks? The need comes up rarely.

Were you happy when you woke up today? Not really. I was just nauseous.

When was the last time you cried? Last night. I was in the middle of a weekend work meeting over Zoom and...idk, a bunch of emotions dropped down on me all over a sudden as I was reflecting on the breakup. I could hardly concentrate on the meeting and I’m pretty sure I was on the brink of a panic attack, but thankfully both my cam and mic were turned off. I just let myself cry. I was feeling every emotion at once, I think is what happened.

Can you honestly say you’re okay right now? Yes.

What are you planning on doing after this? I wanna look for another survey to take.

Will tomorrow be better than today? No, because tomorrow will be Monday, and I’m never excited about that.

Is there a girl you would do anything for? Sure.

Is there a boy you would do anything for? Sure.

Who IM'ed you on Facebook last? Reena.

What were you doing at 4 a.m.? I was wrapping up my Rhythm Hive session and also feeling the increasing discomfort of my migraine.

Have you ever liked someone who treated you badly? It was way beyond like.

Are you a jealous person? Hmm, sometimes. I feel envy more often than jealousy, though.

Are you someone who hates to read? Hahaha yeah, unfortunately I’ve turned into such a person. I wonder where my love of reading went. :(

When was the last time you went in the car past midnight? February when I went to a bar with friends and we wrapped up way later than I thought we would.

What was the last thing you ate? That would be breakfast; and earlier my mom prepared fried rice with omelette, eggplant salad with salted egg, luncheon meat, and dried fish.

Who was the last person to text you? Kata.

How is your hair? Funny you brought this up...I was playing with my hair while we were streaming mass awhile ago, and I plucked my first-ever white strand of hair :( Needless to say I’m freaking out and feeling existential about it lmao.

Could things possibly get any better? I definitely read that with Chandler Bing’s voice in my head lol. < Hahaha now I did, too! Anyway, yeah, maybe a little.

How important are looks to you? It’s up there.

Is your hair longer than your shoulders? No, it sits exactly on my shoulders.

Who would you like your next “fling” to be with? I’m not looking for flings.

Were your last two kisses with the same person? Yeah, but those last two kisses were well over a year ago.

Will you be in a relationship in the next couple months? Nope.

Do you have trust issues? Now I do.

Do you have alcohol in your house? Yeah I still have several bottles of soju and beer left in the fridge. My parents also have a couple of bottles of white wine but I would never touch that lol. I believe we also still have that bottle of JD somewhere in the pantry.

You’re locked in a room with the person you last kissed. Any problems? None on my end, only because I stopped caring forever ago.

Have you ever kissed someone who smokes? Yep.

If you were paid 1 million dollars to spend the night in a supposed haunted house, would you? Sure, that might even end up being fun. Do you think you can last in a relationship for five months? I lasted nearly 15 times longer than that, if my mental math is correct.

Did you ever kiss someone with a tattoo? No.

Think back to October, were you with someone? Not anymore, but October 2020 had been a major grieving month.

[cupcakemolotov]

Universal Language

It has been a rough couple of weeks, and I know some people have been needing some fluff, so here we go. No monsters just yet, but I am working on it! And I will probably change this title, but I cannot brain.

The flat was dark as Caroline stood in the kitchen, lip tucked tightly between her teeth. A quick glance out of a window told her what she already knew. The rain that had hit as they’d staggered into Klaus’ super fancy building was still going strongly outside, leaving the city hazy and cold. Tugging the edge of her borrowed shirt a little firmer over her knuckles, she debated her options. 

She was really starting to regret leaving the bed, but she really needed a few minutes to herself to sort some of her mental floundering. She hadn’t been sure if she could keep her hands to herself if she’d stayed cuddled up to Klaus, and if he had woken up and looked at her like he had last night, she was going to end up distracted real fast. Pressing her fingers to her burning cheeks, she took a centering breath and pushed aside the hotter memories from last night. 

Though they were really, really good. 

She’d flown into London three days ago to wrangle some press for Enzo, her rockstar best friend determined to keep her life interesting. Three tours, two high profile relationships before he’d gotten around to realizing Bonnie was perfect for him, and a lifetime of coordinating his band practices and wrangling shows until he had hit it big time had made her very good at her job. But even she had her limits. But since he’d just brought home his first Grammy and also recently celebrated his first wedding anniversary, she’d give him some slack. Not much, but a little. And when he’d invited her to a small party he was throwing to celebrate both events, she’d shown up. 

And so had Klaus. 

The Mikaelson’s were old tour friends. They’d been the first group to really take a chance on Enzo as an opening act, and he and Kol had hit it off. They’d stayed in touch for bar crawls and club hoping, and other activities Caroline was pretty certain would give any PR worth their salt early wrinkles. She and Elijah had become professional acquaintances very quickly, and she’d always liked that he’d taken her seriously, even fresh faced and the ink on her degree still wet. Where Elijah understood the inner workings of the press far better than anyone she had ever bet, Caroline brought a social media game that was rock solid. 

These days, Elijah even wrote the note on her holiday cards himself. 

But Klaus. There had always been something about the lead singer and guitarist that left awareness skating down the back of her spine like a touch. He’d made a move early on, with wicked dimples and curlings lips, and hadn’t so much as blinked when she'd turned him down. She wouldn’t lie to herself and say that she hadn’t sometimes regretted that decision those long hours on the road watching him perform, but she had goals and Enzo had dreams. She hadn’t been willing to let even a hint of distraction slow them down. Even if the distraction tended to remove his shirt part way through a performance, and was built.

But last night he’d shown up at that hole in the wall pub, and she’d found herself wondering. All the things she had ignored as she built her career, all the possibilities that she’d let go because her ten year plan had so little wiggle room for any of them. This morning she had a lot less to wonder about and so much more to ponder. The way he’d looked at her when she’d asked him to take her to his home, how good it’d felt and how ridiculously easy he had read her cues. She’d have loved to get her hands on a pad or pen so she could put her thoughts in order, a list right now would really be helpful, but she didn’t want to risk waking Klaus by rummaging through his things.

Well, rummaging anymore than she already had.

Her dress had been crumpled at the foot of the bed, but she hadn’t really wanted to put it back on. Sneaking into Klaus’ closet to find something warm to pull on when she couldn’t locate a robe had been an exercise in ninja-stealth she was surprised had worked. He had made it clear last night that she was welcome to stay, and the idea of leaving had been momentarily tempting, but she was no longer in her early twenties and she’d known Klaus for over a decade.

