#me: blows a kiss to the west coast for his parents

[thefanficmonster]

A Little Childish

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF

Summary: Corpse and Y/N go to visit Y/N’s parents for New Year’s. Corpse was promised good food, good company and A LOT of snow. Needless to say, the place didn’t disappoint - quite the contrary actually, it exceeded any and all expectations he had.

Requested by @waterflowersposts Hi there! Sorry for how long it took for this fic to be written :( I hope the final result makes up for the long wait! I also thought it would be appropriate to post it during the holiday season, so I hope you don’t mind. Hope you enjoy the read and I’m looking forward to hearing your feedback and any more requests you may have. Stay safe! Happy Holidays! Love, Vy ❤

I watch as Corpse is basically floating from one room into another in our shared apartment as he’s throwing random articles of clothing in his open suitcase. I have already packed my bags, knowing full well what the appropriate attire is for where we’re going.

I look away from my laptop when Corpse comes in for maybe the sixtieth time today, this time carrying a white tee causing me to chuckle. “Corpse, I know it’s very trademark for you, but the only way you’ll be wearing that when we get there is under a sweater for some extra warmth. I’m not looking forward to having my boyfriend freeze in my parent’s house.”

He smiles, looking at the shirt in his hands, and shakes his head, “Fine, guess I’ll do without it for a week or two.” He throws it in our room, not even bothering to check where it’ll land before he comes to sit down next to me on the couch, “Keep in mind, you have set my expectations pretty high up there. If I am not waist deep in snow the second we step off the plane, I’ll be disappointed.”

I give him a side glance, a smirk playing on my lips. Must say, taking on challenges you know you’re gonna win is the ultimate high-and-mighty feeling. “Honey, you’ve got a big snowstorm coming.”

                                                               *  *  *

All throughout our trip - I’m talking the drive to the airport AND the flight over - I have kept my eyes glued to Corpse, observing as his eyes sparkled more and more with each foot we got closer to our destination. He has told me the most snow he has seen was less than an inch and I immediately felt it was my duty to change that by introducing him to the magic of Canada - my home. My parents own a getaway cottage in the mountains of Calgary where we used to go every holiday season. My earliest memory is playing in the thigh-deep snow with my older sister and crying whenever our parents had to drag us back inside. 

The West Coast of the US was a rather odd surrounding for me, having grown up surrounded by snowy mountains, experiencing Christmas with no snow whatsoever was a true let down and underwhelming feeling. Since Corpse and I started dating about a month after Christmas time last year this will be our first time spending the holidays together and Corpse was more than enthusiastic to visit Canada when I mentioned how much I enjoyed my winters there. We couldn’t go for Christmas, but we’ll be there for New Year’s Eve and the first two weeks of 2021 and I am really excited. I have been dying to see my family that has actually expanded since the last time I visited - my sister has had yet another baby, making her and her husband parents of three very energetic toddlers. The six year old twins - Ashley and Alex - and the three year old Andrew. Or, as I like to call them: The 3 As.

I have warned Corpse about them like seven times despite the fact that he’s already familiar with their energy, convincing him that if that’s more than he can handle we’ve still got time to cancel the trip. He didn’t bat an eye though, each time telling me not to worry and focus my attention on reliving the moments I’ve missed so greatly instead of making sure he was having a good time.

“If you’re there...“ he said, “I’ll sure as hell be having a good time.“

One step out of the airport and he’s already mesmerized. His eyes are shiny reflecting the glow of the snow all around. It’s gonna be funny to see his reaction when he witnesses the real deal - the snow in the mountains. This compared to that is a pathetic excuse.

“I know it’s not waist-high, but that’s because they shovel it and melt it.“ He is looking around, not paying much mind to my words. The utter amazement and disbelief on his face just makes me want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. He’s simply adorable! I see fragments of the child in him swimming up to the surface in the form of temptation - temptation every kid feels when they see snow: Dive in and lose track of time. “Wait till we get to the cottage.“

This manages to catch his attention, “You weren’t kidding.“

I laugh at my precious kiddy boyfriend. “Whoa there, Corpsie. If your mind is already blown, I’m worried about how you’ll react to the real deal.“ 

I have a feeling I know exactly how he’ll react cause I react similarly - I set the child in me free. After all, no parent can tell you to stop playing and go inside when you are a 23-year-old.

                                                             *  *  *

Walking up to the cottage from the cable-car station has to be the first time I’ve breathed with my lungs’ full capacity in the last five years. The sharp cold air screams ‘home’ to me like nothing else ever did. I am still surprised as to how my sister prefers summer. My family jokes I’m a winter wolf in disguise and I think they’re right. I do like to roll around in the snow much like a wolf. No judgement! Having a few extra years added to my age doesn’t change everything.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.“ If I could take a shot every time Corpse has repeated this phrase I’d be dead due to liver failure. He is absolutely stunned. And I’m pretty sure he hasn’t blinked at all. Who am I to talk - I haven’t either. These mountains keep getting prettier and prettier, I swear. Taking my eyes off them would be a crime.

“Told you. I wish we made a bet, I could’ve made some easy money.“ I tease him, gently bumping my elbow against his as we walk up the trail.

“I’m glad I didn’t propose such a thing. That would’ve been fucking stupid of me.“ Judging by the tone of his voice, he is not really present in this conversation, so I decide not to let it go on any longer.

Not that I could’ve done differently, seeing as how barely three seconds latter I see three smiling faces coming at me at max speed.

Oh boy.

“Auntie Y/N!“ Ashley and Alex arrive first of course, wrapping their arms tightly around my waist. Little Andrew stumbles his way to me as quickly as a three year old possibly could.

Without wasting a second, I put my bags down and crouch so I can hug them properly. “Hi my babies! I haven’t seen you in so long.” Their hugging strength surprises me and warms my heart at the same time. The twins pull away, leaving room for the little duckling in a jacket two times his size and weight. “Hi Andrew! I nice to meet you! I’m auntie Y/N. Mommy and daddy have told you about me, haven’t they? If not I’ll kick their asses.”

“Y/N, I swear, I’ll tell Amy you’re teaching her kids swears at a very early age.“ Corpse says teasingly, stealing the attention from all four of us.

“She curses like a sailor, these kids probably know more swear words than I do.“ Ash and Alex run straight out of my grasp and to Corpse, proceeding to hug him around the waist as they did with me. They met Corpse when my sister and her husband Finn visited me back in the summer. They immediately fell in love with him. I specifically remember Alex telling me I have a ‘really cool boyfriend‘ and he only uses the word ‘cool‘ when he really likes something or someone. Corpse was honorably declared cool by Alex and that still warms my heart till this day.

“Hi guys, long time no see!“ He too crouches down to hug the little demons that immediately cling to him like koalas.

I scoop up the bundle of clothes with a face and stand up, balancing him on my hip. “Let’s attempt to get inside, shall we?” With my unoccupied arm I grab the handle of my suitcase.

Corpse nods and follows my lead, picking up the bags he also left in the snow. Ash and Alex bolt it back to the house while we struggle to follow, lowkey embarrassed by the pace we’re walking with.

Andrew struggles against me, reaching out towards Corpse. I look at them both apologetically. “You’ll meet Corpse when we get inside, darling. Chill out.”

“Y/N!“ My sister’s voice steals my attention. She emerges from the house, followed by the twins, a huge smile on her face. Her eyes land on Andrew who has calmed down is now resting his head on my shoulder sleepily, “Oh I’m so sorry about them, Y/N. I didn’t know they would charge at you the second you stepped foot on the property.“

Amy motions for me to give her her son but I hand her my suitcase instead. When she takes it I use my now freed arm to hug her as tightly as I possibly can with one arm and while balancing a baby on my chest. “It’s ok! I couldn’t have dreamed of a better welcoming.” I release, giving her a big smile.

She loses interest in me and goes to hug Corpse, taking a bag from him as well before giving him a hug. “Oh my God, Corpse, it feels like it’s been forever. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Happy to see you too, Amy.“ My sister has never liked a single guy I’ve dated. EVER. Corpse is the only one she warmed up to and that’s a huge deal to me. Corpse’s happiness when I told him that was something I’d pay to have filmed just so I can watch it every time I’m feeling down.

“Let’s get you both inside, you must be freez-“ She cuts herself off, rolling her eyes at me, “Of course, you’re not.“

I laugh and blow her a kiss as we keep carrying onward.

“Um, guys?“ Corpse’s voice makes me pause and turn around. He’s still standing in the same spot, looking- unsettled, I guess you could call it.

“What’s wrong?“ I walk over to him, taking his hand in mine.

His hand automatically gives mine a reassuring squeeze, “Nothing really, it’s just that...I’m meeting your parents for the first time and-...What if they don’t like me?”

I open my mouth to go off and start stating the obvious that they indeed won’t like him. They will LOVE him. It’s impossible not to love this man! But my sister beats me to it when it comes to stating the facts.

“Look, Corpse, they already love you. Heck, sometimes I feel like they have known Finn and you longer than they have known Y/N and I! They speak so highly of you and haven’t even met you - that should tell you more than enough about how they see you.“ She waves her hand towards the cottage, “Now walk in there and blow them away.“

Honestly, I’m glad Amy beat me to it. I couldn’t have said it better myself. 

And just like that, hand in hand, Andrew still in my other arm, we walk in.

                                                             *  *  *

Corpse is officially the main attraction, stealing the spotlight from Amy, Finn and I - something the three of us are incredibly thankful for. Amy was right with every word she said - my parents are absolutely in love with Corpse. Luckily for Finn and Amy, the 3 As are all over him as well. Especially Andrew. The second someone sets him down he just waddles his way over to Corpse who picks him up and settles him in his lap while he answers my parents’ questions. 

When the kids were finally talked into taking a nap, Corpse and I snuck out to have a little walk in the snow and, of course, take some pictures. I made it my personal goal to make as many artsy and aesthetic photos of him as possible. His favorite - a hand only pic of him holding a snowball - was my idea and I think I have never felt prouder of myself.

“I am definitely posting this one.“ He says, turning the phone so I can see the screen. I give it a quick glance, thinking he’s talking about the hand pic but do a double take when I realize it’s a picture of me that he has taken without my knowledge.

I actually look rather decent, so I give him a green light in the form of a big thumbs up, “As long as you post the hand one too.”

“Hey, Y/N!“ We look back at the house which isn’t far from where we are right now. Amy is hugging the jacket tightly around herself as she approaches us with fast steps. “You know where we haven’t been in like forever?“

I raise an eyebrow and shake my head as I rack through my brain trying to dig up what she’s referring to. It could literally be any place on this mountain!

“Hello! The Waterless Lake? Ring any bells?“

Oh...it sure does.

Brief explanation: it is a huge circular dip in the ground which fills with water when the snow melts and becomes a lake but empties by the time winter comes back around. That being said, when the snow is still not melted, it’s an absolute wonderland to play in. I suddenly remember all the barrel-rolling Amy and I did there as kids and feel really nostalgic.

“Oh God, yes! I miss that place!“ I say, snapping out of my reminiscing trance. “Let’s go while it’s still light enough.”

“Finn is making dinner right now, or trying to at least.“ She rolls her eyes, turning to Corpse, “But it’d be our pleasure if you tagged along, Corpse.“

Corpse shakes his head, “I’ll politely decline. You ladies can reminisce and chat in peace, while I’ll be helping Finn in the kitchen.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips before excusing himself, “Have fun!”

“You too!“ We call back to him in unison.

Amy gives me an amazed, wide-eyed look, “He can cook?”

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, smirking, “Oh, you have no idea.”

She laughs, linking arms with me as we begin walking our way to the Waterless Lake. The place probably has a different name or no name at all, but we named it that as kids and never told our parents where it was. It’s our spot, and it is very surprising Amy offered Corpse to accompany us there.

“Sis, you are very lucky. I hope you know that.“ She tightens the hold on my arm with hers, pulling us closer together.

“I tell myself that every time I look at him, Aims. I am fully aware.“ I say dreamily, recalling all the times I’ve spent with Corpse. Almost one full year and I could never imagine that year, nor the upcoming ones, without him.

                                                                *  *  *

Upon returning, we’re met with the most wholesome scene I have ever seen - Corpse and Finn are making snowmen with the 3 As. It seems like they’ve been at it for a while, considering there is an army of snowmen of different designs, shapes and sizes all at different spots throughout the perimeter of the clearing in front of the house.

“Oh dear Lord.“ Amy mumbles, “I had a feeling this would happen.“

The five snowman-builders don’t even acknowledge our presence when we approach them. Ashley and Alex are running around with Finn, looking for sticks to use as the snowmen’s limbs while Corpse is helping Andrew gather as much snow as possible for the body.

I don’t realize there’s a huge smile on my face up until the point I’m trying to say something. Nothing comes out, though. My words are being muffled by all the overwhelming emotions that have taken over - collapsing my senses. 

With a roll of her eyes, my sister opens the front door, taking a step into the house. The second the door opens, however, I get a whiff of the delicious smell coming from inside. Best guess, and probably the right one - this is Corpse’s doing. 

If I wasn’t already hungry, I sure as hell am now and I’m in no mood to be in that delicious food’s proximity without attacking it. 

“Come on, guys! Dinner time! Get your butts inside!“ I call out to them from the doorway.

Corpse turns to look at me with the sneakiest smirk I have ever seen. He narrows his eyes at me, “You have done the very thing you despise!”

It takes me approximately three seconds to connect the dots and scrunch up my face, picking up all the snow I can an forming it in a snow ball, throwing it at Corpse. Growing up doing this exact thing has given me great aim, therefore I hit Corpse square in the chest.

“Oh you’re so in for it now.“ He laughs, picking up snow to form his own snowball.

“Snowball fight!“ Ashley yells, ditching the sticks to make a snowball for herself.

“Oh no...“ I poke my head in the hallway just as a snowball hits my upper arm, “Aims, I need your help!“ 

Before Amy can respond, I run to take cover behind the nearest snowman that, luckily for me happens to be one of the larger ones. I hear Amy call out my name when she exits the house, followed by a surprised yelp from her when three snowballs hit her. “You are all dead!”

While she is fighting blood and fire (well, water really), I am making ammunition for us both to use. I’m on my eleventh snowball when snow showers me from above as though it has fallen from a tree branch.

“Hiding, I see.“ I am still in shock, hair and upper body covered in snow, when I hear Corpse’s taunting voice.

My vengeance instinct kicks in having me grab two snowballs and turn to throw them at him. To my dismay, he’s faster then me and doesn’t allow me to even get my arm at an angle where I could throw properly. Instead, he turns me back around and picks me up with ease, one arm wrapped around my waist, another grabbing two of my prepared snowballs from the ground.

“Let’s show them who the bosses are.“ I see him wink at me from the corner of my eye and it takes me little to no time to catch onto what he’s insinuating.

In short, with joined forces, we took out the opposite team in no time - like a true couple 😉

[waywardrose13]

Crimson Leaves- Chapter Seven: Calm Before the Storm

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, some fluff, *Graphic depictions of gore and murder*, implied cannibalism, death

Bingo squares: None for this chapter​

A/N- This chapter was commissioned! Thank you to the beautiful individual who motivated me to write this chapter. This one is for you:)

<<Chapter Six

“Seriously?”

Y/n’s heart nearly leaped from her chest. She cursed under her breath and turned slowly to face him. Smiling sheepishly, she tried to ignore the flutters of butterflies in her chest at the sight of Dean: arms crossed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Why was an angry Dean turning her on? And why was she letting it?

“Hey, Dean,” she said. She sent him her most innocent smile, which was not reciprocated in the slightest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Because I’m a light sleeper and I heard you leave,” he replied. “Haven’t you learned from last time? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I have a list,” she said, shrugging. “People need these items and the runners can’t get them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re personal items that people trust me with,” she said. “I have to go.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m amazing.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I’m endearing.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples. “Okay, well I’m coming with you.”

“Dean-”

“Not up for discussion. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if you were alone last time. I’m coming with you.” Dean gripped her chin and planted a quick kiss on her lips before stepping around her to open the gate. “Come on, you.”

Y/n’s lip quirked into a small smile. She slipped through the gate, Dean right behind her. “Ladies first” he had said the first time they left on a run together. She hadn’t taken it, of course. He had sauntered through the gates when she scowled at him. But now, she brushed a hand over his bicep as she passed, giving him a sly grin that he sent right back as she walked through the gates. He latched it back up and followed Y/n down the marked path before he reached out silently to intertwine his fingers with hers. She sent him a shy smile and squeezed his hand.

The sun hadn’t risen quite yet. The hints of a rosy pink bled through the trees from atop the mountain. The sunrise over the mountain-top was gorgeous. A perk of being on the east coast.

The two settled into a comfortable silence. The birds began to wake, their melodious songs echoing off the trees, creating a calming morning atmosphere. It wasn’t very humid, and the temperature wasn’t too high, so the air was comfortable, a soft wind blowing atop the mountain. With mornings like these, it’s hard to think of the death and destruction happening on Earth right now. These moments of tranquility were cherished by Y/n. She knew it couldn’t last, but she liked to pretend. 

They arrived at the Jeep in no time. Dean offered to drive, and Y/n reluctantly let him. She knew the roads better, but she was still tired, so she conceded.

“We aren’t going into Brevard today,” she said. “When you get to the fork, take a left instead.”

“Copy that,” Dean said. 

They drove in silence for the most part, one of Dean’s hands still laced with one of Y/n’s. Y/n huffed a small laugh at the thought of the last time they were outside the walls of the camp on a run. How she had been so annoyed and pissy with him. How he had called her a grade-A bitch.

Now, their hands were laced and her skin was abuzz with the feel of him. That attraction and that feeling had been there, hidden beneath denial and anger and self hatred. But Dean had set that feeling free. He had nudged open the door to her heart and let those feelings loose.

And it scared the fuck out of her.

She knew she wasn’t easy to be around. She knew she wasn’t easy to love. She knew that before the apocalypse. She had always had a temper. She was always a bit odd. She had been through some shit in her life that molded her into someone who locked away her trust and lashed out when she was hurt. 

It’s not like she wanted to be this way. A build up of unresolved trauma, the dismissal of her own feelings, and not knowing how to express her emotions in a healthy way led to it. 

So, no. She wasn’t easy to be around. It’s why most people in her life left. Even her own family had a hard time dealing with her sometimes.

“You make us all miserable.” 

It was so long ago, she couldn’t remember if it was one of her siblings or parents, but those words had stuck with her for a long time. And it stung, even after all these years. She wished she could fix it. She had always wanted to be loved despite her flaws.

She knew Dean didn’t love her. She knew the capability of someone loving her was low. But he cared for her. And he shared her affections.

She just hoped she didn’t scare him off.

The general store was nestled in yet another small town at the bottom of the mountain. The runners didn’t know about it. They traveled mostly west or to Brevard. But Y/n had come to the small town on a few occasions. It was one of the last untouched towns. Long abandoned, it wasn’t on many maps, and the general store still had many valuables to spare.

“What are we looking for?” Dean asked as they stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him and locked it. The store was dark and full of cobwebs, dust, and leaves, but the shelves were still intact and covered in items. They weren’t full, but they had enough.

Y/n read over her list for the tenth time. “Some enemas, condoms, and hemorrhoid cream.”

Dean stared at her. “Personal. Right.”

“Told you,” she said, setting off into the isles. “Not everyone trusts all the runners. As their leader, most people entrust the more personal items with me. I think they know if they asked the runners for stuff like this, stuff that doesn’t benefit the camp as a whole, the runners would ignore it.”

“You’re a good leader, Y/n.”

Her skin warmed at his pride. “Thank you.”

They searched the store for the items, finding them all as well as a few more packs of batteries, lighter fluid, and a half empty tank of gas in the back. They poured the gas into the Jeep’s tank, stuffed all of the items into Y/n’s backpack, and climbed back into the car.

***

“That went by much more smoothly than our last outing.”

Y/n whistled and nodded, slumping down onto her couch when they got back to her cabin. They had dropped the items off at the respectable tents, dumped the batteries off at the nerve center, passed the lighter fluid off to the kitchens, and returned to Y/n’s cabin before their daily duties.

“I would say so,” she said, reaching a hand up for Dean to grab. He grinned and took it, sinking down onto the couch beside her and lifting her up into his lap. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, his hands resting on her waist and knee. 

“What do you have planned today, Lord Commander?” Dean asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’m stuck at the nerve center today. I have some role change requests and Luke and I are drafting a plan for some cabin construction.”

“Really?” Dean asked. 

“Yep. We’re growing rapidly. We’re thinking about some bunk houses, that way people don’t always have to stay in tents. There’s a man who worked construction who’s currently over in security, but he said he’d direct the building efforts.”

“That would be a lot of work,” Dean said. He peered down at her. “Where would the materials come from?”

“It would be mostly wood. Maybe some clay to help keep the logs together. But if we build a sturdy enough structure and use some of the tarps over the roofs to keep the rain from pouring in, I think we could build decent log houses. They wouldn’t be perfect, but the tents are filling up and we’re running out.”

Dean nodded at her words and squeezed her hip. “Not a bad idea.”

“Of course it isn’t. I came up with it.”

Dean chuckled. “So modest.” 

She looked up at him, their eyes locking for a moment before Dean bent down to plant a chaste kiss to her lips. 

Y/n didn’t think she would ever get used to Dean kissing her. Every time he did, she felt as if she was swept up into a new dance amongst the stars, or as if she was soaring up into the sky. Every touch sent her skin aflame and every kiss left her breathless in the best way. He was her drug, and the more of him she got, the more of him she craved.

He lifted her and laid her back on the couch, his hands warm on her hips as he held her down, skimming them up her sides. She arched into his touch and kissed him feverishly, wrapping her legs around his waist to rub against him. Groaning, he broke away from her to duck into her neck, kissing the skin there.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped as she grinded against him.

“Yes?” She asked sweetly.

“Keep doing that, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he said. She knew that wasn’t true. If she told him to leave and never come back, he’d respect her wishes. But his words still sent heat slithering to her core.

“Who’s asking you to?” 

Dean growled and nipped her earlobe. “I don’t want your first time to be us rutting against each other on your couch like a couple teenagers.” He bucked his hips into hers, though, making her gasp. “When we fuck, we’re going to do it right.”

When.

“So sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She asked. 

Dean pulled back to look her straight in the eye. “Very.”

And he kissed her again. 

This time, he pulled her up to his chest, keeping her legs locked around his, and stood. How he did that so gracefully with her wrapped around him like a koala, she didn’t know. But he carried her across the room and to her bed, where he broke apart and set her down gently.

And took a step back.

Dean laughed as Y/n sagged with a pout. She looked up at him through her lashes and reached for him again.

“You’re cruel. Come here.”

“I told you, I won't do this now.”

“You said not on the couch,” she pointed out. She snapped her fingers. “Come back now.”

Dean grinned and clasped the sides of her head, bending to give her one last gentle kiss.

“I thought you weren’t ready.”

Y/n thought for a moment. Twenty-three years of sexual frustration had built, and he was right in front of her, willing to be her outlet. And in the moment, she was definitely ready. But taking a step back…

“We don’t have to do it now. Just come lie with me.”

“I need to shower,” Dean said. He shifted uncomfortably and Y/n’s eyes flashed down to where his jeans were definitely straining against his crotch. She smirked and looked up at him again.

“Naughty boy.”

“It’s your fault, Lord Commander.” He pointed at her and shot her a wink. “Your fault.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Y/n laughed. A warmth had spread over her chest and seeped into the deepest parts of her heart. That hole that had formed inside her, the one that had concaved in on itself when she lost her family and sunk into a survival mode that changed her and tore her very being apart, had begun to fill.

And she had Dean to thank for that.

She wasn’t in love. Of course, she wasn’t sure what love really was. But she felt herself falling. She knew she was falling. Which was ridiculous, right? It wasn’t as if she knew him very long. Not even two months had passed since she met him. Yet he was nestling into the depths of her heart and mind, rooting himself there.

Fuck was it terryfiying.

He was helping fill that empty void she always felt. But what if she lost him? What if she lost him like she lost her family? The ones who mattered most to her? She didn’t think she would be able to handle losing someone she loved again. 

And while she could easily lose herself in love, in a romance that she had wanted for so long, it wasn’t what was important. The camp was the most important thing in her life right now. She wouldn’t let feelings get in the way of protecting the camp or its people. 

Perhaps throwing herself into her work would help stow those feelings away. They would be kept at bay so she could focus, so that maybe she wouldn’t inevitably become hurt by his leaving. Because everyone in her life left. What would make him so different? He could say he wouldn’t leave, say he wouldn’t do the same thing as everyone else had. 

But every one of those people who left said the same thing, yet they still turned their backs on her.

Sighing, Y/n slumped further onto her bed, burrowing into the blankets and pressing her head into the pillow. She had been up so early that morning and exhaustion was weighing down on her. She had been working throughout the day and into the night before waking up before the sun the next day. She was beat.

As her eyes began to droop, Dean emerged from her bathroom. She peeked and eyes open and watched as he toweled off his wet hair, dressed in simple jeans and a henley. Hanging the towel on the rack before he sauntered over to the bed where Y/n was laying. He gently reached down to run a hand along the back of her head.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers lightly caressing her head, worry etched into his face.

“Yes. Why?” 

“You seem sad,” he told her. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested a hand on her back. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” she promised. She sat up and locked eyes with him. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to keep myself from falling for you,” she said honestly. May as well speak the truth in the apocalypse, no beating around the bush when you could die at any moment. “I don’t know how to keep myself from getting hurt.”

Dean frowned. “Is that what’s happening here?”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”

Dean hesitated but nodded briefly and looked away. “You might want to figure that out.”

“I know.”

He sighed and squeezed her hip affectionately. “I thought I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.” He still didn’t make eye contact when he added despondently, “don’t you trust me?”

Y/n’s heart thumped roughly in her chest. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do you still question my motives? Why don’t you believe anyone could love you?”

Suddenly her heart was in her throat. Love her? He couldn’t love her. This couldn't be love with him. Not yet. Maybe infatuation or attraction, but he couldn’t possibly love her. He seemed to catch what he said because his face turned red and he stiffened. 

“Because everyone always says that. They never plan to leave in the beginning.”

“Well sorry, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me,” Dean said.

“For now.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up, beckoning her to the door. “I don’t want to argue with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense if it’s true,” Y/n muttered, taking his hand. He scowled.

“That in of itself is nonsense,” he said. “But come on, let’s get some work done before we say something we regret.”

Before the two could reach the door, it crashed open, Luke’s frantic face stepping into view as he nearly fell inside with the force he used to open the door. Y/n jumped and Dean crouched into a defensive stance automatically.

“Jesus, Luke!” Y/n said. “What the hell?”

“It’s… you have to look… I don't even…” Luke sucked in breaths rapidly, his face turning ashy pale as he hyperventilated. Y/n wasted no time in moving in front of her closest friend and second-in-command, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe, Luke,” she said. “Like me. In, hold, out, good. Again.”

He did his best to match her breathing, the terror still written on his face and glowing in his eyes, body trembling. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

“The barbarians. The runners left this morning for a hunt. They hadn’t come back in time-”

“Wait, they didn’t? Why wasn’t I informed?” Y/n asked, fingers tightening on Luke’s shoulders.

“Well… Mikela thought it best if we didn’t tell you. You’re finally back to health, well for the most part. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you stare into space sometimes or forget something right after it happened. Your head is still healing and-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” She let go of him roughly, moving to the door. “I’m still the fucking leader.”

“We need a leader who is well enough to lead. She came to me and-”

Y/n spun around to face him. He stumbled back on the look on her face. She was furious, feeling betrayed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m second in command. I didn’t think it was right so I came to you and-”

“I’m not some fucking weakling,” she snarled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in a long time,” Luke said. She nearly vibrated with rage.

“I’m fine enough to lead this camp. I’m fine enough to fulfill the duties I promised to fulfill when I took this position. You are second in command, not first. Which means I am the one they come to. Not you.”

“I know,” he said quietly. He looked down at his shoes. 

“Now. What the hell happened?”

“Runners two and six went hunting this morning.”

“Sophie and Gary. I wrote the schedule,” she said flatly. Luke nodded.

“They didn’t come back. So Mikela went out with runner three, Matthew, and-and they came back but we need you. Just… come with me. I have to show you.”

Glancing at Dean for a moment, who looked back at her with equal confusion, Y/n followed Luke outside. Some people were gathered by the front gate, but the guards were holding their line firmly. The small crowd of people parted to let Y/n through.

“What happened?”

“Where’s Gary?”

“If they’re dead, I blame you!”

Y/n stepped through the gate that the guards opened for her, ignoring the shouts from the crowd. Mikela was there, face as stony as ever, with Matthew and Richard at her sides. Y/n cocked her head.

“What happened? Luke was very vague.”

Mikela jerked her head behind her and led Y/n through the trees. Clouds covered the sky, but slivers of sunlight cut through the curtain of gray and down into the breaks of the leaves. They were on alert as they walked, Matthew, Dean, and Luke trailing behind the two women as they went.

“Why is he here?” Luke asked.

Y/n glanced back at them. Dean had turned his head to glare at Luke, who tried not to look in his direction. Y/n shrugged.

“He’s going to be a guard. He needs some field experience.”

Luke scoffed. “You’re only letting him trail you like a puppy because you’re fucking him.”

Everyone stopped walking collectively. Luke had paled and taken a step back, knowing he had gone too far. Dean’s face hardened as he gripped Luke’s shirt collar and dragged him within inches of his face.

“Watch your damn mouth,” he snarled. Luke shoved against Dean’s chest hard and stumbled back as the man let go.

“Luke,” Y/n spoke calmly. He turned to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“If I hear one more word from your mouth, Dean won’t be the one you have to worry about. Speak to me or any other woman like that and I’ll boot you from your role here, and then contemplate your stay here at the camp. Is that understood?”

Luke nodded and swallowed hard. 

“Good,” Y/n said. “You’ve tested my patience enough today. Go back to the camp and stay there.”

“Yes, Lord Commander,” he said, trying to lift the spirits with her nickname. But it didn’t work, and he turned to slink back through the trees.

“Come on, we don’t have much time,” Mikela said lowly, gripping Y/n’s elbow to tug her along. They only walked for about a minute before she stopped and turned away. “Look.”

Mikela lifted her hand to point a few yards away. Y/n followed her finger and gasped in shock before she almost cried out in horror. She slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle the sounds. 

There, strung up by his neck, Gary hung from a thick branch of a tree. His eyes had been ripped from his head- dark, bloody sockets remaining. His throat had been hacked at, his clothes had been stolen, and his body had been utterly disfigured. Chunks of thigh had been cut away, one of his arms was missing.

The only way she knew it was Gary was by the tattoo on his chest, a family crest that sat over his heart. It had been cut into with a knife, an X marking it.

Y/n thought she may faint. Her knees wobbled at the sight and she quickly turned away, forcing the vomit that threatened to come up down. 

“Oh my God.”

“We haven’t found Sophie. We think it was the barbarians.”

“You’re sure?” Y/n asked. Mikela nodded and held out a piece of paper. It was crumpled and bloody. 

“This was nailed to his foot when we found him.”

Y/n took the paper tentatively, clenching her jaw as she read it.

“Thanks for the meal and for the fun. They’ll have to do until I get you back, Y/n.  -R.”

Y/n looked up at Dean, fear gripping her heart. Rick. He was still alive. 

“Why?” Was all she could say. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It has to be them, right?” Mikela asked. “R. He’s one of the guys who we fought last year. One of the guys who took you?”

Y/n nodded and folded the letter before shoving into her pocket. She cleared her throat and loosed a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, this was the barbarians. Rick. He uh… he’s threatened me on more than one occasion. He’s pissed that I got away from him again.”

“So what do we do?” Matthew asked. Y/n looked between the three of them, chewing on her lip as she thought. Sighing, she turned to the body hanging in the tree and winced.

“We have to give him a proper burial.” She took her switchblade from her pocket and put it in her mouth to hold it as she hauled herself up the tree, climbing it enough by the branches to reach the rope that held Gary hanging. She suppressed a gag at the smell of blood and decay and flicked the knife open. She sawed at the rope a few times until it gave away and Gary fell to the ground. “We’ll bury him in the cemetery with the others.”

“I’ll run back and grab a sheet or something,” Matthew said. He broke out into a run, desperate to get far away from their mutilated friend.

“Poor Gary,” Mikela said softly. “He was always so nice.”

“And what about the other one? Sophie, was it?” Dean asked. “You think they… they took her?”

“I hope not,” Y/n said. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “God, I hope not.”

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[sisterspooky1013]

Anything Your Heart Desires

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Rating: General

Words: 1903

Tagging @today-in-fic

Read it on AO3 here

It was just the two of them in the lab, reviewing crime scene photos while they waited for the tech to return with the DNA sequencing results. He’d warned them that it would take a while, but they were at a standstill until they could say for sure whether the perpetrator and the victim were related, as was Mulder’s suspicion.

“Do you see here, the way the edge of this blood stain looks on her neck?” Scully asked him, holding up a color photo of a woman splayed on a carpeted floor with multiple puncture wounds to her torso, eyes open and vacant. “The line is smudgy and frayed, which is not how it would appear if it were splatter or had even pooled there. It looks to me like it was wiped with a towel or rag.”

“Did you notice anything similar with any of the other victims?” Mulder asked, spreading out photos of 6 other dead women, each with blood soaked bodies but clean faces.

“Yes, on two” she returned, picking up two and setting them aside. “Although on these three, the line is clean but not spatter” she continued, putting three others in a different pile. “I would almost suspect that something was covering their head and face during the attack, like a bag.”

“But cause of death wasn’t asphyxia for any of the victims, was it?” He turned his body towards her, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“No, it wasn’t. So whatever it was, if indeed something was put over their heads, it was porous, like maybe a pillowcase.” Looking down at the counter, she blinked her left eye quickly, trying to clear something that was irritating her cornea.

“That would suggest that the perpetrator didn’t want to see their faces while he assaulted them. Though that doesn’t explain those that were wiped clean. Maybe he just didn’t want their faces disturbed.”