If she couldn’t stick around with breakfast with him post-sex, she was probably never going to manage it with anyone. Plus, it was raining. There was no way she was walk of shaming it back to her hotel in the rain.

Caroline bounced on her toes for a moment to warm up and tried to decide what her most pressing issue was. What she needed right then was a cup of coffee. However, being friends with Enzo had taught her that finding a normal, American coffee pot in this city would be near impossible. Huffing at the thought, she snuck another glance at the darkened bedroom. 

Klaus probably wouldn’t sleep much longer, he was an annoyingly early riser most of the time, and she really needed to be firing on all cylinders when he made an appearance. Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and determinedly, quietly, started snooping through his cabinets. He had spent enough time with her to know that she was a snooper. He’d even lent a helping hand once or twice when she was getting even with Enzo and Kol, so it would hardly be a surprise if he caught her. And she really wanted to know what a rockstar who wasn’t Enzo kept in his kitchen. 

What she found was a surprising amount of high end pots and pans, a few gadgets she didn’t recognize straight off the bat, an impressive collection of wooden spoons, and most importantly, a small french press. It was the exact same one that Enzo kept for her, and she punched the air in silent victory. She’d already spotted his electric kettle, so it wouldn't take long to put together a cup. Rising up on her toes, she was about to open another cabinet, surely if he had a french press he had coffee, when a sleep rough voice interrupted her. 

“Two cabinets over, love. Top shelf.”

She slammed down on her heels, hand pressed against her chest and turned to toss a glare. “Geez, scare me to death.”

Caroline had to catch her tongue between her teeth, hard, as the sight of him. He’d clearly just rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, and they were slung low on his hips. His hair stood up in all directions, and she was pretty sure the bruise just beneath on his collarbones was a lingering reminder of her teeth. His smile was slow, dimples cutting deep as he wandered closer. 

“I was wondering where that shirt went.” Klaus’ smile deepened, gaze tracking down her body, the rest of of the clothing she had borrowed. “Comfortable?”

She shrugged, ignoring the way she could feel her cheeks heat. “It's cold.”

“You could have stayed in bed,” he pointed out as he obligingly stopped by the controls for the air, turning the heat up. “It was plenty warm.”

She really, really could have but there was no point in inflating his ego more than it needed to be. “And listen to you snore?”

He poked at a particularly ticklish spot on her ribs as he moved by her to reach for the coffee grounds and Caroline jerked away from him with a glare, but accepted the bag as Klaus started the kettle. It was weirdly domestic and easy, and she had no idea what to say to any of it. Thankfully Klaus didn’t seem to be suffering from the same internal struggle and opened the fridge, hand running through his hair. 

“I wasn’t expecting company, but I have eggs if you’re hungry. I’m not sure we can trust the bacon.” His eyes flickered to her, brow arching. “Delivery is also an option.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “No one wants soggy pancakes, Klaus. I’ll take the eggs, maybe toast if your bread isn’t molding. Also, I can’t believe you cook.”

“Self-preservation,” he said easily. “After a tour, the last thing I wanted was more takeaway. It's not always good, mind you, but at least I don’t have to deal with people.”

She thought about that as he moved around, seemingly completely at ease with her. Klaus didn’t let people in his personal space, was very private when he wasn’t on tour, and she was standing in his kitchen wearing his clothes after she’d spent the night in his bed. Brows tucked together, she mechanically set about making her coffee, turning over everything that had and hadn’t been said in the last twelve hours. The stay, he’d murmured against the nape of her neck after they’d showered and staggered back into bed.  

She kept her voice carefully casual. “We both know how much you love people.”

He shot her a look, but his lips twitched. “Should you really be taking a jab at the person making you breakfast?’

“You like it,” she dismissed, finally pouring herself a mug of coffee. She took the first sip with a little sigh of relief and leaned against the counter. “Need help with anything?”

“I like a great many things about you, Caroline,” Klaus murmured as he reached for the half of a loaf on his counter. “The bread should be okay. I pulled it out of the freezer yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” She repeated as she checked the bread before moving closer to the toaster, dodging his earlier comment. “Kol mentioned you guys had been traveling, but he wasn’t exactly coherent when he was giving me details. I think Enzo had goaded him into something like eight shots at that point. I’m not entirely sure how he was standing.”

Klaus made a low noise of amusement as he cracked eggs into the frying pan. “How do you want your eggs, love?”

“I’m not that picky,” she assured him. “Well, about eggs. As long as it's not soft boiled, I’ll eat it, though it’d have been better if there was cheese.”

“I’ll make a note for my assistant,” he said casually. “I’m sure she can find something to meet your standards.”

Caroline glanced at him to find him watching her, eyes intent. “Planning on me sticking around?”

“I did ask you to stay,” he pointed out, gaze leaving her face only long enough to flip the contents of the pan. “That hasn’t changed just because its morning. You’ve never been shy about telling me where we stand, Caroline, and I hope that remains the same as well.”

She flushed, momentarily ignoring the toast popping up. “I didn’t have time for a distraction back then.”

“I remember,” Klaus said lightly. “I believe your exact words were ‘you’re pretty, but not worth Enzo’s career.’”

Caroline scowled when his gaze dragged along her pink face. “You took it well.”

He tipped his head and opened a cabinet, pulling out a plate and sliding the fried eggs onto it. “It helped my bruised ego when you shut everyone else down with even less consideration for their feelings.”

“Some of them were decidedly less charming than you,” she pointed out as she finally reached for the toast, dropping it onto the plate he offered her before going back to cooking his breakfast.

“So you think I’m charming and pretty,” he murmured. “That’s two points in my favor, but not enough that you’d have let last night happen ten years ago.”

“No,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Eat,” he said as she continued to watch him. “You might not be picky, cheese non-withstanding, but cold eggs are terrible.”

Laughing a little, she hosted herself onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and wolfed down her food. Last night had been quite the workout, and she was definitely hungry. Klaus didn’t rush through his food, but he was quick, and by the time she was pouring the last of the coffee into her mug, he was loading the dishwasher. He shut it with his hip, quickly washing his hands, before he turned and faced her. 

“Now,” he said, stepping close to where she was sitting and reaching up to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Before we settle in for the rest of the weekend, there are a few things you should know.”

“Arrogant,” she muttered, even as she gave in to the need and pressed her palm against the heat of his side. 

Klaus looked entirely unbothered by her comment. “The traveling that Kol mentioned? We’ve been scoping out real estate in New York City.”

“We,” she repeated carefully, heart thumping into her throat. 

“We. Marcel has been pitching that as a band we start spending more of our time stateside in between tours and recording, and we’ve agreed to it on a trial basis.” His hand came up and he brushed his thumb across the angle of her cheekbone. “I have heard from Enzo and Kol that you might be considering a similar split lifestyle.”

Licking her lips, she nodded and felt a jolt of something warm that he had been asking about her. “It's one of the reasons for this visit.”

His smile was slow and pleased, and his gaze dipped to trace the curves of her mouth. “I’d like to take you dinner.”

Caroline blinked. “Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date. Assuming of course, that I’m still pretty and that Enzo’s career is no longer more important,” he teased lightly, but his eyes were serious. “I plan on being quite the distraction, Caroline.”

She pushed to her feet and tried very hard not to give in and feel up the expanse of bare skin on display. “You’re still really pretty, and I’d love to go to dinner.”

His hand slid to the small of her back and he pulled her closer. “But not tonight.”

“No?”

He shook his head, fingers tugging lightly on the edge of her borrowed shirt. “I have plans for the weekend. And they do not involve us leaving the apartment.”

“Does these plans involve a spare toothbrush?” Caroline asked. “I can probably survive the dreaded takeaway, but there will be no kissing if I don’t get a toothbrush.”

“I imagine I have a spare or two floating around,” Klaus murmured. “I can probably even be talked into making a quick run to your hotel to pick up a few things if you really want them, though clothes are optional and you are welcome to mind. As for food, if you want something more than cheese, you should speak up soon.”

Laughing, she finally gave in and looped her arms around his shoulders. “So magnanimous.”

“For you?” He smiled against her temple for a moment before he stepped back and caught her hand with his, bringing it to the heat of his mouth. Laughing, she untangled herself, and he pulled her with him towards the bedroom. “I’m sure I can find it in me. Let’s find that toothbrush, love, and you can make whatever lists you want, and then you’re mine for the rest of the day.”

Caroline’s smile widened behind him, teeth digging into her lip to stop a giddy laugh. A man with a plan who didn’t mind that she was going to make lists, who was very shortly going to be living much closer to her than she had ever thought possible. Klaus was going to make it very difficult to not fall in love with him, and that thought wasn’t nearly as scary as she’d thought it would be.

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/75899453#workskin

Chapter 57

Nick was high the entire night. His heart felt lighter than ever and even though he had smiled and laughed before it felt like he did it for the first time. No secrets, no lies, no hidden gifts…just pure joy - and the confidence that nothing could ever destroy their friendship and their love. Not even Nick himself. And that defeating himself had been necessary to get all of this back.

It seemed to him that also Morrie acted differently, that he was happier than before, while they exchanged little glances and nudges.

Also Matt, who had been quite reserved because of the trouble he had caused to Morrie was now very friendly again. And the band, if they had any worries, they didn’t show it.

Nick found it was one of the best nights in his life, even though Morrie and him were too exhausted to do anything more than cuddle and fall asleep. He woke up refreshed and with all bad feelings wiped out of his mind.

Sleepily, he lied in bed, blinking and looking at the ceiling. The sun was already up but the house was quiet. Even Morrie was still asleep. The former night had been probably very exhausting for his sensitive lover. Nick didn’t want to wake him up yet.

Why, even?

He felt like he had all the time in the world to enjoy this moment.

Then he got an idea. Something he had never done for another person before but he thought Morrie would like very much.

He quietly left the bed and sneaked into the kitchen, glad that everyone else was still asleep, therefore unable to disturb this peaceful moment. He closed the door just in case. Also, he wondered how he’d get it all up the stairs when it was finished, but he told himself to care about it later.

Wait - did he even have anything in his fridge? He usually provided himself with coffee and other liquids and went to eat somewhere else.

While the coffee machine was busy, he opened the fridge and was surprised to find it filled. The last time it had been this full was when he still had a wife. He guessed it was Virgil who took care that his superstars won’t starve.

Good old Virgil.

Nick took out everything he found necessary and put a pan on the stove, happy to have a real breakfast for once. Morrie would be surprised.

Nick didn’t consider himself to be fancy at cooking but it wasn’t hard to make some scrambled eggs with bacon and toast. He remembered that after a long exhausting night, it tasted like heaven.

It would be just right.

He even found a tray to serve it all on. It became rather heavy and made him regret he didn’t have a kitchen upstairs, but well, he couldn’t turn back now, so he carefully sneaked back to the upper floor.

In the corridor, he heard that his lover was looking for him.

“Norrie? Norrie, where are you?“

Suddenly, he came around the corner.

“Watch out!“, Nick shouted.

The tray clanked and the dishes shook. Quickly, Morrie saved the coffee pot from being shattered on the floor.

“That was close!“

Then Morrie eyed what was in front of him.

“You…you made breakfast?“

“Yeah“, Nick said shrugging. “I thought you’re maybe hungry and…wouldn’t it be nice to have breakfast in bed? It’s not Avalon quality, but it’s made with lots of love.“

Morrie beamed. “When did you learn how a stove works?“

“Hey“, Nick mildly protested. “I learned it from you, I guess.“

They went back into the bedroom, where Nick was happy to put the heavy tray down. When they sat around it, Nick started pouring the coffee.

“What happened to you?“ Morrie showed that Nick’s surprise was doing it’s magic.

“I just want to try new things“, he answered, handing a mug to his lover. “Now that you’re with me, I feel that I have the strength to do so.“

“Aww“, Morrie said, half teasing and half touched. “I’m glad you see it this way now.“

Nick smiled back. “It took me long enough.“

“We have time to make up for it…It’s already a good start“, his lover said, looking at the food with delight in his eyes.

Nick made sure to give Morrie all the attention. But when he shared some scrambled eggs with him, he was suddenly reminded of a situation that had been similar to this, that he had enjoyed too but now made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t want to think about it now but he had to admit he had forced it with his self-made breakfast, believing he could take one of his once favorite memories and rewrite it, correct it.

Now he realized that he couldn’t change his past so easily.

He didn’t even want to change it. Or did he? He wasn’t sure.