Scully was now holding her eye closed in an attempt to let it water its way through whatever was bothering it. She kept her head down, shuffling the photos around. “If your theory that the perpetrator was all of their biological fathers turns out to be correct, that he was the sperm donor their parents used, then it would stand to reason that he didn’t want to harm the part of them that looked like him.”

“That very well could be” he answered, studying the side of her face. “You okay, Scully?”

“Yeah, I just have something in my eye, it’s fine.”

“You want me to take a look?” He dipped his head down in an attempt to see her face, which she ducked further from his view.

“No, Mulder, it’ll wash itself out, that’s what eyes were designed to do.”

He put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up so he could see her face. Her left eye was clamped shut, tears pouring from both corners as mascara ran down her cheek. He raised his eyebrows and have her a chastising look. “Hop up here, Scully” he said, patting the counter.

“Mulder, it’s fine, leave it alone” she replied, leaning against the counter rather than sitting on it, arms crossed. Her stance was meant to look confident and relaxed, but with one leaky eye closed tight she looked more like Popeye than anything else.

He stood in front of her, hands stuffed in his pockets, and tried to continue their conversation. “So what’s your theory on motive, Scully? Guy jerks it into a cup once a month for three years then one day just decides to go kill all his offspring?”

Her eye stung like a bitch, whatever the foreign object was seeming to have sharp edges. Bringing one finger up to press at her bottom lid, she attempted to respond. “Maybe, I don’t know, maybe something happened in his life that suddenly made the idea of having children out there that he didn’t raise upsetting-shit.” She felt like she needed to blink, but blinking hurt. Not blinking also hurt.

“Jesus, Scully, will you just let me look at it?” he stepped toward her, putting his hands on her hips and lifting her up on to the counter. She made a little surprised squeak and he couldn’t help but smile.

He moved close, occupying the space between her thighs as she titled her face up to him, her eye blinking wildly as it tried to find relief. Mulder put one hand on her cheek and the other on her forehead, using his thumbs above and below her eye to open it while she reflexively tried to pull it shut. She could smell his aftershave and the salty earthen hint of sunflower seeds on his breath.

“hold still” he admonished her.

“Sorry, I’m trying. It’s not completely voluntary” she responded, her hands moving to rest on his biceps.

“Ah-ha!” He declared, dipping his middle finger behind her lower eyelid. When he removed it, she blinked rapidly several times and sighed with relief that the offending material was gone.

“Oh my god, thank you” she breathed out. “What was it?”

Her hands were still on his biceps. One of his hands was now resting on the top of her thigh, the other was held palm up in front of her face where she could see a single eyelash resting on his middle finger. He stayed like that, holding it in front of her, for an abnormally long time. Long enough that the moment started to feel charged, the weight of his hand on her thigh warming her skin as her newly functioning eyes ventured beyond the eyelash to settle on his mouth. Oh that mouth. That plush bottom lip that she had dreamed of pulling between her teeth for so long. How might it feel if he were to brush those lips along her neck? Now he was smirking, which she found insanely sexy. His coy little smiles always set off a flutter in her belly. Wait-why was he smirking? Her eyes snapped up to meet his and she saw that he was looking at her expectantly, amused and confused by her staring. She returned an even more confused look, which probably paired nicely with the embarrassed flush that a was rising from her chest to her neck.

“You’re supposed to make a wish” he said tenderly, gathering that she had no idea what he was waiting for.

“What?” She questioned, pulling her hands from him and setting them in her lap. He kept his hand stationed on her thigh.

“When you lose an eyelash, you’re supposed to make a wish and blow it away. Didn’t you ever do that as a kid?”

She shook her head. “Shooting stars and 11:11 I got the memo on, but I guess I missed eyelashes.”

“Well, this can be your inaugural eyelash wish, then” he returned, holding it up again in front of her.

She looked at his face, his green irises shining with the joy of sharing something new with her, his mouth stretched into a warm smile. She loved this side of him that relished in the simple, unimportant minutia of life with the same excitement as he had for the latest EBE sighting. Thinking about what she wanted more than anything in this moment, she held eye contact with him while she pursed her lips into an “o” and blew the eyelash off his finger with a forceful puff of air.

Freed of the eyelash, he dropped his hand to rest on her other thigh, but didn’t move from his location between her legs. The smile faded from his lips and was replaced with something different, something desirous. She felt her pulse quicken as he lifted his hand and brought it to the side of her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone.

“You have mascara all over your cheek” he said, his voice low and syrupy, and she huffed a little laugh, averting her eyes from his.

He lifted his other hand off of her thigh to mirror its partner, her face now cradled between his palms. When she brought her gaze back to him, she sucked in her breath at the intensity in his expression, the tilt of his torso ever closer to hers, and while she was an expert at denial when it came to the possibility of Mulder returning her feelings, it was very clear that he was moving to kiss her. She leaned into his palms gently, a barely perceptible green light, and he closed the distance between them, pressing his pouty mouth against hers on the cool steel of the lab room counter. She brought her hands to rest on his chest, not to push him away but to grip gently at the lapels of his suit coat, encouraging him as he slipped his tongue between her lips. He grazed her teeth before she brought her own tongue forward to meet him, warm and smooth and salty.

“Hot off the presses, agents!” The lab tech’s voice followed only milliseconds after they heard the click of the door latch warn them that he was entering the room. Thankfully, he pushed the door open with his back, which gave just enough time for Scully to shove Mulder away and hop onto the floor before he turned to face them, waving two sheets of paper in his hand.

Forty five minutes later they were walking out into the afternoon sun, which was already fading into the horizon at this time of year.

“I think our best bet will be to put a police detail on each of the other 9 women we’ve identified as having been conceived by the same donor” Mulder was saying, continuing their conversation after the DNA test confirmed that the perpetrator was all the victims’ biological father. “7 of them are local, but the other two are in the Midwest and West Coast. Seems unlikely he’d go that far outside the target area but just in case I still want to make sure they’re protected.”

“Sounds like a good plan” she replied, climbing into the passenger seat of his car and flipping down the visor to survey the damage to her makeup after her eye incident. She did, in fact, have little mascara crumbles all over her cheek and under her eye, though they were now dried out enough that she easily brushed them away.

Mulder fastened his seat belt and started the ignition before turning slightly to face her. “So, what did you wish for?” He asked.

She gave him a coy smile. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true. Everyone knows that, Mulder.”

“No, those are only the rules for shooting stars, birthday candles and 11:11 wishes. Eyelash wishes have no such restrictions.” His grin was contagious.

She shook her head ruefully. “Nice try, but no.”

He bobbed his head in defeat and pulled the car out of the parking lot. Scully drew air into her lungs slowly, letting it out in a long sigh as she looked out the window. As a scientist, she didn’t put any stock in the power of wishes, nor did she believe that revealing a wish could prevent it from coming true. Even so, she couldn’t deny the fact that when she blew her eyelash off Mulder’s finger tip and wished for what she wanted most in the world, her wish had immediately come true.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[itsthemysterykids]

Mystery (Addams) Family quote from the newer movies- Lili: Dipper and Mabel can go where they want. Mabel: Now now there are some restrictions you know. Dipper: We're not allowed to go to the mall, or a zoo, or a building. Mabel: Can't go to Canada, the west coast is a problem, Mexico, no go. Dipper: South America, Europe, Aisa, Australia, most parts of Africa. Mabel: We're allowed in Antarctica!

And with that, I present more quotes!

Coraline: *kissing what she thinks is Wybie’s hand* My demon, your hand is as cold as a dead fish.

Wybie: My love, that is a dead fish.

Coraline: *Sees she’s kissing a dead fish* So it is.

—

Spirit of the House: GET OUUUUUTTTT!

Wybie: … It’s hideous.

Coraline: It’s horrible.

Coraline/Wybie: … *Hug each other* It’s home!

—

Wybie: *Looking out the window at the black sky with thunder and lightning* What a lovely morning!

—

Lili: How I wish something would liven up this already tedious day.

*The tree branch that Neil is hanging upside down on throws him aside as he screams*

Lili: Thanks for trying, Ichabod.

—

Wybie: If I’d known you were coming, I would have prepared the dungeon.

Dipper: Please, don’t worry. I’ll sleep in the attic. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ve practiced that move in a lot of people’s homes.

—

Lili: I heard a strange noise in the fog earlier, and I should like to investigate.

Wybie: There’s nothing out there but boring marshland.

Lili: There must be something. We never go anywhere. Who knows the untold horrors we’re missing out on?

Coraline: Darling, we have all the horror we need, right here.

—

Augustus: What is it, Raz?

Raz: I found a creepy mansion up on the hill!

Augustus: I’m so glad you’re exploring, Raz, but I don’t have time to talk right now, sweetheart. Mama needs to help people.

Raz: I need help. Aren’t I people?

Augustus: Oh, you’re cute.

—

Lili: Good news, everybody. Neil’s gone.

Wybie: Lili, I know that tone of voice. Dig up your brother, at once.

Lili: You’re weakening the gene pool.

Wybie: *referring to the red balloon* Hold on. What do you have there?

Lili: I’m not sure. I like it. It’s so, what’s the word? The opposite of sad?

Wybie: Darling, bring that to me. *Lili walks over with the balloon* Strange. There’s usually a murderous clown attached to the other end of these.

—

Coraline: *Referring to the small piece of pink paper* What, in the name of all that is unholy, is that? *Tastes the paper* It tastes like cotton candy.

Wybie: How do you know what cotton candy tastes like?

Coraline: Wy-Wy, it was my youth. I made mistakes.

—

Coraline: *enters a coffee shop* Don’t let me interrupt your cup of Joe, or whoever you have in there. So, what’s dark and bitter here, other than yours truly?

—

Lili: That man seems deranged. His face reminds me of a death mask.

Dipper: Deranged? Death mask? You tell me he’s got halitosis, and I’m hearing wedding bells!

—

Lili: *enters her school on her first day* Ah. Now I understand. This is a children’s prison.

—

Bethany: What did you say, little ghoul?

Lili: I don’t think you understand. I’m not locked up in here with you, Bethany. You’re locked up in here with me.

—

Raz: *after Lili’s trick with the zombie frogs* Hey, do you want to go to the mall?

Lili: Why not? I haven’t seen a good mauling in ages.

—

Coraline: My love, it’s game night. Coraline will be home soon, so why don’t you come and join us?

Wybie: Oh, very well. F-6.

Coraline: Neil, you heard your father. Blow F-6!

Neil: *Presses some buttons on his remote* Fire in the hole! *As the side of the house explodes, Dipper falls through the ceiling in his bathtub* Yes!

Dipper: You sunk my battleship.

Coraline: Well done, Neil!

—

Lili: Good luck with your Mazurka.

Neil: Wait, you’re leaving? Who’s going to torment me every day?

Lili: Living under this roof is all the torment you’ll need. Besides, our parents have made it clear that the only way to be accepted in this family is to be exactly like them. I can’t play by those rules anymore. Farewell, brother, Neil. Tomorrow, you become a man. And I become a fugitive.

Neil: Always kind of knew it’d end up like this. Just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

Lili: I’ll never forget you, Neil! But I’ll try.

—

Raz: My dad must have built hidden cameras into all of the houses.

Lili: He really is psycho.

—

Wybie: It’s Augustin. He must have turned the whole town into stark raving lunatics.

Coraline: Well, I have to admit, I admire his work.

—

Dipper: Excuse me, I just tooted. Furthermore, I think I can help you get rid of those houses.

Augustus: What are you talking about?

Dipper: Well, sir, you’ve got a bunch of houses you need to get rid of, and I’ve got a bunch of family I need to get rid of.

—

Lili: *Singsong voice* What's so great about being yourself, when you can be like everyone else?

Wybie: Don't you dare talk to your father like that, Lili.

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

If You Just Realized

Part Nine: A Little Overwhelmed

Summary: The day after the wedding, Y/N has lunch with Kennedy; Sebastian and Milena have a surprise for her. Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader Word Count: 1910 (excluding translations) Series Warnings: Death, angst, sadness. Lots of creative licensing, I’m sure. Chapter Warnings: Sex talk between friends (nothing detailed), feels. Square Filled: This entire series will fill my realized feelings square for @marvelfluffbingo​. A/N: I’ve much enjoyed writing this series, and I hope all of you enjoy reading it! The tag list is open; requests to be added can be done so here. There are bits and pieces of Romanian throughout the series, mostly from Google Translate and the few things I’ve picked up as I learn the language.

Series Masterlist

“So, did you get laid last night?”

Y/N laughed at Kennedy’s wiggling eyebrows. “It’s not that kind of marriage, Ken, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just figured maybe the wedding would have given you two some reason to celebrate or something. I know it’s been a while for you —”

“Hey!”

“And I don’t know about Sebastian but the guy’s been through a lot, he could stand to blow off some steam.” She took a bite of her salad. “Anyway, I really appreciate that you took time to meet me for lunch before I’m back to the West Coast. We don’t see each other nearly enough as it is, and with you in New York indefinitely …”

Y/N sighed and sipped at her iced tea. “You’ll just have to come visit when you can. I’ll do the same. Seb and I can bring Milena out —”

When she realized what she was saying, she stopped and cleared her throat. She couldn’t think of anything to cover for what she had just said, so she shoved a too-big bite of club sandwich in her mouth instead. Kennedy raised her brow and shook her head. 

“Why won’t you even admit it to me, Y/N/N? Even a little bit? You can have feelings for Seb without being full-on in love with him, you know.” 

She only shook your head. “No, it isn’t — see, honestly, I have never thought about him like that. Ever. He’s one of my best friends and I can be myself around him and count on him, and that was enough. More than enough. But then all of this started happening and he asked me to marry him and … and …”

If Kennedy’s brow went any higher, her eyebrows and her hair were going to get tangled together. “And what?”

“And last night, in the hotel room, we — it was just kissing, okay? He was just out of the shower, I needed help with my zipper. And he stopped it because he didn’t want me to think he was trying to get anything more out of this than what we’ve already established.” You drew in a slow, shaky breath. “So, if we’re just friends, why did I want it so bad? Why did I want him so bad? I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with how long it’s been, before you say anything about that.”

Kennedy giggled. “I know this has nothing to do with that. Me trying to get you to open up about what you’re feeling towards Sebastian is not some sappy romance thing because the two of you got married and are going to parent this little girl together. I want you to really understand what you’re getting into — a short-term marriage that’s going to end in an agreed-upon divorce with someone who means more to you than only being one of your best friends.”

“But it’s never been like this before.”

“Sometimes … sometimes we need a push to help us see where we’re meant to be,” Kennedy shrugged. “Is that as close to admission I’m gonna get you?”

“This trip, anyway,” Y/N smirked. “I’m still trying to process all of this, I think.”

Kennedy finished off her salad then, giving her a few minutes to think. When the waiter came, she took care of the bill. 

“Shittiest wedding present ever,” she joked, “but I also flew out here last minutes so, that counts, right?”

Y/N nodded and laughed. “Absolutely. Thank you, Kennedy. For being here and for — for everything.”

She smiled. “Anytime, friend.” 

When Y/N returned to the apartment, Milena came running towards the door, blocking Y/N from going any further than the front door. 

“Finally!” Milena screeched. 

Y/N lifted the little girl into her arms. “Finally? Have you been waiting so long for me to come home?”

Milena nodded her head and grinned. “A surprise!”

“Hey, hey, don’t be giving away our secrets,” Sebastian laughed, coming into the room. He put a hand on Milena’s back and leaned over to kiss Y/N’s forehead. “I know you just got back, but if you’re up for a little drive, we’ll leave early before we meet everyone at my parents’ house for supper.”

Y/N shrugged. “Sure, I’m okay with that. Let me touch up my face and I’ll be ready to go.”

Milena wiggled down from her hold to go and retrieve her shoes when Sebastian instructed; Y/N headed to the bathroom to touch up her makeup. She was putting more lip gloss on when Milena wandered in, shoes on her feet and a jacket added to her outfit. 

“Uncle Seb said ’s cold.”

Y/N nodded. “It’s kinda chilly — I’m going to put a jacket on, too.”

“Can I have some of that?” Milena’s finger pointed to the gloss Y/N was re-capping. 

She crouched down to Milena’s level and put the tiniest amount on the toddler’s lips. Milena sat very still while the gloss was applied and pointed to the mirror when Y/N was done. 

“Look at those pretty girls,” Sebastian smiled, leaning into the bathroom. “You ready to go?”

“I think so. How about you, princess, you ready?”

Milena nodded, then wrapped her arms around Y/N’s neck in as strong an embrace as she could manage. “Iubes.” [Te iubesc = I love you]

It wasn’t one-hundred percent correct Romanian, but the adults knew what she meant. Y/N snuggled against the toddler, meeting Sebastian’s eyes. She couldn’t read the emotions there, so she closed her eyes and answered Milena honestly. 

“Te iubesc mai malt.” [I love you more.]

The drive to their destination was mostly silent, except for a Disney soundtrack playing and Milena quietly singing along when she thought she knew the words. Y/N wanted to reach for Sebastian’s hand and hold tight, for comfort. Before, she would have done that without question. Now, after what had happened in the hotel room, she was too worried about Sebastian thinking she saw something in their relationship that wasn’t there. Instead, she kept her hands in her jacket pockets and stared out the window for most of the ride. 