It felt unfair to delete him this way. He still had helped him out, made him happier, no matter what his intentions had been. Perhaps he should keep the memories, hold them dear and not mix them up with his new life.

“Hey, what’s wrong?“, he suddenly heard Morrie ask and a hand gently palpated his arm.

Nick lifted his head, confused.

“You looked sad…“, Morrie pointed out.

“It’s nothing…Don’t worry, I’m not sad, why would I be?“, Nick tried to shake it off and continued to eat. The silence that came after that told him that his lover wasn’t convinced at all. And Morrie’s expression concerned him too.

“Morrie, please…“

The other man sorely went back to eating.

“Alright…I guess I’ll find out anyway…Everything you’ve tried to hide so far came out all by itself. I just hoped I didn’t have to wait for that anymore.“

“Morrie!“, Nick blurted out.

They exchanged glances.

Dejected, Nick went on: “I was thinking about something that isn’t part of my life anymore. It’s over.“

Morrie reflected on that. “And that’s making you sad? Because you miss it?“

Nick turned away. “Just give me some time, okay?“

“I just want to know if you’re in danger or not…“, his lover urged him.

“I’m fine“, Nick promptly replied, still turning his back to the other man. “I’m saying goodbye. That’s all.“

“Alright…“ Morrie sighed.

After a while, Nick turned around again. “Morrie…I know I made a promise but you have to trust me too. Don’t jump at me every time I look weird! This is getting us nowhere!“

Morrie put his plate down.

“You’re right…“, he said calmer. His expression was apologetic. “I’m just so worried about you…and us…and everything….I guess I worry too much.“ He cracked a painful smile. “Do you think I should take more Joy?“

Nick eyed his lover. “I think you’re…perfect the way you are…“

“But it’s true, right? You’re not afraid, aren’t you?“

“I was“, Nick admitted. “But it’s getting better.“ He gave him a warm smile and his lover slowly joined.

“We’ll make it, Morrie. One by one, it’s gonna be the life we want to live.“

His lover, if he believed it or not, lit up.

When they continued their meal, Nick swore to himself that he’d always cheer Morrie up. That’s what he’d live for, and like that they’d overcome everything.

Later that day, he could focus more on what they had accomplished as a band. The Make Believes had become very popular and his friends started to receive fan letters and got recognized on the street. It was like the fans forgot they had ever been apart.

When Morrie and Nick met the others, they told them that they felt very nostalgic and planned to bring some of the old glamour back into their lives. The house would be perfect for it, with the stage and the bar and everything. In short, they wanted to have a party. Like one of the old days, with all the town’s celebrities and everyone else who promised to be fun. They felt like they’ve been hiding long enough.

Nick couldn’t hide how much he liked the idea. He was ready to show himself to the world again and prove that he got back into his old shape. However, he kept worrying that Morrie might not like it. During their conversation, his lover looked less excited, but agreed with everything. When all was settled, Nick found an excuse to separate Morrie and him from the group and have a talk in private.

“Are you really ready for this?“, he asked quietly.

Morrie dug his hands into his pockets.

“Well…I guess I’ll never be. But it makes sense. We have to get out of our shell once in a while.“

“Morrie, if you’re not ready, we can wait. I wouldn’t blame you.“

“No, it’s fine…Just give me some halfway decent guests to talk to…“

They chuckled.

“It’s only for one night. We’ll make it“, Nick assured him. “And if you can’t stand it any longer, you know where my secret hideout is.“

Morrie grinned shortly, then he turned serious again. “Will you be careful?“

Nick knew what he meant. It was the other elephant in the room. He had no idea how many female fans would be there, but they wouldn’t be rare. And they’d expect something from him.

He nodded. “I have an idea. It’s not gonna be very polite but I’ll use every cheap trick to get away from my fans when they become…well…clingy. I’ll make sure I’ll have enough party favors and drinks.“

“Sounds like you’re gonna be very busy…“

“Not the way I shouldn’t be.“

“Does that mean you…you won’t shag any of them?“

“Yeah…“ Nick shrugged sheepishly. “That’s the plan.“

Morrie didn’t say anything to that. Instead he fell into Nick’s arms.

Nick looked forward to proving his love once more.

“Why don’t you just go?“, said a nasty voice in his head.

It had been bothering him ever since his last meeting with Nick had gone so horribly wrong. And whatever he tried to shut it up, it kept coming back.

“Why?“

It was his only company. Nick didn’t come back.

Was he busy? Well, the star was always busy. And left Arthur torn apart.

He blamed himself and he blamed Nick.

Of course, a Wellie wouldn’t want to leave the town, or even hear about it. He should’ve shut his damn mouth. As if he forgot how it felt to be on Joy.

He wouldn’t have done it though, if Nick hadn’t seemed to be so different, made him feel like he could tell him everything and Nick would understand, at least try.

Then there was that other nasty feeling in his stomach.

What if it wasn’t about ’leaving the town’ that had made Nick snap? And no matter how often he blamed himself that he should’ve been more polite about it, his mind always came back to the fact that he had simply asked for a bigger part in Nick’s life. And Nick had said no.

It could be that he had already been to afraid of the Downer to let him into his home, but what if not?

What did all of this mean?

Would Nick even come back?

“So why don’t you leave? Stop living a dream. You have a Letter of Transit. Use it. Nick doesn’t love you.“

Arthur angrily wiped his eyes. Not now.

He was out for a walk after hiding in his shelter for hours, because he had to be in an at least acceptable shape to pretend being on Joy. He really needed some fresh air now.

Well, as fresh as it could be in a town full of toxic gas.

Somehow, his Letter of Transit had found it’s way into his jacket.

Arthur tried not to think about it while he felt like he was walking in circles. All the streets looked the same in Hamlyn Village, and they were so narrow, they made him imagine himself as a lab rat in a labyrinth. But there was no cheese.

“Time go get out.“

He shook his head. It couldn’t be a dream. There had been more between Nick and him than sexual desire.

“They why don’t you go face him and ask?“

Well…perhaps because he didn’t have the heart? Or because it was unfair?

Why did he always have to ask for a date? Why wouldn’t Nick come back? It would feel so good if he came back, being sorry, and telling him that of course he could move in.

Arthur stopped and wiped his eyes again. He must look so pathetic.

Sadly, he glanced at a TV screen that hung from a wall, installed to provide the Wellies with the newest propaganda. Other pedestrians stopped too to watch when Uncle Jack’s face appeared on screen. Arthur envied them.

“Make me laugh, Uncle Jack“, he muttered. “Anything to distract me.“

Already seconds later, he couldn’t stand it anymore to watch his forced smile and childish jokes. He continued his sad stroll until he heard a familiar name and stopped once more.

Of course he was in the news.

He was always in the news.

The town craved his happy comeback with his happy songs and his happy rags.

This time, Uncle Jack was beaming with joy to announce that there was going to be a party at Nick’s fab pad, and everyone could come, as long as they behaved, he added with a little wink.

Arthur started to feel hot and cold. The amount of people that would be there, trying to get to Nick…his Nick.

While everyone was chattering about the happy news, Arthur decided that he had found another excuse to visit Nick. After all, he had to make up to Mrs. Oliphant for not taking any photos of Nick’s proposal.

“No you don’t. You could just get out of here.“

“Shut up!“, he said out loud.

A woman that had been chattering with her friend gave him a shocked look.

“Uh…because I’m so happy to see you!“, Arthur added, forcing a wide grin. “And you, and you…!“, he said to the staring Wellies. “See you at the party…!“ Waving them goodbye, he skipped around a corner.

[borhap-au]

Coming home (to his wife and kids). Ben Hardy au.

The biggest nightmare that Ben had was to be an absentee father. He always dreamt of a big family and when he finally managed to have one with you, he wanted to give you all the time that he could. Unfortunately, his career got in the way. There was even a time when Ben considered giving up acting to be with you at home, but you didn’t let him. You knew how hard he worked for what he achieved in Hollywood, and you told him many times, there was much more yet to come. You had two babysitters who sometimes came and helped you with all five of your kids, usually there were also yours or Ben’s parents around. You didn’t really need more help with the kids as such, but you couldn’t help but miss your husband when he was gone for a few weeks. 

The kids missed him too. Especially your oldest boy, Freddie, and the twins, Brian and Roger, second in line. Even your two year old, John, sometimes asked about dad, even though he wasn’t the one to speak too much. Not because he couldn’t, but because as the quiet one of the group, he simply didn’t want to. 

To the house full of boys finally came another girl, to join forces with you. You called her after your favorite female artist, since Ben was in charge of picking names for boys. Obviously. She was still very small and Benny hated he couldn’t be there for her all the time. Especially since the first months of the child are the most important. He missed you all terribly and always called and facetimed you anytime he could. You hardly had time to speak with him, really. Your sons always took your phone or sat in front of the laptop and talked with dad about all that happened that day. They even started giving him daily reports on how their sister has been, since they were all very protective of the youngest one. 

Ben asked for any free days almost every day at work. He was not lazy, he sometimes worked harder than the rest of the cast, but he really wanted to see you and the kids. Finally, there came an occasion. It came out of the blue, he wasn’t expecting it. But it was a nice surprise he was definitely going to use.

He packed his bags fast and got on the first plane that took him back home to you. It was a night flight, and he landed in the morning. When the taxi got him home, all of you were sleeping. He quietly entered the bedroom only to see almost his entire family sleeping peacefully in the king size bed. You were on the verge of it, making as much place for the kids as it was possible. Your daughter was in the center of the bed, like a real queen. Freddie was sleeping next to your legs, and Brian and Roger took the remaining space. Only John was sleeping in his crib, without any disturbance and avoiding the threat of getting accidentally kicked in the head during the night. 

Ben smiled and looked at all of you for a few minutes, but then decided there’s no time to lose, since you didn’t have many occasions to be all together, since three of your sons already went to school, had after school activities, and Ben obviously worked. So he came up to you first and softly kissed your lips. You moved away being all confused and a bit scared, but when you saw his face, you brought his face closer again and kissed him passionately.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, confused, but obviously also very happy to see him. He smiled at you and kissed your head. 

“Came back home early to my gang. Couldn’t wait to see you, guys.” you smiled and looked at your children, all sleeping peacefully. Ben came up to Freddie and started tickling him. At first he only moved around trying to avoid the tickles, but then he started laughing and opened his eyes.

“Dad!” he screamed and jumped to hug him. Ben smiled holding him in his arms and patting his back. You sit up on the bed smiling at the view, while Roger yawned. 

“Why are you scream- DAD!” and he jumped to hug him as well, while pushing Brian with his leg. “Get up, you lazy butthead! Dad’s here!” Roger screamed. You raised your brow.

“Roggie, we don’t use such language in this house” but he didn’t listen to you, just climbed on Ben’s arms. Brian opened his eyes in disbelief and smiled widely. 

“Dad!” he was another one to hug him. From all the screaming, John and your little baby girl woke up too. After all the hugging and welcoming, Ben told his kids to fast go to the bathroom to brush their teeth and then go to the kitchen.

They all run fast to the big sink you had. John put his little box in front of the sink and climbed on it, to be able to reach his toothbrush. Meanwhile, Ben changed his daughter’s diapers. You smiled looking at him doing so. You missed that view. Daddy Ben, your husband, taking care of his little kids. 

Later on they all run to the kitchen in their pajamas. Well – you did too. Only Ben had normal clothes on, while you held your little daughter in your hands, rocking her, and the boys were fighting about what they will make for breakfast.

“Pancakes!” screamed Roger.

“Dad prefers eggs and bacon!” argued Freddie.

“Boys, boys, calm down. Don’t worry, we can make everything everyone wants” he smiled petting his twins’ heads. And they did.

They started with the pancakes, and already while taking the flour out of the cupboard, they dropped it on the floor, making it spread all over the kitchen. They were all white, standing there terrified. When after ten seconds neither you nor Ben started to scream at them for it, they took the flour and started to throw it at each other. The mess was overwhelming. There was no way their pajamas were used for anything else in this state. You told the boys to take their pajamas off and went to put them in the washing machine, while Ben took your daughter on his hands. It didn’t stop the boys from fighting, though. Moreover, one of them took an egg and throw it at the other. This was an end.

You didn’t let them continue for much longer, and they did have to at least swipe the floor before they continued cooking. After all, one of them could slip and bump their head. Out of the things that were left in the fridge, they decided to make toasts. Each one of them made them with whatever they wanted to put in them, which obviously turned into a contest of who will put the most in his toast and then try to squeeze it into the sandwich machine.