“I thought we had somewhere else to go before your parents’ house?” she asked, realizing they were in the same neighborhood where Anthony and Georgeta lived. 

“We do,” Sebastian confirmed. 

He didn’t offer any more information, so she kept her further questions to herself. A couple of minutes later, they pulled into the drive of a pretty house — one Y/N didn’t recognize. Sebastian got Milena out of her seat while Y/N stepped out of the car and took a good look at the house. 

“What is this?”

Sebastian only took her hand and smiled, balancing Milena on his other hip. He walked them up to the front porch, took a key from his pocket, and let them in the front door. 

The place was large and blocked off from street view by a line of trees; the land was extensive. The construction and decor was all contemporary and well cared-for. The bedrooms were large, each had its own walk-in closet. The master bath boasted a tub she already couldn’t wait to sink into. At the back of the house, the shaded patio led to a swimming pool, and a koi pond even, beyond that. Despite the size of the house and its amenities, the place felt very homey — cozy, even. She wandered back through the slider, meeting Sebastian and Milena at the island in the middle of the kitchen. 

“I thought maybe it would be good to be close to my parents,” Sebastian began, after Y/N had a chance to see the whole house. “The schools in the area are rated well, and it’s a quiet neighborhood. We can look at something different, if you’d like. Maybe I’ll have this house longer than …” He glanced at Milena, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, I put a bid in so we wouldn’t miss out, but I wanted your input, too.”

Perhaps this wasn’t so different than when he was demanding they decide together about what custody of Milena to ask for in the court filing, but for Y/N, it did wonders for him to so simply state that he wanted her opinion on such a big decision. She took a deep breath; she could picture Milena growing older here. She could picture them having family movie nights here. She could picture Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s. Though she knew it wouldn’t ever happen, she could picture late night slow dances with Sebastian in the kitchen and changing one of the extra rooms to a nursery for a baby that would be a perfect mix of both of their features. 

Sebastian put a hand at her elbow, pulling her from her reverie. “Hey, if this is too much …”

“No, no, it’s not that, I just,” she fanned herself and chuckled lightly, “I think it’s a little warm in here, yeah?”

His concerned frown didn’t soften. “Bright Eyes?”

How did that, a nickname she had heard a million times, make her feel even more warm? “I’m okay, Seb, promise. I love the house, I really do. So much. And if you love it, since you’re the one keeping it, you should leave the bid. How’d you get the key without being the owner, by the way?”

His frown morphed into a mischievous smirk. “I have my ways. C’mon, girls — let’s get over to Bunica’s before they start to wonder where we are.”

He held Milena’s hand on one side and Y/N’s on the other. At the car, he opened Y/N’s door first, then got Milena settled back into her seat. Y/N watched the house as they drove away, indulging herself on daydreams that were likely to never come true. 

She was silent again on the way to his parents’ house, thanks to the daydreams, and was out of the car quick enough to get Milena from the backseat ahead of Sebastian. The girls headed to the porch ahead of him, but he caught up before they got too far. 

“You all right? You’ve been flushed since before we left my apartment, you’ve hardly said a word in the car …”

“I’m fine. Probably just tired from the last couple of days.”

She made to move forward with Milena again, but Sebastian caught her by the hand. Georgeta opened the front door with a smile, immediately recognized the tension between the newlyweds, and so she beckoned Milena to the house. When it was only the two of them, Sebastian raised his brow, but Y/N shook her head. 

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me,” he pleaded. “Since when do we keep things from each other?”

Y/N sighed and met his eyes again. “I’m not — I don’t want to keep things from you. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, you know? What Milena said before we left, and the house, the wedding. It’s all wonderful, but I think maybe — maybe I’m overwhelmed. I’m okay though, really.”

Sebastian pursed his lips. “If last night —”

“No, don’t even say it,” she interrupted. “I’m not going to let either of us dwell on that and make things awkward. We’ll have a good time with family this evening, I’ll get a good night’s sleep, tomorrow everything will be back to normal. I’m sure of it.”

He held up both of his little fingers. “Double pinky swear?”

She loosened up and laughed, hooking her pinkies with his. “Double pinky swear.”

“Good,” he grinned, taking her by the hand and leading her into the house. 

AllOfTheThings: @captain-s-rogers​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ @hurricanerin​ @horsesandbandsforlife​ @im-not-an-armrest-im-short​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @shynara51​ @sea040561​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xtina2191​ @jackryanplz​ @beakami​ @heartsaved​ @fullprunerebelstatesman​ @blackwidowismyhomegirl​ @averyrogers83​ @jennmurawski13​ @connie326​

IYJR: @elsatxx​ @tanelle83​ @amanda-teaches​ @etherealwaifgoddess​ @kmuir1​ @ntlmundy​ @jayankles​ @rebekahdawkins​ @denise1605​ @rhadigen​ @peace-love-hobbitness​ @itsallyscorner​ @mizzzpink​ @auspiciousharriet​ @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​ @learisa​ @tellmewhatyouwill​ @katherinereid​ @lokilokilokilokilokiloki​ @thewolfsenate

[terrence-silver]

Hey, I saw your gorgeous faceclaims for Terry's parents earlier, so I was wondering; could you perhaps do some sort of quick one-shot featuring the two of them? Nothing long or complicated. Just a little insight into their daily (messy?) lives back in the 50s? Thanks a lot. 💙

He waddled in drunk.

Again.

Thing is, he didn’t understand how come Red 31 wasn’t a winning option on the roulette wheel when red as a color has never failed him before - his lucky choice for years, in a sense. He could’ve swore to god almighty, that fucking game was rigged. It was rigged and it was rigged in such a way to harm the economic savings of decent, hard-working Americans like himself. Really, if anything, he blamed McCarty for letting in all those damn Communists into the country and messing up the order of things around here. That was the only way Morton could explain his losses tonight. Fifty thousand dollars in one sitting. Straight ripoff and as such, the deplorable state he was in tonight was well-warranted. Did he try to fight those bastards in the security department? Yes! Did he get thrown out of the casino? Yes, he was! Did he, by any chance get in an alteration with one of the suckers who did in fact win a sizeable amount of money tonight on the same fucking roulette wheel and were slaps generously thrown around? Yes, they absolutely were! And proudly at that! This was a free land.

And now, he was home.

Deep-fucking-joy.

His beautiful pastel Harrods catalogue house.

To his gorgeous nagging wife and their gorgeous tiny brat son.

-”It’s three in the morning.”-

A voice chided and of course Myra would be awake waiting for him like some sort of interrogator in the partial darkness of the hallway, stepping out of the bedroom in a silk bathrobe over her lace chemise and her blue rollers strapped to her curls, arms crossed over her chest with bloody intent, a scowl gracing her red lips as she took a long drag out of her cigarette, huffing the smoke into the air. She had time to put on a lipstick? In the middle of the night? The damn casino scammed him out of his own money and she had time for her goddamn rouge face-paint? The absolute nerve of this broad. She didn’t even wear her usual house slippers. No. She had her heels on like some manner of decadent, shameless saloon harlot. Because of course she did.

Wretched Biblical viper.

-”Y’know. If I knew you’d be so good at stating the obvious and telling the damn time I’ve would’ve strapped you to my wrist instead of a Rolex and just carried you with me around all day.”-

Morton shook his hand at her frantically to nail the idea behind his words into her head, clanking the gold clasp of his arm-watch in her direction. The general idea was, that before she even tried to accuse him of anything at this late hour, to gently remind her, as she often needed to be, that he in fact made all the money in this household, and as such, he could waste and spend as much of it as he pleased, however he pleased, whenever he pleased like the man he was. Because, really - who was going to stop him? Did she really think he didn’t know what time it was? There were no clocks in casinos. Yet, he always knew, regardless. It was an ingrained instinct, by now.

-”You’re bleeding, you reek and you look like hell, Morty.”-

She clicked her tongue in annoyance alongside an eyeroll, using an endearment instead of his full name, walking around him with her heels clicking on the marble carpeted floor as she plopped down in the velvet armchair facing him directly, crossing her legs, watching him pour himself a glass of scotch and downing it one swift move. This has happened before. Of course it has. But, was it such a sin he wanted out of this stifling, godforsaken upper middle class life out here in the fucking desert, peddling rings and knick-knack like a common salesman or roadside merchant? Was it so bad he wanted to make a quick spin of money? Was it so hard to understand he wanted Lady Fortune to smile at him? If only just once? Let him live the life he knew he deserved? That she deserved. That their son deserved. That he, correction and all humbleness aside, Morton Silver, deserved, most of all?

-”We can’t all look like Liz Taylor, ma’am. Respectfully.”-

He spat back in disgust, loathing how beautiful she appeared.

So close to making him behave in ways a gentleman never should.

-”How much?”-

She inquired firmly, with a certain sense of softness.

He immediately what she meant, even without clarifying.

He averted his gaze, sighing in defeat - putrid, bitter defeat.

Leveling his eyes instead, with the glass liqueur bottle in front of him.

-”That much, huh?”-

Myra knew, even without words spoken, more or less what the monetary casualties of tonight’s exploits were - she had an instinct for things like that by now, the damn woman - finishing the butt of her cigar and crushing it in the crystal ashtray next to her seat and leaning over her white cream boudoir instead, starting to remove the rolls from her hair one by one, combing them out steadily and attaching the pearled earrings to the pierced holes of her lobes. She once stated he had a serious addiction and that  she read in a health magazine at her book club that such things weren’t anything to be ashamed of and that it could be curable with the right methods and care - that she worried about the state of him - where he was headed - where they were headed, as a married couple - but he didn’t want to hear about it. If she intended to institutionalise him she had another thing coming. He knew what they did to people deemed crazy.

And the Silvers had a reputation to uphold around these parts.

His father was a jeweler and his father before him.

His father’s father, even.

He only wanted to increase what he inherited.

Not let it all go to waste with the knowledge that he wasn’t quite right.

People would avoid them both like the plague for it - bloody bastards.

-”I’ll make it back for us. I always do. You know me! You know I do! I’ve luck at the tip of my fingers, all I need is the right moment at the right time and it’ll find me when I least expect it! And you love me for it! Maybe next time this year, we’ll be sitting at a balcony somewhere, overlooking the sea! And you’ll be sunbathing with a big hat and we’ll never look back! Maybe up the West Coast - maybe -”-

He found himself ranting, a wave of desperation, guilt and hysteria taking over his senses, fueled by alcohol and a need to rationalize and justify himself, suddenly on his knees and grabbing Myra by her ankles, nearly ripping the nylon of her sheer, flesh-colored stockings with the sharpness of the ruby on his wedding band, pulling her away from the mirror and back unto her arm chair, embracing her legs and leaning his face unto her lap, trapping her in place because he needed her to stay put and listen like he needed air to breathe, rambling and stuttering as he did. He despised this place and he knew she did too, but money was never enough to move someplace better permanently and for that reason he hated it here all the more out of rage. All the dust and scorched, dryness of the earth, and the unbearable desert wind and the goddamn mob burring mutilated bodies out in the wild, and the hyenas, and the loan-sharks, and the snakes, and the hookers and the temptations and the sinning and people blowing their fucking brains out due to accumulated debt and he just couldn’t take it anymore. It was hell. And he wasn’t out of here in a couple of years, he’d just ram his car off of the first cliff with himself, Myra and Terry in it and call it a day. It wasn’t the most Christian way to go, but heck if he cared at this point. He was as far removed from God’s light as he could be by now.

-”You’ll wake up the child with your drunk rambling.”-

She chastised whispering, with infinite tenderness.

With a tinge of sadness and pity too, he figured tiredly.

Letting her run her manicured fingers through his hair sweetly.

Comforting him - another woman would’ve left him by now, surely.

He drank and whored around and gambled and cussed and shouted.

Not her though - all she wanted was him, their son and money.

And although a bit skinny, puny and small for his age.

Almost to the point of occasional embarrassment -

Morton figured a change of scenery would do Terence good too.

Get some strength back into him - make him tall, statuesque and healthy.

Last thing Morton Silver wanted was a malnourished, sickly offspring.

-”Do you believe me, though? Do you believe me when I say I’ll give us lives worthy of gods and leave behind this petty corner-store waste of time? I don’t want to spend the rest of my days behind an old, dusty counter, convincing people which fucking engagement ring to buy some random, nameless dame off of the street they met in a joint one time!”-

He looked up at her almost pleading, fingers digging into her skin to the borderline point of nearly making her bleed - his humiliation at requiring her approval in the first place mingling with genuine need and rage at even being in his position mixing into a potent sort of fury where he was just one inch away from slapping her if she answered negatively and then grabbing her and kissing her the next for running her pretty little mouth like that. He was an irresponsible, hypocrite, drunk gambler and lying, materialistic, greedy whore-mongerer. She was a tobbacco-addicted, fashion-crazed, haughty diva obsessed with her pearls and being the perfect, unassuming upper-crust housewife and mother. They were made for each other. Hell, they even looked alike, aesthetically speaking, both pale, lanky, dark haired, with stark blue eyes - like a matched pair of paper dressing dolls cut-out from a magazine. If anything - little Terry would be a looker. Not an overly wealthy looker, but a looker nonetheless. A little pretty twig-boy with no inheritance quite big enough or impressive to turn heads. Not if they stay here. In this crime-infested cesspool of filth that threatened to drag him down even lower.

He pressed a sloppy, inebriated half-kiss to the side of her mouth.

Trying to make himself forget how much he exactly lost tonight.

She turned her head away, nostrils flaring at the stench of him.

She didn’t exactly bear the scent of roses either, reeking of tobacco.

How many did she exactly smoke in the darkness expecting his return?

-”You always did things your way and I’ve enabled you, in part. Now all I can do is sit around and wait for you to come home alive and hope to god someone doesn’t beat you half to death on the steps of some sleazy, two-bit gambling den like a dog.”-

Myra’s voice cracked and she was overtaken by a wave of sobbing.

Tracing the fresh wound on his head, impartially.

In defeat - her tone pained, regretful.

They been through his debate a million times.

And a million times they’ve reached this exact conclusion.

She didn’t even bother cleaning the blood on his scalp.

This happened so often, there was hardly a point anymore.

He’d be battered and bruised at work again by tomorrow.

She’d ambush him in this same fashion, at this same hour.

Wearing the same bathrobe and spewing the same reprimanding.

And he wouldn’t really change or learn - neither would she.

[koala-otter]

so i have this idea that aang and katara ask zuko and sokka to take care of bumi kya and tenzin for the weekend and i would appreciate if you could give me that 🥺🥺 i love everything you write btw

thank you so much anon!! (and thank you for your patience with this)

I took some artistic license and made it pure Bumi (it came out pretty soft I think as a result, but writing so many kids’ dynamics seemed like a lot for me rn hahaha)

also this is only part 1 of 2 (maybe 3) and is on ao3

a weekend with bumi almost 2k words

Breakfast has just been served on the eastern patio of the Fire Nation royal palace when an attendant rushes over to the Fire Lord’s table. Zuko’s soup spoon has made it halfway toward his mouth while Sokka has been regaling Katara and Aang with a story about his latest trip to the royal tailor—his visits have only become more frequent now that he is officially married to the Fire Lord and has unlimited access to the best silks from Shiruku mountain—and the young parents have been steadily feeding one-year-old Bumi bites of fermented soybean. Zuko returns the spoon to the bowl when he sees the member of his senior staff approaching, the steam of the broth curling up and disappearing in front of his face.

“Yes, Hoshi?” he asks.

Hoshi bows deeply in front of Zuko. “My lord,” he begins, “a messenger hawk has just arrived from the Earth Kingdom.” He rises and turns toward the other side of the table, a scroll held out in his hand. “For Avatar Aang.”

“Thanks, Hoshi,” Aang says, reaching out to take the message. Hoshi disappears back into the palace.

Aang finishes feeding Bumi a piece of sweet potato before carefully placing his chopsticks next to his dish and unfurling the message. The rest of the table falls quiet as he reads, and for a while, there are only the sounds of birdsong and rustling trees from the garden below them. But then Bumi’s chubby hand reaches into his mouth, and Sokka fails to hold in a guffaw as the baby flings mushy sweet potato right onto Katara’s dress. Just as Sokka’s about to let loose into a full laugh, Katara victoriously holds up the napkin preemptively placed on her lap, immediately disappointing her brother. Zuko smiles in amusement. Aang rolls the message back up.

“What is it, Aang?” Katara asks.

“There’s a spirit attacking a village on the west coast of the Earth Kingdom,” Aang says, already rising from his seat. “I have to help them.”

“I’m coming with you,” Katara says determinedly. She shifts Bumi to her hip to stand.

“But, Katara, it’s not safe,” Aang reasons with her. “The spirit’s already ruined half of the villagers’ homes and taken some of them into the Spirit World.”

“Then you shouldn’t go alone,” Katara replies. “They’ll need help from both of us.”

“Okay,” Aang says slowly, “but I really meant not safe for Bumi.” He tilts his head toward the baby boy gurgling on his mother’s hip, his round, little fist once more in his mouth.

Sokka and Zuko watch Katara as she considers her son carefully. Bumi always joins his parents on their travels—they’ve even taken him down the mail chutes at Omashu and on the backs of kangaroos on Kangaroo Island. Leaving him behind seems unimaginable. But a fierce expression lights across Katara’s face, much like the one she gets before endangering their lives to save a village, or when she decides to teach the Northern Water Tribe’s female benders herself. She has an idea, and she will follow through on it.

“Sokka and Zuko can take care of him,” she says matter-of-factly.

Sokka and Zuko exchange alarmed looks as Katara hands Bumi to her brother, and Sokka becomes very concerned with holding the baby up and out from under his arms. Bumi’s always been big for his age, but Sokka’s hands still wrap completely around the upper part of Bumi’s torso, his fingertips meeting across Bumi’s back. Sokka always worries while holding him that his nephew is a very small, very fragile, little human being, but now he feels doubly aware of it, especially as the person suddenly responsible for his care.

“Are you sure—”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Aang says cheerfully. He pulls out his bison whistle to call Appa, but before he blows into it, he turns to the two men still sitting, stunned, on the floor and asks, “As long as you’re okay with it?”

“Of course,” Zuko says, shaking off his surprise. He stands and takes Bumi from Sokka, his arms still outstretched, and tries to hold him in a way that might reassure Katara and Aang that they’ve made the right decision. From their small smiles and intense focus on the sky, however, it doesn’t look like they need much reassuring.

“You’re in good hands, buddy,” Aang says to his son once Appa’s arrived. He gives Bumi’s hand a little shake. “We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Katara kisses both of Bumi’s cheeks and the top of his head, and then tickles his neck to make him erupt into a fit of giggles.

“We’ll keep him safe,” Sokka promises, now standing to put his arm around Zuko’s shoulders.

“I know,” Katara replies with a smile. She hugs her brother fiercely, then Zuko just as tightly, and kisses Bumi one more time for good measure. She only looks a little sad when Aang helps her onto Appa’s saddle.

“Be careful!” Zuko calls after them.

“You’re one to talk, Zuko,” Aang laughs as they take off, and Zuko can only smile and shake his head goodnaturedly, watching as Appa becomes only a speck in the sky.

When Zuko looks away, he finds Sokka still staring into the clouds in great distress. His eyes have gone wide, a grimace is plastered to his face, and if his arm weren’t around Zuko, he’d probably be pulling his own hair.

“Hey,” Zuko says in that soft, raspy voice of his, “they’ll be okay.”

Sokka starts. “I know that,” he says, pulling his arm back.

“Then what are you so worried about?”

Sokka uses both hands to gesture toward Bumi, gurgling away in Zuko’s arms. “How are we supposed to take care of a baby?” His voice is high-pitched and nasal, the way it sounds every time they’re confronted with an impending fight, or when one of his plans does not, well, go to plan.

“How would I know?” Zuko spies drool dribbling down Bumi’s chin and does his best to wipe it discreetly with his sleeve. He sneaks a glance at Sokka in case he’s noticed his grimace of disgust, and then clears his throat and says, “He’s your nephew.”

“Hey,” Sokka says quickly, crossing his arms, “as of three months ago, he’s yours, too.” His tone turns borderline academic, and his arm extends in something like an invitation. “Maybe you could come up with an idea for how to take care of him?”

Zuko frowns in response. With Aang and Katara gone, he and Sokka are the only adults on the patio. The leaves of the trees in the garden below shudder in the wind, no figures present to impede them but insects and their wings. Hoshi is nowhere within calling distance, the nearest guard is somewhere on the roof, and the last royal nurse was dismissed years ago. It is just them and the little table covered in dishes that have barely been touched, the bowls of soup still steaming.

Bumi lets out the beginning of a low wail and immediately succeeds in regaining Zuko’s attention.

Zuko pales and begins bouncing his nephew. “We could start by finishing breakfast?” he suggests.

Sokka immediately breaks into an eager grin and reaches excitedly for Bumi, whom Zuko is more than happy to hand over. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he almost chides himself, suddenly balancing Bumi seemingly effortlessly on his arm. He lands easily back in his seat at the table, holding the baby up so they can both survey the spread before them.

From this angle, Zuko realizes, with Bumi’s dark hair and dark skin and blue eyes, he and Sokka look stunningly alike. It comes not only from the clear markers of their shared heritage, but also in the pure emotion of their faces, Sokka’s so angular, Bumi’s soft and round. The look and smell of the food causes similar reactions in both of them, absorbing all of their attention and analysis. Zuko almost wants to laugh at the sight, an unfamiliar sensation bubbling in his chest and filling him with a welcome warmth, almost like plunging into a hot bath.

“All right, Bumi,” Sokka says instructionally. He moves his chopsticks adeptly over the collection of plates. “Your dad might be a vegetarian, but you’re half-Water Tribe, so it’s your birthright to eat meat. And your mom isn’t here to stop me. So.”  

Sokka reaches for one of the plates, only to spy Zuko looking down at him disapprovingly.

“It’s not like they’re gonna find out!” he says helplessly.

“Katara and Aang are his parents,” Zuko says, crossing his arms, “and we promised to take care of him for them.” He sits down and moves the plate out of Sokka’s reach, much to his husband’s dismay. “That means following their rules.”

Sokka sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces, his eyes closing briefly in resignation. They open suddenly, and he points a finger in Zuko’s direction. “But when we have a kid, they’re eating meat every day.”

Zuko freezes in response. When he and Sokka have talked about children, it has always been in the abstract, and always in a distant future neither can really envision. They both know of the expectations for an heir, but still, the surrounding language has always been “if;” never “when.” Even the last time it was mentioned, three months before, when a very drunk, very off-duty Admiral Chen made a comment about preparing the navy for toddlers armed with boomerangs and fire, Sokka only mirrored the horrified expression on Zuko’s own face.

Sokka barrels on, clearly not having noticed Zuko’s reaction, or his lack of a response. “Change of plans,” he says to Bumi, who reaches out with his tiny hand to lightly smack Sokka’s cheek. Sokka grins in response. “We’re trying fish.”

The words pull Zuko out of his daydream. “Sokka,” he says warningly.

“What? It’s fish,” Sokka says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s barely meat.”

He pulls off a small piece of grilled fish and brings it close to Bumi, whose eyes widen at the sight. He pulses forward on Sokka’s arm with his mouth open wide, waiting expectantly. With a shift of an inch, the fish lands in his mouth, and Bumi bursts into a loud hum.

Zuko laughs loudly at the sound.

“It’s good, right?” Sokka asks excitedly, already getting more for the baby boy to eat. Bumi nods his head, and his wild hair bounces around him, mouth already open again for the next approaching morsel. “Yeah, get the skin, it’s the best part!”

Sokka looks up to beam at Zuko. “This might not be so bad after all,” he says. His eyes sparkle with an energy Zuko’s never seen from him before.

“Yeah.” Zuko leans forward to feed Bumi his next bite himself, and chuckles when his nephew grows impatient and grabs the fish off of the chopsticks, mashing it into little flakes between his tiny fingers. He only laughs more as Sokka desperately tries to keep any of the flakes from falling on his clothing, but soon enough, Zuko grabs a napkin and distracts Bumi with a piece of sweet potato, cleaning off one little hand at a time. Sokka smiles gratefully at him and pulls Bumi back into his lap, while Zuko folds the napkin back up and places it beside his plate on the table. He settles back into his seat and listens to the wind in the leaves, the vibration of insect wings, the little songs of the birds, and Bumi, humming loudly still with each taste of his breakfast, and beginning to converse with his uncle in his special brand of baby talk.

Zuko smiles. “It might even be kind of fun.”

[robinskey]

Don’t Touch My Family

Request: Would you be willing to make an imagine of dad!billy were after graduation u nd billy leave town bc u get pregnant w/out telling anybody but after a few years u have a son & daughter Neil finds out n come by the house hella pissed while billy isnt home, tries to hurt u nd the kids but billy comes home n just beats the hell out him for trying to hurt his family? just the thought of billy goin after the only person hes terrified of for HIS family makes him THE father he never had makes me melt ❤

A/N: This is a little bit darker than my typical fluffy sunshine fanfic, but I really liked the request, so I decided to do it anyway. :) Sorry if you wanted something shorter, anon-this turned into more of a drabble/one-shot than an imagine. Thanks for requesting!

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, descriptions of violence, implied abuse, language

You find out you’re pregnant halfway through the last semester of senior year. 

When you tell Billy, you expect him to freak out. He doesn’t, though-at least, not on the outside. On the inside, he’s absolutely panicking. But he can see how upset you are, so he just pulls you close. He whispers into your hair that he’ll support you in whatever you want to do.

After a few days of contemplation, decide you want to have the baby. You and Billy agree that it’s best to keep your pregnancy a secret-for now, at least. If your parents found out, your father would probably actually fire that shotgun he’s always threatening to use on “that deadbeat boyfriend of yours.”

And Billy...well, he has no idea how his father would react. But he has no intentions of finding out.

Thus, Billy offers to run away with you right there on the spot. However, you ultimately decide that it would be better to finish high school. Maybe you'll even be able to save up a little bit of money before the two of you start a new life together.

So, for the next few months, you wear baggy clothes to hide your growing midsection. Billy picks you up for “dates” that are actually doctor’s appointments. Thanks to your valiant efforts, no one suspects a thing.

Eventually, graduation rolls around. Your family hosts a small get-together after the ceremony. Distant relatives congratulate you on your achievements and ask if you’re excited to start this “new chapter in your life.” You smile and nod.

You have no idea.

Later that night, you stuff everything you can fit into a small tote bag. You leave an apology note to your parents on the kitchen counter and sneak out of your house.

Billy’s waiting for you outside in the Camaro. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead and holds the door open as you climb into the passenger seat. As he drives away, you watch your childhood home shrink into the distance, saying a silent goodbye to the only home you’ve ever known.

***

Five years later, you and Billy share a two-bedroom house on the West Coast. You have two kids-a son and a daughter. Billy works as a mechanic at an auto repair shop, while you write for the local newspaper. Neither of you make much money, but it doesn’t matter. You’re both happy-genuinely happy-for the first time in your lives.

Billy gets home around 5:30 every day, so, when the doorbell rings at 5:15, you figure he just got off early.

“I’m coming, honey!” you yell, bouncing your infant daughter on your hip.

But when you peek into the peephole, you discover not your husband standing on your doorstep but a scruffy older man in tattered clothing. His face is scrunched up, and he squints in the sun. You freeze, clutching your baby to your chest.

Neil Hargrove is standing on your porch.

“I know someone’s home. I heard you,” he barks. “Come on. Open up. I just want to talk.”

He raises a dirty fist and raps on the wood. The noise scares your daughter, who starts to whimper. You’re too busy shushing her to notice your son appear at your side.

“Mama, who’s that?”

You clamp a hand over his mouth and suck in your breath. Maybe, if you’re quiet enough, you can cancel out the noise made by your clueless four-year-old.

“Is that my grandson?”

For a split second, his volume dips below its typical scream-level. It’s the most gentle you’ve ever heard him speak.

But then he has to ruin it by pounding once more on the door.

“Come on, you coward, open the damn door!” He rattles the doorknob so violently that you think it might fall off.

This time, you can’t prevent your daughter from letting out a wail. Beside you, your son sniffles.

You muster every last fiber of courage in your being. “Get the hell out of here, Neil,” you growl, trying to sound as menacing as possible.

“Y/N? Is that you?” he asks. There’s a soft thud, almost like he’s just leaned his forehead against the wood.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought it was Billy in there,” Neil says.

“Billy-Billy is here,” you stutter.

“No, he’s not. I don’t see the Camaro anywhere, and I know my son takes that damn car everywhere,” Neil says.

Your son wraps his arms around your calf and clings to it. You hope he isn’t able to absorb the panic pulsing through every part of your body

“I’m warning you, Neil, to walk out of here while you still can. I…” 

You scan the messy living room, littered with toys. Your gaze falls on a plastic pistol laying on the sofa.

“I have a gun. And I’m not afraid to use it,” you threaten.

The wall between you slightly muffles his ominous chuckle, but it still reaches your ears.

“I’m sure you do, sweetie. But there’s no need to get violent on an old man who just wants to see his grandkids. Why don’t you just open the door, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you just go to hell, Neil?” 

The silence drags on long enough for you to almost convince yourself that he’s walked away.

Almost.

And then, just loud enough for it to be audible: “If that’s how you want to play it.”

You jump out of the way as the door falls inward with a thud.

Neil Hargrove slowly lowers the foot he used to kick it down, glaring at you with bloodshot eyes.

You push your son behind you, wrap your arms tighter around your daughter, and take cautious steps backwards.

“Did you really think you could hide from me forever?” he asks. He advances deeper into your home-your sanctuary-with every word.

“What do you want from me?” you demand. Your backside collides with a wall; Neil’s backed you into a corner.

“I just want what you and my son stole from me by skipping town five years ago,” Neil says. “A chance to connect with my family.”

He draws close enough that you can count every crater left by untreated acne on his creased face and smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “I knew you had one child,” he says, peeking around you at the little boy cowering in the corner, “but two? What a pleasant surprise. This little one-let me see her face.”

Neil extends a wrinkled hand to peel back the blanket covering the baby. You’re too stunned to react until his filthy finger is only inches from her face. That’s when you raise a knee and jam it into his groin. He doubles over with a grunt.

“Go!” You practically shove your son into his room and set the baby next to him. Then, a hand wraps around your ponytail, yanking you backwards. Tears stream down your face as you scream at your kids to shut the door and lock it. There’s a slam and a click, then the word “bitch” yelled into your ear. Neil spits into your ear canal as he calls you every name in the book. You claw and kick and punch, but Neil’s got a death grip on your hair. He drags you across the living room floor, promising that he’s “going to make you pay.” He finally tosses you onto the couch. Your back aches as the barrel of the fake gun juts into your spinal cord.

Between your shrieks and Neil’s name-calling, you don’t hear the roar of the engine as the Camaro pulls onto your street, nor the squeal of the brakes as Billy pulls up next to the beat-up pick-up truck he’d recognize anywhere. You don’t hear your husband’s thundering footsteps as he sprints up the sidewalk. No, you don’t notice any of that; you’re too preoccupied flailing around as Neil tries to pin you to the sofa. 

But even though you don’t see him, Billy appears in the doorway, still wearing his navy mechanic jumpsuit. He’s covered in grease stains and flushed skin. And, for the first time in his life, he raises his voice at his father without an inkling of fear of the consequences.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

He charges at his father, who’s caught completely off-guard. The two of them crash onto the coffee table, snapping it in two. They only wrestle for a minute before Billy comes out on top. He raises his fist and brings it down on his father’s face until it’s nothing more than a bloody pulp. Billy continues landing blows long after Neil passes out. And, while Neil Hargrove certainly deserves it, you’d rather not have Billy kill someone in your house with your kids in the literal next room. So, eventually, you walk up to your scratched-up, bruised husband and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Baby,” you say softly. 

He gazes up at you, the pain and torment of eighteen years of abuse bubbling to the surface once again. Once his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He raises himself to his feet and pulls you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you so tightly that you wince, sore from Neil throwing you around like a ragdoll. Billy apologizes profusely and holds you out at arm’s length. His eyes flicker over your features.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” you say honestly. Your hands are shaking profusely, your heart rate is still elevated well above normal levels, and you’re pretty sure you’ll have nightmares about this encounter for the rest of your life. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“A little. But it could have been so much worse, if you hadn’t…” 

A single tear trails down your cheek. Billy wipes it away with his thumb.

“You don’t have to go there, Y/N. Don’t go there,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Your eyelids flutter shut. “You’re right. We’re safe now-me, the kids-”

“The kids!” you both exclaim at the same time. You run to their bedroom and knock on the door. It swings open, and two small children stare up at you. They both burst into tears, and you and Billy gather them into your arms.

The police arrive a few minutes later, just as Neil starts to regain consciousness. (Having nosy neighbors pays off when you need someone to call 9-1-1 without being asked.) As the officers escort Neil out of the house in handcuffs, Billy warns him to never come near his family again.

And for the first time in his life, his father actually listens.

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny  @sweetboibilly @scarrasco1325  @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

March 15th

Master List

**Before you read this, I gotta say, this is my favorite story I wrote this year, it was so much fun to write and I really hope you like it!**

“Incoming mail ship.” Wonpil’s head shot up so fast, he smacked it on the duct he was repairing. “Ship docking in port 14. Let’s remain calm this time folks, the captain doesn’t want any more incident reports before we get home.” At the sound of his friend’s voice over the intercom, Wonpil, let go of the screwdriver he was holding, letting it float next to the open duct cover. 

“Chan, I’m expecting a package, and it’s super important.” 

“From your wife, right?” The younger man inquired, kicking off from the wall to propel himself towards his superior. Wonpil can’t help the grin on his face. 

“Yeah, I got a transmission from her a month ago saying she sent me something, so I’m expecting it soon.” Both men grinned at this. “So I’ve gotten the last of the wiring soldered, but I need you to recoat it, troubleshoot and run a final diagnostics, and if I’m not back by the time that’s done, put the panel back in place and send me the reports.” Chan salutes, a cheesy grin on his face. 