You and your husband watched the boys fighting over every single little thing and just made sure they won’t hurt themselves or each other, but without interfering in their business. You just made sure no one will cut their fingers while cutting ham or anything else, but most of the work the boys did themselves. After some time Ben took your daughter and put her on the blankets and stated playing with her, getting to know his little Princess he was missing for all the weeks he was away. You smiled watching them. Ben truly was a fantastic dad. He was kind, understanding, never laid a hand on his children – obviously, cause that would make you leave him. He was also a great playing partner, cause he was never too tired to go on “an adventure” with the boys, whatever they wanted to play this time. They were missing their dad not without a reason.

Later you made the boys eat whatever they created out of their toasts, having a little fun with it, too, when you saw them squeezing their faces when they realized all of the things didn’t work together in a sandwich. They were sitting on the carpet in front of the TV, watching morning cartoons. You sat on a couch with your husband and ate your breakfast peacefully at last, while your husband fed your daughter from the bottle. When he finished, John climbed on his legs and snuggled to him, but your husband still managed to put his arm around you and pet your arm with his thumb, despite all the kids wanting to have his full attention.

After that he obviously had to go play cowboys and policemen and recently, parkour fanatics. Since the boys saw him pretending to do parkour in the fragments of “6 Underground” they wanted to be just like daddy and do the same. Thankfully, because they woke up very early and then had a busy afternoon with dad, they went to sleep very early as well. Your daughter was also already sleeping. This was the time you had with your husband.

You sat in the living room with the lights off, the only source of light being the television set you were paying no attention to. He had your arm around you, petting your waist, while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. You were smiling while he left little kisses on your cheeks and cheekbones. You were petting his leg with your thumb and returned the kisses every once in a while. You missed your husband also because he was a very passionate person. He got you used to the attention and gentleness he always showed you, not to mention the passion you felt coming from him every time you were alone in the room. After all, you had so many children not without a reason. He softly bit your ear lobe.

“I missed you so much, baby, you have no idea. You and the kids. I just couldn’t wait to see you all again. You are my life” he proceeded to talk about your family, when he finally changed the subject to something more intimate.

“And I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I was alone. I don’t know how I even survived so long without feeling your touch on my body” you smiled hearing that and knowing very well that the last time he come back home and told you all those things, nine months later you welcomed your daughter into your lives. Soon he went quiet without a warning. You looked at him surprised.

“Wha-“ you started, but then you heard that too. And soon John find that little space between you and Ben on the couch and sat there, rubbing his eye with his fist.

“I can’t sleep” he muttered quietly, and Ben hugged him. He told him some funny and interesting stories, and then, when John fell asleep in his arms, put him to his crib again. The boys agreed to sleep in their own beds, to make their dad some space, so you could conveniently snuggle to your husband when you went to bed. He kissed your head while you moves your hand on the side of your body.

“Today was fun” you smiled to him.

“Today was a dream come true for me. I missed you all so much, I couldn’t wait to just have those typical family experiences with you. To you it’s an everyday routine. For me it’s a dream and I almost cried when I thought about the fact I can’t have it when I want it so much. I love you all very much and-“

“And we love you too” you smiled and he smiled back at you and then you kissed for a solid few minutes like you used to do when you were in high school, when you couldn’t get enough of each other. Not like it changed currently. You pet softly the cheek of your husband not believing he was actually here. He usually let you know earlier when he was about to come, but you surely had nothing against the unexpected visits long before he was said to be back. In the morning the boys jumped on your bed waking you up so you both played with them again, and the routine started from the beginning. And Ben was loving every second of it. He lived for it - for the family life wih you and the kids.

[softliebgott]

LEMONADE LIPS AND MARSHMALLOWS

You and your family have managed a somewhat peaceful farm life during the war until you discover two soldiers, George Luz and Frank Perconte, raiding your barn. Disappointed, but nonetheless grateful for the army’s presence, you invite them to have dinner for a proper meal. We all need some Luz Fluff™, or just some softness in general. This is my first attempt at writing Luz, so go easy (pun? yes) on me 😅 

TRANSLATIONS: Oma = grandma, Hurensohn = son of a bitch, rag = 40′s slang for “make fun of”

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March 11, 1945

Sturzelberg, Germany 

Farm life, the absence of human pollution; sound, smell, and people themselves, until the American army came to settle in the town nearby. You didn’t mind. In fact, you were grateful. Germany’s dictator was losing his hold on the reins he sought to keep steady.

A dirt road, reminiscent of chocolate powder, cut past a field. Out of this empty land your family’s farm rose up with its buildings like a huddle of old, painted vessels floating in still water.

The sun embraced its newfound world with warmth that felt different than when the war was at its worst. Perhaps the earth felt it could finally breathe, knowing its body would no longer suffer great wounds from weaponry. It wouldn’t have to weep as it welcomed more of the dead. 

Walking the fields with your father, you bent down to pluck a ripe tomato from its brittle stalk, and then bit into it. Acidic, like an apple. Sweet, like a strawberry. Juicy, like a plum.

“(Y/N),” came your father’s gravelly voice. Knelt down beside a tomato stalk, he looked at you from over his shoulder. His gray eyes, rivaling the polished metal of a suit of armor, reflected the sun’s glare. The map of wrinkles on his face spoke of an incredible journey. His eye lines held echoes of laughter and warm smiles, while his forehead told of worries past and worries present. Sixty years of his story ingrained in him, telling of the man he became; kind, compassionate, and a little tired. Amused, he smiled. “What shall I tell your mother?”

“What both of us already tell her, papa.” You moved to his side, gripped his shoulder, and bent at your knees to whisper, “Rabbits.” You lifted your brow.

He chuckled, crow’s feet lines creasing the edges of his eyes. Your favorite laugh. The kind, when you were a little girl, you loved to feel rock his chest when you hugged him or fell asleep to in his arms. 

You straightened up, smiling impishly as you took another bite of your tomato.

“Perhaps before you tempt me to have a few, could you check the hens for eggs and milk Gerdy? Your mother is wanting to make *Oma’s Apple Cake.”

“Yes, papa.” 

You left the field, finishing your tomato as you headed for the barn. Pulling the wooden door open, light spilled in and washed over, to your shock, two American soldiers standing on a crate and raiding the eggs. One held a hen, while the other had been using his helmet to pile eggs into. Their attention was snagged by you.