“Yes sir, take your time boss.” Wonpil nods, moving to the closed door at the end of the hall. 

“Sector 113, gravity activated.” Both boys boots thump onto the floor, followed by the clank of multiple tools. Wonpil leaves the corridor quickly, turning the gravity back off and gives Chan one more salute before making his way to the ports. 

The I.S.S Moonrise was the first ship of its kind, a high tech, orbital colony floating in the vastness of space, just past the edge of the Milky Way, a months journey from most of the inhabitant’s home planet of Earth. Wonpil was one of the lucky ones, only on the station for 18 months, 20, if you include the 2 months of travel to get there and back. As the current head of engineering, he got a lot more free reign of the station than most of its inhabitants, which were a mix of scientists, farmers, and historians. 

“Paging Kim Wonpil, where are you Pil?” The voice over his comms made him roll his eyes. 

“Why are you using the comms to annoy me, Jae?”

“First of all, it’s hyung.” 

“No one’s used that term in almost 50 years, give it a rest.” 

“Then it’s lieutenant.” The man whined. 

“Then you should be calling me Chief Engineer,” Wonpil retorted, opening the hangar doors. 

“Whatever, look Jihyo won't let me grab your package for you.” Wonpil felt like vibrating as he made his way to the group surrounding the mailing ship. 

“No need, I’m right here.” The crowd opens for him to walk through, most either recognizing Wonpil, or the silver stripes on his uniform. He’s shocked to find Jihyo holding a package, as captain of the Hermes, she usually remained in the cockpit while Chaeyoung and Tsuyu handled the mail. 

“I could have delivered it to him, Jihyo.” Jae whines, flipping through the letters he’d received, no doubt from his parents and sister. 

“No can do, Y/n made me promise this box would go from my hand to his.” She punctuated her sentence by placing the small box in Wonpil’s outstretched hand. 

“She came in person then?” Jihyo nodded, grinning as he signed for the mail.

“And she also wanted me to give you this.” She leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, making his face flush red. 

“Aish,” He huffed, hiding his burning face behind his hands as those around them laughed. 

“Come on kid, the Captain asked us to join him for lunch.” Jae slung his arm over Wonpil’s shoulder, though the smaller man simply knocked it away from him, turning back to Jihyo. 

“I’m actually sending something today,” He told her, pulling a small box from his pocket. “Make sure she gets it okay?” 

“No problem.” Jihyo nodded, “Want me to give her a kiss for you?” Wonpil couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. 

“No, we’ll save those for when I get home.” 

“See you in two months, Wonpil.” 

“See you then, Ji.” He saluted the woman, before finally letting Jae lead him to Sungjin’s office. Wonpil decided to open the package during lunch, knowing full well that Brian and Dowoon would want to know what you had sent him. 

“Good afternoon Lieutenant Park, Chief Kim.” The robotic voice greeted as the two entered the spacious room Sungjin and the other two boys were sitting in. 

“Nothing is as beautiful as a sunset on Earth, the west coast of America has the best views,” Brian told the youngest boy, who shook his head. 

“No chance, Olympian sunsets are better,” Dowoon argued. Brian turned to his best friend and eternal roommate. 

“Jae, which is better, West Coast Sunsets or Olympian sunsets?” Jae shrugged, dropping into his seat next to him. 

“Never been to Olympia, so I say West Coast.” 

“What about you, Jin?” The Captain paused mid-bite, to sigh. 

“I didn’t want to be brought into this argument. You argue Earth vs Mars every week.” He grumbled. 

“Then I will end the argument.” Wonpil decided, setting the box on the table. The boys gasped, Dowoon bouncing in his chair. 

“Is that from Y/n?” He asks, earning a nod from Wonpil. “Open it then,” Sungjin ordered, setting down his burger. Wonpil complied happily, and the contents made his heart clench. Resting in the box was a very small pair of shoes, knitted yellow booties, and a small SD card in a plastic case. 

“Oh, she was so little.” Jae cooed, picking up the tiny shoes. 

“They must be the shoes she came home in.” Wonpil realized, “She’s almost a year old.” He sighs, picking up the SD card. “Do you mind, Captain?” He asks, and Sungjin nods, tapping the table to expose the port. 

“Go ahead, I want to see the little one.” He grins. Wonpil inserts the card, and a second later a hologram of his wife, sitting on a bed with a very small child on her lap appears above the table. 

“Oh look at her,” Brian coos. “She’s getting so big.” Wonpil can’t help his smile as he rests his arm on the table, his head following. 

“Hi, babe, and hello boys.” The recording begins. “Since I know the Captain will ask you to play this for him.” She grins, glancing down at the baby on her lap. “Will you say hello to Daddy and your Uncles?” She asks, earning a few baby sounds and a laugh from her daughter. She looks back up, smiling at the camera. “Hyebin says hi.” She giggles. “By the time you get this video, we’ll be celebrating her first birthday. My mom insists on getting her a smash cake.” Wonpil lets out a small laugh, remembering the mess that ensued from his oldest daughter’s first birthday. “And your parents are coming over to celebrate too, they know how much we all miss you.” 

“Is that Daddy?” Another small voice fills the speakers and you look away from the camera, shaking your head. 

“No baby, we’ll call him tomorrow, I’m filming a message for him though, would you like to say hello to him?” A second later, the tiny face of his oldest daughter filled the entire screen, making the boys laugh. “Too close Hyerin, everyone’s gonna be able to see up your nose.” The boys laugh again as the little girl lets out a tiny squeak and darts over to her mother’s legs. 

“Hi, Daddy!” She waves. “I miss you! And uncle Dowoon. Mom says I have to be at least 10 before I can go with you to space.” She pouts the last few words. 

“Why don’t you tell Daddy what you want to be when you grow up?” 

“I wanna be a pilot! My teacher let us play on the simulator at school and I kept the plane up the longest.” You giggled at your daughter's excitement. 

“I told her she had to wait until Sungjin was home for a week before she was allowed to go bother him.” You shifted, bringing Hyebin up to rest on your shoulder. “Rin, do you remember how old Bin is?”

“She’ll be a year old on the 19th next month.” Rin nodded, climbing onto the bed next to her mother. 

“And how old will she be when daddy gets home?” 

“16 months.” 

“So how many months till Daddy gets home?” Rin pauses, counting on her fingers.

“Five!” She finally exclaims, looking to her mom for confirmation. 

“Exactly.” You nod, patting Hyebin’s back as she begins to fuss. “Rin, can you do Mommy a favor and go get Binnie’s pacifier out of her bed?” 

“The elephant, right.”

“That’s right, thank you, baby.” You watch for a moment as the little girl runs out of the room. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Lilo had her puppies, most of them have been adopted, but I’m letting Rin keep one so she has her own pet.” You smile, “And don’t worry Dowoon, we saved you a puppy as well, she’s staying with us until you get home.” Dowoon cheers, making the boys laugh. “I’ll be going back to work soon, turns out the mission to the probe is ahead of schedule, they want me there when the repairs begin, oh and babe, the shoes in the box, they’re the shoes Bin was brought home in, my grandmother made them, I thought you might like something from home for your desk, just don’t forget to bring them home with you, or my mom might fly out there and mug Brian for them.” Brian huffs, setting the yellow boots on the table. Rin comes back into the room, hands her mother the pacifier, and climbs back onto the bed. “Do you want to say anything else to daddy?” 

“I miss you! And don’t feel bad that you won’t be here on my birthday. Mommy said you’ll be closer to me then than ever before, and that we’ll be able to see you from the control room.” Her grin falls into an exaggerated glare. “But don’t be late coming home, and don’t get hurt okay?” She points a stern finger at the camera. 

“Do you want to say bye?” You prompt. 

“Bye-bye Daddy, I’ll see you soon.” She waves, a grin that makes her look like Wonpil on her face. 

“Bye babe, I love you. Stay safe okay?” You pick up Bin’s tiny hand, waving it to the camera. “Say bye to Daddy Binnie.” You let go of her hand, blowing a kiss to the camera. “Come home soon.” With a final set of waves from you and Rin, the recording ends. 

Wonpil’s face is wet, he knows he’s crying, and he isn’t even ashamed of it as he hides his face in the crook of his arm. 

“I know why Wonpil’s crying, why am I crying?” Dowoon mutters. “Why are you crying?” Wonpil looks up to find the youngest man pointing to Brian, who is wiping his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. 

“Rin’s gotten so big.” He mutters, earning chuckles from the boys. 

“How do you think I feel?” Wonpil asks, wiping his own eyes. “She’s gonna be seven the day I leave.” 

“I can’t wait to get back to Earth.” Jae sighs, “I miss my friends.” 

“I miss New York Pizza.” Sungjin sighs and all the boys groan in agreement.

“Here’s a deal, when we get home, let’s go out for pizza, bring your families or whatever, we can go to Escape From New York.” Wonpil offers. “Maybe not the first night home, Y/n might kill me if I try leaving the house.” There’s another chorus of laughs. “Oh man, three months till we leave.” Sungjin sighs. “I don’t know if I’m ready.” 

“Not ready to give up command yet?” Brian jokes. Sungjin shakes his head. 

“It’s not that, it’s…” He trails off, unsure of what to say.

“Here, everything we do means something incredible.” Dowoon begins, and the botanist looks away from the older boys, shy as ever. “Grow a plant and its next-gen Astro-terraforming, find a microbe in some nebula get to watch a species be born. Every message sent out to the probes, the colonies, it’s all integral to GASEX and the future of human and Xeno interactions. Back home, Mars, Earth, wherever the hell Jae is from.”

“Literally just the lunar colony.”

“Back home, yeah we’re respected, but the things we do, they aren’t breakthroughs, it’s just humans doing human things.” Dowoon finishes. 

“Unless you’re Wonpil, then you go from repairing a spaceship to building them.” Jae jokes, lightening the mood. Wonpil feels his face heat up as he removes the SD card from the table port. 

“Not for too long.” He confesses. “I’ve worked out a schedule, 11 months on, 11 home until the girls are old enough to join me here.” He tells them, earning cheers. “What about you, coming back anytime soon?” 

“I will be. Come January I’m back on the Artemis.” Sungjin tosses a fry in his mouth. “And then I’m really Captain Sungjin again.” 

“I’ll be on Earth for a few weeks before heading back to Mars.” Dowoon begins, stealing one of Sungjin’s fries. “I think I’ll be back here in 13 Earth months.” He shrugs. 

“Well Jae and I aren’t leaving Earth anytime soon. Not till the coming March, I’m lecturing at Incheon BioCenter for a while and he’s gonna be teaching some languages over at The Seoul Communications Institute.” Brian gestures to Jae who grins, flashing a peace sign. 

“So that puts us all back here, coming March?” Sungjin asks. 

“Following January. I’ll be the last one back.” Wonpil informs him. 

“So three months, technically four, and then we can avoid each other until then.” Brian jokes. “Here’s to avoiding you all until ‘56 then.”

The cabin is filled with the clinking of their glasses and for a moment, everything is normal.

Three months pass quickly, and soon finds Wonpil leaving the ship in the capable hands of Chirs Bang, Im Jaebeom becoming the temporary captain of the Moonrise and Jae successfully shutting up long enough to make his kissing the girl he’d been crushing on goodbye, something out of a romance novel. Wonpil watched his box of belongings, everything he’d collected from different planets and trade ships, being loaded onto the small ship that would carry him home with a heavy heart. This was one of those moments of belonging two places and having to choose between them. 

And then they were setting off, Sungjin expertly piloting them back to the Milky Way, Jae standing as communications, and Jinyoung as navigation. The month passed in the blink of an eye, between rousing card games, basic repairs, and quiet conversations about home, and soon, they were whizzing past Mars, with Dowoon’s face glued to the porthole. 

“This is the S.S. Artemis, we’re just outside Earth’s Atmo, ETA 6 minutes.” Jae’s professional voice barely masked his glee as he watched the sun peek over the planet’s edge. 

“Welcome back to the Milky Way, Artemis. How do we look, Lieutenant Park?”

“Blue, and beautiful.” Jae breathed. “Feels good to be home.” 

“Let’s get through atmo first.” Jinyoung chided. “Then we can celebrate.” 

“Right, ladies and gentlemen, begin reentry preparation.” Sungjin’s command echoed through the small craft’s intercom. “We land in Seoul Spaceport in 6 minutes, let’s not be late.” 

The first person off the ship was Sungjin, who earned a round of applause as he paused at the top of the exit stairs. He was followed quickly by Jae, who flung himself onto the nearest tree, hugging it like a lost lover. Wonpil was among the last to set foot on dry land, and he had the strongest urge to just lay in a flowerbed for a few hours. Instead, he dropped his sunglasses over his eyes and shouldered his bag, following the other engineers towards the flashing cameras. 

“I see them!” The shrill voice of his daughter made Wonpil break into a grin, dropping to his knees and opening his arms for a hug. He watched his daughter fly past him, directly into Dowoon, and before he could react he found himself flat on his ass, a furry body pressed into his chest. 

“Hello Lilo, how’s my girl been?’ He greeted the border collie, accepting the kisses she was planting on his chin. “Oh yes, I missed you too.” Finally dislodging the dog, he turned, finding Hyerin chattering excitedly to Dowoon while Brian laughed at him from a distance. Standing he snuck up to the girl, picking her up unexpectedly, making her shriek and giggle. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, spinning her around. “Daddy!” She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “I didn’t see you.” 

“Did you really, or did you get distracted by Dr. Yoon?” Your voice made Wonpil turn quickly, grin expanding so much it hurt. There you were, after 20 long months, hair pulled mostly away from your face, sunglasses perched on the crown of your head, and his baby sleeping on your chest. 

“Please, Y/n, just call me Dowoon, you make it so formal,” Dowoon whined, but Wonpil wasn’t really listening. He surged forward, still holding Rin, free hand coming up to your face to pull you in for a long-awaited kiss. 

“I have seen the cosmos, more nebulas than I can count, and the birth of hundreds of stars, and nothing, nothing compares to seeing you again.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Except maybe Pizza,” Jae whispered, leaning on your shoulder. The group began laughing, and you gave Wonpil one more kiss before turning to the other boys. 

“Welcome home boys.” You grinned, giving each one a hug and introducing them to Hyebin who had just woken up. Rin remained firmly attached to Dowoon’s leg once let on the ground and Wonpil couldn’t even be upset, especially once his arms were quickly filled with Hyebin. 

“Hello, little one.” He grinned, watching the way her eyes grew big as he spoke. “My little Binnie, you have a whole galaxy in your eyes, and the universe at your fingertips.” He cooed and the little girl giggled, her chubby fingers going to grab his cheek. 

“And lucky for us, we have stardust in our veins.” You piped in, arm coming to wrap around your husband’s side as you all walked to your car. 

“For now, let’s just keep our boots on solid ground, sound good?” He asked, and you looked up at him, shooting him a wink and the kind of smile that made him fall for you in the first place. 

“Galactic.”

[lost-n-stereo]

can we steal a moment of happiness

A/N: Harry/Allie New Year’s Eve AU. Prompt by @livinginrhythm

There are at least fifteen people in this room that he doesn’t know.

When he was sixteen it would have been exactly his scene because when he was in a room full of loud people it meant the shit in his head was a little quieter. Booze and pills, random girls that didn’t mind that he had a girlfriend when he kissed them, driving down an empty freeway at three am in a car that cost more than most people made in a year also did the trick.

His dad’s death fucked him up, in more ways than one, not to mention the news that his mom was screwing his girlfriend’s father barely a year later. Everyone looked at Harry Bingham like a rich asshole, which he was (is, sometimes even now) but no one ever really looked beyond that.

Well, except a feisty blonde that made him feel more in two days that anyone else ever did.

It’s been months since he’s laid eyes on Allie Pressman and it’s not as if he thinks about her every day or anything. But sometimes when he’s sleeping alone, which lately has been more often than not, he thinks about her in his bed, blonde curls spilling over dark navy pillowcases, and he thinks maybe he can still smell the perfume she wore in high school.

Luke and Helena are throwing their first New Year’s Eve party as a married couple, which he honestly thinks is a little fucking crazy because they just barely graduated from college. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to settle down. He can’t even make a lifelong commitment to what kind of shampoo to use, let alone who will share his life until he’s fucking dead.

Somehow their entire group of friends managed to stay friends through their college years, even though they spread out literally from coast to coast at various universities. It doesn’t really surprise him that most of them ended up back in the area after graduation. All of their families have been friends for generations so it’s just a given that they all come home for holidays and vacations.

Helena’s parents gifted her and Luke a two story house as a wedding present, a couple acres of land and a wraparound porch, but instead of looking like a newlywed’s sweet little home it currently looks like a fucking frat house. Bodies are everywhere, red solo cups in sweaty hands, and he sees two girls making out in the corner while a group of idiots cheer them on.

He honestly thought he left this shit back in college but hey, what are holidays for?

“Harry Fucking Bingham!”

Hands hit his shoulders and he laughs as Grizz turns him around and pulls him in for a hug. “What’s up, dude?”

Grizz shrugs, takes a pull from a Stella bottle before pointing it at his boyfriend across the room. “Just drove in last night and then picked Sam up from the airport this morning. When did you get in?”

They make small talk, which he kind of hates, and catch up on all the stuff they’ve done since the summer. Harry spent Christmas in London with his mother, which was more of a business trip for her than anything resembling family time. They got back into town two days after Christmas and besides gifting him a new Rolex and the keys to his late grandfather’s Manhattan penthouse, his mom hasn’t said two words to him since.

He sees Cassandra standing in the kitchen, arm around Gordie who’s telling Kelly a story that makes her whole face light up with laughter. It’s hard not to miss her, they weren’t always great together but they spent basically all of high school as a couple but now their parents are together and it’s just weird.

Cassandra makes him think of Allie and he finds himself looking around, eyes searching the crowd for a mess of blonde curls and a surly attitude.

“She’s not here yet,” Grizz says, a smirk playing across his face. Harry raises an eyebrow and his childhood friend laughs. “Oh come on, man. I know you’re looking for Allie.”

He could play dumb or just own up to the fact that yeah, he had a thing with her for a very short time many moons ago and the last time he saw her it was through a diner window in the dead of summer. Kill him for wondering how she’s been.

Instead of saying anything though he just nods, drinks half of his bottled water in one go, and checks the door every few minutes as he’s joined by more of their friends.

It takes an hour before she finally walks through the front door but he doesn’t miss the way her arm is extended behind her, some too tall Hemsworth wannabe grasping her hand as he follows her into the house.

“Allie!!!”

Kelly, Helena and Elle all rush her immediately and Too Tall smiles fondly down at her, kisses her forehead and yells over the music that he’ll grab them some drinks.

He feels a little like he’s been kicked in the stomach but he has no idea why. They slept together two times over four years ago. He shouldn’t give a second thought to her bringing her boyfriend to a party. Then he thinks about it and if she’s bringing him here that means they probably spent the holidays together, with her family, and that means it’s probably serious.

Fuck. Why does he even care?

Her eyes meet his and its then that he realizes he’s been staring at her like a creepy asshole. His first instinct is to just smirk and nod at her, which makes her roll her eyes but he can see the tiny smile playing on her lips.

She might have always seen past his asshole ways but not too long ago she liked how cocky and confident he was.

Her boyfriend joins her after a few minutes, hands her a glass of white wine and joins the conversation she’s having seamlessly. It’s obviously not the first time their friends have met him and he’s kind of surprised no one told him about him.

Then again, no one really knows that they had their little two night stand so he can’t say that he blames them.

“Not drinking tonight?”

He turns around and Cassandra is eyeing his water bottle with a surprised look on her face.

“Nah,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t drink very often these days.”

“Not even on a holiday?”

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes. “New Year’s Eve isn’t a holiday. Just a good reason to party because no one has to work tomorrow.”

“Say hi to my sister yet?”

He’d really like to know why everyone just assumes he wants to talk to Allie.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ like a jerk. He doesn’t mean to be this way but the entire vibe of this night is just pissing him off. If Luke wasn’t one of his oldest friends he probably would have blown off the entire thing.

“You should meet her boyfriend Tommy. He’s a great guy, just graduated top of his class at Stanford.”

He nods and tells her that he’ll get right on that, thinks to himself that he’ll probably keep referring to him as Too Tall in his head, and seriously considers finding a bottle of scotch and making himself at home.

***

The best thing about this house is the wraparound porch. There’s a line of trees at the edge of the property and he lowers himself down on an Adirondack chair that looks straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He doesn’t have to turn to know who that voice belongs to. Sometimes he still hears it whispering in his ear, an echo from long ago that never really seems to go away.

(I’m sure, Harry. I’m ready just…go slow.)

“It’s New Year’s Eve in West Ham, Al. Where else would I be?”

She’s wearing this romper dress thing that he hates immediately but her hair is down and messy, just like it always is. He’s glad to see that hasn’t changed.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Allie sighs and sets her glass of wine on the table next to him before sitting down in the other chair. “Tommy is inside with Gordie, discussing the time space continuum.”

“Fascinating,” he says with a grin. She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, celebrating the last few minutes of the year?”

“Shouldn’t you be with him?”

She’s quiet and when he looks at her she’s staring in the direction of the trees. “What do you think is beyond that tree line?”

He’s not going to make a big deal of her completely ignoring his question, especially since he ignored hers.

“I dunno,” he says, interest piqued at how she’s studying the landscape so intently. “Wanna find out?”

Allie looks back in the direction of the house. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Harry scoffs. “I didn’t ask what you should do. I asked what you want to do.”

“I don’t know,” she says, so seriously that he wonders what exactly she’s thinking about. “Do you?”

“Do I know what I want to do? Fuck, Allie. Not really.” They both laugh but he’s kind of serious. He graduated pre-law but the idea of going to law school gives him hives. “I just want to be happy, I guess.”

She smiles. “Is that your resolution this year?”

“Sounds simple, doesn’t it?”

He watches as she shrugs, takes a tiny sip of her wine and holds the stem gently between her fingers. “I think I have the same resolution. Just find a way to be happy, every day, if only for a minute or two.”

“Are you happy now?”

The wind blows her hair around her face a little and he realizes she must be fucking cold because it’s December in Connecticut and she’s not even wearing a coat. “I am, right this second.”

He doesn’t know what that means, if it has anything to do with him, but he finds that he can echo her sentiment without any trace of a lie.

“Me too.”

There’s yelling from inside, the countdown is starting (at twenty seconds to midnight because these people are idiots) and she sighs, stands up and runs her hands down her sides.

“We should head inside,” she says needlessly and he nods. She surprises him by reaching for him, giving him a hug and kissing the side of his mouth lightly.

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

“Happy New Year, Al.”

***

He hears through the grapevine that Allie broke up with Tommy shortly after Valentine’s Day.

It’s not that he cares but he does file the information away for later.

***

Summers after college don’t feel the same, on account of the fact that almost everyone has a real job and can’t just take three months off to do nothing.

After some serious soul searching he decided to forgo law school. He’s still not sure exactly what he wants to do but he’s got some irons in the fire in Manhattan, some companies reaching out to hire him so for now he’s considering his options and what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

Or at least for the near future.

There are a few people home though, and he smiles when he sees Allie walking down the street near their high school. He pulls his car over and rolls down the window.

“Want a ride?”

She startles at first before she sees that it’s him. It’s ninety degrees outside but she’s still in jeans and a mint green hoodie. “I’m not sure,” she says with a smile.

“You look hot,” he says, and when she raises an eyebrow he points to her hoodie. “A sweater in June, Al? I mean, come on.”

She climbs into his car, making fun of how ostentatious it is and he shrugs.

“What can I say, it makes me happy.” She’s hiding a smile behind a fist and he nudges her with his elbow. “What about you, Allie Pressman? Are you happy?”

“Right now?” She asks as she clicks in her seat belt. “Absolutely.”

[omgjasminesimone]

Juvenile Delinquents Part 1

Logan x MC (Ellie)

Summary: Ride or Die AU. Logan’s day started out routine, but it ended with mugshots.

Next Part: Part 2

Word Count: 1600

Logan sighs as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He hates the waiting, it makes him anxious, too much time to think and allow his nervous energy to build up.

He switches on the radio to have something to drown out his buzzing thoughts, flipping through several stations before settling on 90s West Coast hip hop.

“Logan, it’s time.” Kaneko’s voice comes in clearly through Logan’s earpiece.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Logan replies, revving his Devore’s engine before peeling out of the parking lot at top speed.

In short order, he catches up to the rest of the crew. Kaneko, in the just stolen sports car they’ve been targeting. Mona drives her own convertible to his right, Ximena is in a pickup truck to his left, and Toby is just in front in his favorite Italian import car of the year.

Logan falls into place in the back, completing their diamond formation.

“No one saw you pretty boy?” Mona asks. He can faintly hear the Lebanese traditional music playing in her car through his ear piece.

“Nope. Got to the parking lot without anyone tailing me, and peeled out quick.” Logan answers, unable to mask his cocky tone.

“That’s my boy.” Kaneko praises.

“Uh oh.” Toby mutters.

“That can’t be good.” Ximena replies.

“I’m picking up cops on my scanner boss. Coming up on the 405 South fast.” Toby informs.

“Damn it. Everyone, take the next exit.” Kaneko directs. They all merge right to exit the freeway.

“Shit, they’re expecting us boss.” Toby is still in front, so he’s the first to see the police spikes set up across the asphalt.

“Bet they’re not expecting this.” Mona mutters, engaging the modified spike proof tires Toby installed and driving through the spikes, dragging them along after her car.

The others quickly fly out of the opening Mona has created, and the police give chase.

They use all their usual tricks to try to shake them, but the Mercy Park Crew has been very active lately, and it seems the police have been studying up on their tactics.

“God damn it, I’m running low on gas.” Kaneko informs his crew.

“What do we do boss?” Ximena asks.

“Logan, I need you to peel off, let them catch you to buy us some time.” Kaneko directs.

Logan blanches, gripping his steering wheel tight. “But then I’ll have a record. They’ll have my prints. Know who I am. I’ll be fucked.”

“You’re 17. It will be a juvenile offense, while the rest of us will definitely get prison time. You’ll get off easier. You’re the only one who can do it.” Kaneko explains.

“But-“ Logan starts.

“Logan.” Kaneko interrupts, and his tone informs Logan he’s not asking.

Logan sighs, peeling off from the others as he takes a right on La Cienega. “Will you make sure someone picks up my car when they impound it?” Logan asks.

“I’ve got you Logan.” Ximena promises.

“Thanks.” Logan replies, turning off his headset as he leads some of the police away on a high-speed chase. He circles back and runs a red light, causing one of the cops to crash into the ones still pursuing the crew. But he’s going so fast that he can’t make the next turn, slamming into a pole.

Logan groans as he tries to remove himself from his dented in car. There’s a lot of damage, but he knows the crew will be able to fix it.

“Get out of the car with your hands raised!” A cop yells, and Logan can see he’s pointing a gun at him through his rear-view mirror.

“I can’t! The door is dented in!” Logan shouts back, raising his hands so the cop can see he doesn’t have any weapons.

Several cops approach, guns raised, to remove him from his vehicle. As soon as he’s out, they cuff him and force him into a patrol car.

…

Logan toys with the bandage wrapped around his forehead to stem the bleeding from his head hitting the windshield as he surveys the police station.

It’s busy. Phones ringing, cops dragging resisting criminals to cells, people being processed with fingerprints and mugshots.

It seems like there’s so much going on, that if he could get his wrist out of the hand cuff chaining him to the bench, he could make a run for it. He experimentally tries to squeeze his hand free, but the cuffs are too tight. He sighs. Guess it’s time to face the consequences of his actions.

“Oh my God Jason, you don’t have to forcefully restrain me, I’m not going anywhere.” An airy voice complains.

It’s a girl who looks to be around his age. She’s pretty, with long brown hair and matching brown eyes. She looks too innocent to require the tight grip the detective has on her arm, dressed in a Langston College sweatshirt and jeans.

“Yeah right, like I’d fall for that, again.” Jason replies, forcefully pulling her over to get fingerprinted.

Logan leans back against the wall, closing his eyes as he tries to drown out the loud cacophony of sounds so he can think. What’s his next step after this? He’s got ID on him with his real name, so they’re going to know who he is, and have his prints, and be able to track him back through foster care records.

Will they try to force him back into a group home? He’ll just run away, again, so hopefully they don’t bother.

Is Kaneko going to let him back into the crew? Seems like that would be an unnecessary risk that Kaneko’s not going to be willing to take. But Kaneko can’t just cut him loose either, he knows too much. He doesn’t think Kaneko would hurt him, but he might send him away. Back to Michigan maybe? Logan doesn’t want that.

“What are you in for?” The pretty girl he noticed earlier asks.

Logan is startled to find her sitting beside him on the police precinct’s cold metal bench. She hadn’t been there a second ago.

He looks her over, measuring whether or not she’s harmless. She quirks an eyebrow at his silence. “Hablas ingles?” She asks.

“Yeah, I speak English.” Logan replies. He doesn’t know much Spanish, despite his father allegedly being Salvadoran according to his birth certificate. All his foster parents spoke English, so he only picked up the Spanish basics once he realized people were always going to look at him and assume he speaks the language.

The girl smiles at him, and when she speaks again, he notices a peek of silver in her mouth, a tongue piercing. Guess she’s not as clean cut and innocent as he first clocked her to be.

“So, what are you in for?” She repeats.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to ask people that in here.” Logan responds warily, and the girl lets out a laugh.

“So, I take it you’re a first timer then.” She quips cheerily.

Logan glances down at the pink nail polish adorning the girl’s fingers, the charm bracelet on her delicate wrist. As he looks up into her innocent looking face, a few freckles dotting her tan skin, he has a hard time wrapping his mind around a girl like her being in a place like this.

“And I take it you’re not.” Logan finally replies, and her lips turn up in a grin as the two teenagers stare each other down.

“Fucking hell, Eleanor. Again?! Really?!” An officer interrupts, storming up to the teens.

The girl, Eleanor, he supposes, rolls her brown eyes. “Calm down Dad.”

 The Detective’s face becomes red with anger at his daughter’s flippant attitude. “I will not calm down! You’re out of control. Drugs, Eleanor?! Really?!” He yells. The other cops desperately try to ignore the scene he’s creating.

“Prescription drugs.” Eleanor stresses. “It’s really not that big of a deal. If Ingrid wasn’t such a snitch, everything would have been fine.”

“Is this a cry for help Eleanor? Selling prescription drugs at school? I can’t get you out of this, not this time. Ever since your mother died-“

“This isn’t about Mom. This was about making enough money so I could pay LA rent and not have to live with you anymore! You treat me like a child, you’re overbearing!” Eleanor yells back.

“Maybe I would treat you like an adult if you acted like one!” The Detective yells back. His daughter shoots him an icy glare in return, and Logan watches as he closes his eyes before taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself. His attention turns to Logan.

He uncuffs Logan from the bench, gripping his arm and leading him over to be fingerprinted. “Hands up.” The Detective orders gruffly, and Logan reluctantly complies. The Detective frisks him, coming upon his wallet. The Detective rifles through it, quickly finding Logan’s license. “Logan Sanchez?”

Logan nods, and the Detective writes the name onto his paperwork. He takes Logan’s wrist, forcing his fingers to the ink pad and then rolling each finger over the fingerprint paperwork.

“Wheeler, mugshots. You know the drill.” Another cop calls. Eleanor hops off the bench, smiling cheekily as her mugshot is taken. Her father shakes his head as she blows the camera a kiss for her last frame.

The cop she called Jason grips her upper arm again, leading her away. She turns back toward Logan. “See you inside!” She says with a wink before Jason tugs harder, forcing her to walk.

Her father frowns as he turns to look at Logan. His look conveys his belief that Logan is going to be a problem. He grips his arm, rougher than Logan thinks is necessary, and positions him in front of the camera.

Unlike Eleanor, Logan doesn’t smile for the camera.

taglist:  @choicesarehard​ @ifyouseekheart​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @regina-and-happiness​ @drakexnadira​ @flyawayboo​ @fairydustandsarcasm​ @alesana45​ @umiumichan​ @maxwellsquidsuit​ @lahelable​ @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl​ @iplaydrake​ @sinclaire-made-me-sin​ @choicesgremlin​ @lovehugsandcandy​ @desiree-0816​ @cora-nova​ @justdani14​ @emceesynonymroll​ @emichelle​ @badchoicesposts​ @client-327 @riverrune​ @liamzigmichael4ever​ @princessstellaris​ @mrskaneko @anxious-arliah​

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [13]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

Friday morning was kinder. Mulder's back didn't hurt that bad and the nausea was gone, and even if he was still a little weak, he felt almost like himself again. After breakfast, he decided to kill some time cleaning his desk and fell down the rabbit hole lined with old papers until hunger pulled him from the basement. He was reheating some soup for lunch when the doorbell rang. A quick glance out the window revealed Scully's car in the driveway and somewhere between pulling the doors open and saying hello, a pair of arms around his neck drew him into a tight embrace. "Everything okay?" Mulder asked, hugging her back. "Yeah," she breathed, kissing first piece of skin she could reach, "how are you?" "Cold, a little," he chuckled, relieved, "wanna come in?" 