“Guten tag, Fraulein.” The soldier holding the hen smiled. He gazed at you through deep-set, hickory brown eyes. A few strands of hair, similar in color to his eyes, hung loose over his forehead. His features, rugged, yet soft, seemed boyish. To you, it felt like he was one of those little boys who tried to grow up too fast.

You folded your arms against your chest, brow furrowed. “You have no right to be stealing.” You did not expect such behavior as this. It disappointed you. 

“Hey, Miss, we’re fighting Hitler,” the other soldier said. “I think we have a right.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. He was half right, but you were in no mood to argue, but to come to an agreement. “You won’t have a proper meal with just eggs. Come on inside and we’ll fix you something.”

The soldiers exchanged looks.

Leading them to your house, the soldier who had first greeted you matched your pace, eager in talking to you, while his friend muttered, “Luz, leave her alone.”

“Hey, what’s your name?” Luz asked.

“(Y/N).”

“I’m George. You sure do speak English well.”

“My mother wanted me to learn for when the British would come, but...”

George grinned, tuning his voice to a deeper tone in a British accent. “Ole Churchill needed an edge of Americanism in his tea.”

You giggled. “We are grateful that you are here.”

He had not made a woman laugh, or heard one such as yours, more attractive to him than woodland birdsong, in years. He wanted to hear it again, to see the way your eyes squinted, and to hear your jumbled words. The laughter and smiles of his friends would never get old, for he strove to give them those little pleasures. Now, he wanted to make you laugh so he could feel that warmth he lit for others.

Inside your family’s quaint home, you introduced the soldiers to your mother, who was washing dishes. “Momma, this is George Luz and Frank Perconte. I caught them stealing our eggs.” You looked as smug as a dog stealing a Christmas goose. “I thought we could make them a proper meal as compromise.”

“Oh, you boys shouldn’t have to steal to get a good meal. Come, sit down.”

Thanking her, George and Frank propped their guns against the wall next to the coat rack. You wondered how many lives those weapons reaped, and it made you think of your brother and cousins who had been drafted. No news had come of their deaths yet, and you often begged to God to spare them through muffled sobs in the night.

Frank offered the helmet-full of eggs to you, the edge of his mouth curling. His eyes reminded you of the chocolate your mother would melt for her cakes. Fine, smooth, and inviting. “Sorry for raidin’ your barn,” he said.

You smiled, taking the olive green helmet. “I’m glad to have caught you.”

As you moved to the counter, the wooden chairs behind you growled against the hard flooring as the men sat themselves. You looked over your shoulder to them. “Would you like some lemonade?”

“Boy, would I.” George beamed.

“Yeah, I’ll take some, too.” Childlike enthusiasm brimmed in Frank’s eyes.

You retrieved the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and then reached for two glasses from the overhead cupboard.

“They are both such handsome men. They remind me of your brother and cousins,” your mother whispered. 

“I just hope they can come home.” You poured the lemonade into the glasses, its tartness rubbing uncomfortably at your nasal cavity.

“They will. I have hope.”

“Is hope enough anymore?” You questioned, heartache softening your gaze.

Your mother tilted her head, eyebrows squished together. Truth was, she had been trying to keep positiveness afloat, but you kept punching holes in the raft. She sighed, averting her eyes and continued to prepare the meal.

A traditional roast of heavily marinated meat, bread rolls, and potato dumplings were prepared. Your father had come in for a break, taken aback by the presence of American soldiers, but had immediately shook hands with them. He was just as grateful to have them here as you were.

“Hey.” Frank bumped his elbow against George, irked. “You gonna take all the rolls? That’s your third one.”

“What are you gonna do, Per-Short-Te, punch me over this nice family dinner?”

You quietly laughed to yourself. You and your parents hadn’t had a dinner such as this after your brother and cousins left. Light-hearted, and distracting their minds from wandering into those claustrophobic tunnels of anxiety.

George noticed your quiet laughter. He caught your eyes and his face softened. Unbeknownst to you, you had the right colors to paint him where the war had watered him down to dismal grayness. He didn’t want this dinner to end. He wanted time alone with you.

You sucked in your lower lip. You had been studying him throughout the meal when he wasn’t looking. You noticed how his bottom lip was fuller, and wondered if you could taste the lemonade if you’d kissed him. Fearful that he could decipher your thoughts in your expression, you forced your eyes down to your lap.

“How long will you be staying in Sturzelberg?” Your father asked.

You felt George’s boot touch your foot, and cold, static-y surprise overwhelmed your body. You glanced up to him as he took a swig of his lemonade. He winked, and heat rushed to your cheeks while you gained a heart beat between your thighs.

“Could be a night or two. We don’t usually know for how long wherever we go,” Frank replied.

“Hey, uh, where’s your bathroom?” George asked.

“Oh.” Your mother’s eyebrows perked up. “(Y/N), could you show this young man where the bathroom is please?”

You felt air catch in your throat. “Yes, Momma,” you said quietly, rising from your seat. 

Yours and George’s movements irritated the senior chairs, triggering arthritic creaks from their legs. You led George out of the kitchen and into the hall. The cornflower blue, floral walls were adorned with framed pictures and embroideries. The wall sconces, wearing earrings of long, fake crystals, often struggled to keep their territory lit as streetlights did at night. 

A bubble of awkward silence swelled between you and George, until he stopped to look at a portrait of a young man in uniform. “This your boyfriend?” He asked. 

“No, that’s my brother.”

“Do you and your family, uh...like Hitler?”

“No, no.” You shook your head. “We loathe him, and even more-so after the men in our family were drafted.”

“I have a theory that he wears a hair-piece. He walks outside one morning, and one gust of wind turns him into a chrome-dome with a penciled mustache. Mr. Honcho holds his bald head and whines.” George placed his finger below his nose to imitate a mustache, deepening and strangling his voice to mimic Hitler. “Hurensohn!” He spoke more, but of jumbled nonsense to rag Hitler about his energetic speeches. “He’s stompin’ away, and his SS boys are chasin’ after the hair piece down the street like it’s a loose dog.”

There it was. Your smile, your laughter. His new favorite sight and sound. His chest and stomach became lightweight, as if he had taken flight. Holy shit, I’m done for, he thought.

After you had shown George to the bathroom, you retreated to your room, wanting to do your daily ritual of looking at your favorite photo album. You sat on the edge of your bed, the album open and resting on your lap. The pictures it embraced featured your favorite memories all the way up until your brother and cousins put on their uniforms. You wanted to save the last few pages for when they would return.

You knew their smiles would either go into hiding or be wrung out of them like water from a cloth. Their laughter would be hard to beckon out, and their minds would be battered vases. You and your parents were determined to help mend those cracks with the priceless gold that came from love, such as the Japanese art form, Kintsugi.

Life would be different, but at least they’d be alive.

“This your room?”

You looked over your shoulder at George, his eyes bouncing about the area in childlike curiosity.

You smiled, closing the photo album. “Yes.”

He approached your bedside. “Mind if I?” He gestured to your bed.

You shook your head and set the album on your nightstand. The bed dipped with his weight, and for a moment you felt you would lose your balance and tip backward onto him. He laid down on his back, crossing his legs. “Jesus Christ, it’s like lying on a marshmallow.” He shifted uncomfortably.

You faced him, a smile playing at your lips. “What have you been sleeping on all war?”

“Uh, well, let’s see. Cold, hard grounds with a side of foxholes.” He turned his head to you. “But speaking of marshmallows, you got any?”

You went out to the kitchen to retrieve a bag of sizable marshmallows, earning questionable glances from your parents and Frank. When you returned to your room, you sat with George and indulged in the puffy treats. Your hands became sticky and little bits of white flesh lingered on your skin like how Styrofoam would. 

Your mind kept trying to yank you back to thoughts of your family in the army, and it occurred to you that since there was a soldier right next to you, you could ask him about things you often wondered about. “What has the war been like...?” You asked.

“Well,” George’s voice was muffled by his chewing. “It’s different for every guy. Different for every army. There’s good times, and there’s bad. Some guys try to make light of things to ease the bad, right? Well, take that for the time my boys and I were in England for continued training. Our commanding officer and drill instructor was Captain Sobel. He didn’t know what the hell he was doin’, and we were hidin’ behind this big bush and couldn’t break silence. That is, until one of the boys told me to mimic Major Horton to fuck around with Sobel.” 

George pulled out two marshmallows, shaping one to appear skinnier. He held it up in one hand, “Here’s Sobel, and here’s me.” In his other hand he held the normal sized marshmallow. He began to imitate Horton and Sobel, squishing the marshmallows to make it appear as if they were talking. He told the story, earning from you grins and giggles. “I got him to cut the barbed wire fence, and he ended up releasin’ a whole herd of cows. He got his ass chewed out by the Major later.”

He wasn’t sure if you were aware of the captivating picture you made when you smiled. He hoped you did. You were more enthralling than a pulsing light show of fireflies in the night, but it gave him the same feeling of being spellbound.

“There’s moments like that, and then the real thing comes out of nowhere.” George grabbed a handful of marshmallows and scattered them to represent the trees in Bastogne. As he told you about the sudden onslaught of German artillery, he ripped the marshmallows apart just as the trees had been. Boom. Rip. Boom. Rip. 

He seemed hypnotized, like a vampire obsessively counting rice. He was lost in the memory that haunted his dreams, stained his eyes with the blurred vision of black and white explosions, and echoed in his ears with the screams of Muck and Penkala. Numb, his voice went dull as he relived it before his eyes.

You didn’t laugh or smile, but this is what you asked for. What it was like. You wondered if you shouldn’t have asked. You had disturbed those memories, and now George was lost in their raging sea.

“Two of my buddies were hit directly in their foxhole...and the other lost his leg.” He was there again, innards trembling and his mind blank as he stared at Toye lying in the snow, his leg looking like messily butchered, raw chicken. 

“I’m so sorry...I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Yeah...war is hell.” George didn’t meet your eyes. The liveliness had abandoned him.

Guilt-ridden, you cautiously reached for his hand, which clutched at the torn remains of marshmallows. You unlocked his grip, the pieces falling onto your bed, and tangled your fingers with his. The stickiness from the marshmallows welded your hands together.

He released a breath he had been holding and closed his eyes, the tension draining from his body. He squeezed your hand.

“Hey, Luz, c’mon. We gotta head back.” Frank’s voice sounded from the hallway.

George opened his eyes to you, his thumb stroking your hand.

You followed him out of your bedroom, having given him the bag of marshmallows. You didn’t want him to leave, but you certainly wanted to see him again. Whenever that may be. Thus an idea came to you. You snatched a small photograph of yourself from your mother’s China cabinet and wrote a note, your address, and phone number on the back in spidery handwriting.

“George, wait.” You approached him as he and Frank grabbed their rifles. You handed him your photograph, heart drumming. “A reminder that if you need a safe place to come to, it’s here.” 

George smiled at your picture, thinking, better than any pin-up girl. He carefully put it in his jacket’s inner pocket. “I’ll be seein’ ya, gorgeous, whenever this war ends.” He winked, popping a marshmallow into his mouth, and slung his rifle over his shoulder.

You had watched him and Frank leave the property, grinning when George looked back over his shoulder and smiled, his cheeks stuffed with marshmallows like a squirrel.

How you wanted to kiss those stubbled cheeks.

As the sun closed its blaring eye, you sat in bed, writing in your journal. Every sentence you tried to write started with George and ended with your heart wanting to burst open, less like gates during a flood and more like a peach growing on a vine. So ripe. So ripe, so ready for the fall.

A rhythmic tap at your window froze you. Could it be the wind using a tree branch to make its nightly tunes again? No, because you saw a human shadow, a cookie cutter shape in the pool of moonlight. You closed your journal and peeled the sheets and blanket away.

When you approached the window, your heart fluttered in surprise. George. You unlocked the window and slid it up. “George, what are you doing here?”

He awkwardly climbed through, almost stumbling to the floor. After you closed the window, you met his eyes, and you found where the sun had gone; in his smile, the warmth echoing in his voice. “I want to feel safe tonight.”

Heat rushed to your chest, and your body quivered as if on low blood sugar as George stripped down to a cotton white shirt and boxer shorts. He joined you beneath the covers, his dog tags clanking. He snaked a hand around your waist and pulled you snug against him, like two perfect puzzle pieces fitting. He caged you within his arms, and you felt a heartbeat much stronger between your thighs this time. He smelled like an ashtray, but you didn’t care as you nuzzled your face into his chest.

“You know, at first I considered you out of my league,” he said. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen into my arms.”

You laughed into his chest.