"Yes, sorry," she said, slipping away, blushing slightly. He kept her close for one more kiss and asked against her lips. "How's Will?" "Awake," she laughed and stepped inside, slipping out of her coat. "At least awake enough to kick me out." "Rude but smart," he said and led her to the kitchen. "You're just in time for lunch." "That's what he said." "That's my boy," Mulder chuckled bustling around the stove. Scully froze for a second, stunned, and Mulder caught the silence, looking over his shoulder. "You want cheese or pastrami on your sandwich?" "Cheese," she said, burying the fear and when he turned back to the food, she wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his back. "Why are you so good to me?" She asked softly, feeling expelled breath before soft laugh reached her ears. "Why do you keep questioning this?" He said, buttering a piece of bread. "You want me to be mean? I can hold the mayo." "That would be cruel, indeed," she smiled, hugging him tighter. "Yeah, I can be a real jerk. Charlie left pie, it's in the fridge." "My brother shared the pie? He must've really liked you," she said, letting go. "You didn't say he was a cop." "Narcotics squad, we don't like to talk about it." "And the girl, Emily? I gather she's Missy's daughter." "There's four of us, Charlie is the youngest, then there's me, Melissa and Bill Jr., the eldest. Melissa is divorced, Bill and his wife, Tara, have a son, Mathew. They live on the west coast." "You must have been quite a gang as kids." "Not really, no," Scully said, setting the pie on the counter, where Mulder already laid out the pan. "Once Charlie grew out of his big brother worship and Missy became too independent to play with her little sister, it was us against them." "Did you always win?" He chuckled, taking two bowls out of the cupboard. "As much as you can win against someone as stubborn as Bill or independent as Missy, we never got him to do anything and she only did what she wanted, so it was fifty-fifty at best." "Family politics never cease to amaze me." "We all listened to mom though," she chuckled, rinsing the pan, "at least until high school. We helped at home and got good grades, and in return were allowed a certain freedom." "Sounds fair," Mulder said and made room for her by the stove. "So you and Charlie stayed here and they moved away." "Bill followed in our fathers' footsteps and joined the navy, so he moved all over the place, and Missy," she moved the pie into the pan and paused to lick her fingers, "Missy always was a restless one. Last day of high school she decided she's not going to college and will go on a road trip and hitchhike all the way to L.A." "From?" "Annapolis." "Maryland?" "Yeah, military brats," Scully said, closing the oven door and setting the timer. "My dad went furious, didn't speak to her for days." "Which didn't change her mind," Mulder guessed and took the bowls to the table. "Not one bit," Scully said following with spoons and sandwiches. "Couch?" Mulder grinned and turned for the living room. "Sure, so Missy went hitchhiking." "We didn't hear from her for months," she said, folding herself on the couch and taking the bowl, speaking between blowing gently on the soup. "Occasional postcard at best, phone call for birthday, that sort of thing, until she showed up for Christmas that year." "That's harsh," Mulder said, wincing because he burned his mouth. "Yeah, but by that time we were just happy to have her home, safe and sound. She made her point and my parents didn't try to tie her down anymore." She paused to take a bite of sandwich. "It went on for a few years, until she had Emily in '87 and came back to settle closer to family." "How long did that last?" "Good fifteen years, Em and Will were like siblings." "And in that time you went to college, then med-school, did a residency in neurology and had Will." "Not only that," Scully sipped her soup, avoiding his gaze and talking about Will. "Charlie joined the force, my dad died, Bill moved a few times, got married, then Mat came around, you know, life happened." "And there was no guy for you, in all that time." Mulder pressed on, amused. "Well, there were men, obviously." "But?" "No one quite right," she said quietly, looking up from under her lashes. "No one?" Mulder teased, scooting closer. "Single mom, lots of overtime." "I would babysit for you."   "I bet you would," she smiled and focused on soup and his warmth. "I like Charlie," Mulder said after a while, swallowing last of his sandwich. "What's his story?" "He's a workaholic, like me," Scully said, fishing her soup, "a little crazy too, restless, like Missy. And he's a shameless flirt, but I don't know where he got that from." Mulder laughed. "Maybe that's your father's gift, sailor's soul trapped on land." "And the work part?" "Ocean makes people tough, persistent," he grinned, taking her empty bowl. "You funnel that drive into your job." "You really got us figured out." She said and when he leaned over to set the dishes on the coffee table, she pulled on his sweater, tugging the t-shirt up. Mulder tired to catch her hands. "Wow, you don't waste time." "It's not that," she laughed, swatting at his palms, "let me see the marks, I want to make sure you're healing alright." "From those little pinpricks?" "Don't give me that." He laughed, but hissed when she pulled on the tape holding the gauze. "I feel fine," he said, felling her cool fingers, "the nausea is gone, my appetite is back, I can go back to work on Monday." "There's no inflammation around the scabs," she agreed, then ripped the rest of the tape away, making him flinch. "Sorry, I need to change these." "And here I thought you had such pleasant bedside manner." "One more," she said and tugged. "Ouch!" "Done, you won't need these anymore, simple bandaid will do." "Upstairs bathroom, behind the mirror." "I'll be right back." Scully kissed the tip off his ear, and leaving him laughing, dashed up the stairs and back, a second later. "You're fast," Mulder chuckled when she climbed behind him again. "Have to," she said, "thanks for keeping my toothbrush." "Thought you might be needing it again." "Definitely. This will feel a bit cold." She cleaned the spot on his left side, stuck the bandaid on and moved to his right. Few more swipes of her cool hands and she was done. Resting chin on his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around his waist, warming fingers on bare skin under the t-shirt. "Wasn't that bad was it?" "No, when do you need to get back?" "I promised to be back by dinner time," she said then sighed. "I hate this waiting game, it makes me feel helpless and it's driving me crazy." "I had terrible dreams," he confessed quietly, "Will's blood turned into green acid and melted right through his body." "Mulder," she crooned and pulled him closer. "When was the last time you really slept?" "Last time I was here, Tuesday?" She shook her head and hugged him tighter. "Feels like a lifetime ago." Unlocking her arms gently, he turned and put his arms around her, pulling her down on the seat beside him. "It's too early for bed," he said, leaving her room to snuggle against his chest, "but if you want we can move." "No, this is okay," she sighed and wriggled a little, hand searching for skin under his sweater, tickling lightly. "Blanket?" "Sure." Covered, they warmed fast. "Try to relax," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "Now I'm good," she sighed, and melted into his side. "When did this happen?" He mused, absently drawing circles on her shoulder. "A week ago we were hardly dating, and now look at us." "Old married couple," she murmured under her breath, "sleeping in the middle of the day." "We should get out more." "And do what?" "Get out of town, go stargazing." "In December?" "Could be fun." "Can't we go someplace warm?" "The movies?" "And neck in the last row?" "I love the way your mind works." "It's a date then," she laughed softly, "now let me sleep." And together they slept, peacefully.

He was helping her into her coat later that evening. "You really don't have to stay up for me." "It's no problem, I'm a bit of a night owl, you know." "Mulder," she sighed, taking his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss then rest her forehead against his. "Sleep is important, it helps you heal, and even if you feel better, you haven't healed yet. Go to bed, rest, I'll be back tomorrow." "But you haven't told me what you're thankful for, yet." "I'm thankful for you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, "for everything you are, and all you've done." "That sounds awful like a goodbye," he whispered, hugging her tighter. "I know," she hugged him back, "but trust me, it's not." Fingers tangled in her hair and his lips were on hers, a deep, hungry kiss that stole breath and wiped out reason. This was Mulder who needed her as much as he cared for her. She heard the words I love you before, but never felt them painted on the roof of her mouth, hugged into her heart and filling her lungs, and she never felt more alive giving them back. "Thank you." Mulder breathed, breaking the lock. "For what?" "For not shutting me out," he said, softening the embrace, tucking the raw need away. "That's what I'm thankful for." "You're easy to please," she sighed, brushing his lips before letting go. "I really have to go." "Tell Will I said hi." "I will." Mulder smiled and leaning on the doorframe, watched her go, remembering to add one more thing to his shopping list for tomorrow.

It was almost noon when Scully stood on the porch, ringing the doorbell again and again, getting nothing, despite his car in the driveway. "Aren't those heels a bit high to sell girl scout cookies?" Asked a warm voice behind her and as she turned, Mulder was coming up stairs. He paused two steps from the top and she met him on the edge, eye to eye for once. "Four dollars," she said talking his face in her hands. His cheeks felt cool, but lips were as warm as always, soft and yielding and parting for her. He tasted like nuts, raisins and chocolate. "Have you been buying cookies from someone else?" "Never." Mulder smiled and kissed her once more before letting go, arm around her waist guiding her to the door. "I stopped by the bakery," he said rummaging through his pockets searching for keys. It took a second but he found them and when he dangled the ring in front of her, she noticed it oddly bare, a single key, no keychain. "What's this?" "For you," he said, letting go and leaning against the wall. Her eyes went wide. "Mulder, I can't." "Call it a spare," he smiled, "for as long as you'll need it." Looking at the key in his outstretched hand then up at him, she saw humour laced with sincerity. "Whenever you need me, use it." "What if I never give it back?" She asked and Mulder shrugged, giving her the same cheeky smile he passed on to his son. "God, you're serious."   "I'm cold and I've got cookies, but the coffee's inside, so?" Scully took the key and slipped it into the lock, it turned smoothly. "Let's have coffee." "You've got the best ideas," he said and followed her in.

[justjessame]

Put Me In Coach Chapter 24

I’d like to tell everyone that after Negan gave my my engagement ring our lives continued on the normal, sex-crazed, love fueled route we’d been on since the first time we touched.  I can’t do that and stay honest though.  

We had a good six months after he slipped my second ring on.  Six months of my mom’s ideas for our wedding.  Six months of making it difficult for our neighbors to make eye contact after a LONG weekend at home.  Six months of Eric and Steven (both had transferred to the college I was finishing at) hanging out, but not wearing out their welcome.  Six months of LONG phone conversations with Mary about her life on the west coast and how she couldn’t wait to celebrate our graduations over the coming summer.  We had six months, and I guess, looking back I should feel pretty fucking lucky that we had that.

I’d always thought we were absurdly lucky.  Hadn’t I wondered a thousand times when it would wear off, this magical pull we had for one another.  The way our eyes could meet during dinner with anyone, and both of us would find an excuse to leave the room together, or the meal entirely and then be naked and pounding together in no time flat, wasn’t sustainable.  Was it?

The first blow to our reality came right before Christmas.  Having a pair of police officers show up at your front door never signifies good news.  Having it happen with twinkle lights glowing behind them doesn’t make it easier to take the grim news they were delivering.

Mom had mentioned, offhandedly, that there had been a few break ins in the neighborhood during one of our phone calls.  She’d made it seem a nuisance rather than a fear.  She should have been afraid.  Her and Dad had been killed when they walked in on a burglar.  It had been quick, the policemen assured me, as though that made it better somehow.  

Negan wasn’t home when I found out.  He’d insisted, once we were officially engaged, that he work his second job during the school year as well as during summer.  Mom had told me he was too proud to live off of my trust fund, and with our future coming on fast he wanted to prove that we didn’t need to use it.  So he was working at the car lot, as the two uniformed officers stood on my front porch and told me that my parents were dead.  Gone forever.

The officers asked if there was someone they could call, I must have looked like I was going into shock, because I no doubt was.  I handed them my cell phone, told them to call Negan AND Eric.  Mary was coming home in a few days, but telling her now would just rush her home and I had no fucking clue what would come next.

What came next was Eric and Steven rushing to me from their apartment nearby.  Negan screeching into our driveway moments later.  And then they all tried to keep me from falling into a million pieces.

The funeral overshadowed the holidays.  While I was tempted to completely ignore Christmas and New Years’ I knew that I couldn’t.  Mom, and Dad too, wouldn’t have wanted us to stop moving forward.  That was the point of life, the living get to live it.  

It was a somber couple of months, and later, after everything went to shit fast and furious, I had to wonder if that was the catalyst or if I’d lost him long before then.

Since Negan was working a second job, I took the offer to be a TA when it was given. I won’t lie and say the sexual pull wasn’t there between us any more, it was still there.  We could still make the neighbors blush, but we weren’t as available to one another.  He had school, the teams he helped coach, and then his sales position at the dealership.  I had school, my TA position, and Eric to keep me company.  I should have seen it.  Hindsight, I suppose.

For the next few months, working my ass off to keep up my grades and earn my degree, my focus shifted from being upset that Negan and I didn’t have the time to rip one another’s clothes off as often as we once had.  I had taken my last final the night before my world truly started spinning out of control.  I felt Negan rolling out of bed, the sun shining through our curtains, and then the water turned on in our shower.  

Once upon a time, I would have joined him.  And I was actually thinking about it, but then his phone dinged on the nightstand.   I thought it might be work, they’d texted him before from the dealership when one of his customers needed to contact him, so I rolled over and smiled as the warmth of his side and the scent of him invaded my senses.  It was short lived.  And my plan to join him in the shower left with that contentment.  

Opening up his messenger, I saw a photo that turned my stomach and made me want to scream, cry, hit something, and then die, in that order.  It was Negan, MY Negan, lying on a bed with a naked redhead cuddled against him.  He was naked too, or I assumed he was since his chest was bare and his hands were curled around her waist, pressing their faces together.  Her lipstick, a vivid shade of red, was smeared and his mouth was stained with it.  There was only one word that accompanied it.  “SOON”.

I don’t know how I managed to not do any of the things my body longed to.  I don’t know how I fucking held back when he kissed me goodbye.  I don’t know why I didn’t confront him.  Why I didn’t fucking scream, and hold him accountable is still a mystery to me.

Maybe it was because of the whispers.  Hadn’t I wondered if I’d been his first student lover?  Hadn’t I heard the age old adage that “once a cheat, always a cheat”?  And hadn’t I constantly wondered just how long we had before our bubble burst?  

Five years, give or take.  That’s how long.  Five years of Negan and Amara in that wonderful love and lust filled bubble.  And now our time has run out.  

Negan called me from work later that day.  He said he’d been called by Lucille’s doctor.  She was dying, he told me, and she had asked for him.  I can admit I doubted him.  Wouldn’t any sane woman who saw the picture I’d seen have doubts?  

He asked me to pack him a bag that he’d run by to grab.  I hadn’t called anyone to tell them what I’d seen.  I was all alone in our house, a house we’d refurnished and redecorated together.  A house I thought we’d made a home.  I had a flash of vengefulness that made me want to cut holes into anything I packed for him, but I fought it.  If Negan was leaving, be it for a trip or forever, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d torn out my fucking heart and stomped on it.  I packed carefully for him.  T-shirts, jeans, underwear like I would have packed for any other trip he could have asked me to do.  

He seemed to know that there was something off with me.  Negan hugged me to him, pressing my face into his chest and telling me that he’d be back before I could miss him.  He kissed me in the same hungry and breathless way that seemed to be OUR way, but I had to wonder if he kissed HER like that too.  If he made her sound like Marilyn, or if she called him “sir” or “daddy”?

I felt the hysteria creeping in again, and felt almost relieved when he finally let me go and left.  

Watching him pull away from our house, to head back to where we’d met, I finally let go.  I screamed so loud I was surprised the neighbors didn’t call the police.  They did, however, call Eric.

“That dumb, rancid asshole-” Eric was whispering into my hair as he held me and I sobbed.  “How fucking dare he-”

Steven was behind me patting my back and whispering comfort while Eric was raging harder than me.  You’d almost think Negan cheated on him.  “Not helping,” his boyfriend snapped at my best friend.  “Mara, honey, maybe it’s not what you think-”

I snorted, and pulled back from Eric to shoot Steven a look of pure indignation.  “They were naked, Steven.  Naked and wrapped around one another, and FUCK I’m gonna be-”

I jumped up and rushed to the closest bathroom.  I made it, but only just, and then I emptied my stomach of everything I’d ever considered eating.  Retching and gagging, even empty I still felt like I had more to give.  Eric was waiting for me, once I’d flushed and then brushed my teeth and gargled.  

“Better?”  His concern was palpable, but it didn’t help.  Nothing would help.  

What’s worse than finding out the love of your life is a cheating dickhead?  The dead reanimating.  Trust me, seeing a corpse walking down the street and then biting people, that shit can out weigh even the worse fucking heartbreak.  

Luckily Mary had made it to our side just in time for us all to evacuate together.  Mary, Steven, Eric, and me off on a grand adventure.  I almost didn’t have a spare moment to think about Negan’s infidelity.  Almost.  And I’d like to say that when I packed for our mad dash to safety that I left all reminders of him behind.  I didn’t.  Eric’s framed gift along with a photo album that held pictures of my entire family came with me.  My rings, my jewelry (yes, even the spring formal set that he’d surprised me with), and while I didn’t pack the feminine dresses that everyone knew me for, I did pack the knee high boots.  

My phone never rang, not before the towers became inoperable.  No texts came.  Nothing to make me think that I was wrong about Negan having left me.  And I had to believe that he left me and was with HER safe and sound, because even with him destroying me, I couldn’t survive in a world where he was dead.  That would be a cruelty too far.

“I think I see something up ahead,” Steven said, he was driving the SUV that we’d chosen to take, having seen the horrible traffic we assumed having four wheel drive might be handy if we needed to go off road.  

I looked up from where I’d been daydreaming out the window and I knew immediately that he was right.  “Alexandria?” 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Froggydarren!

To Jen: Merry Christmas!  In this story I hope you find a few of your favorite things.  May your holidays be filled with love and joy, great food, relaxation, and GREAT FIC!  

Title: stepping out of body

Rating: T

Word Count: 7K

Tags: Hypothermia, Hurt/comfort, Bed sharing, Accidental baby acquisition, alternate reality, parallel universe, dreams, hallucinations, Hobrien, Tyler Hoechlin/Dylan O’Brien, swearing, sexual innuendo, kissing  

Read on AO3

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steppin out of body

Stiles is ninety-seven percent sure he’s going to die out here.

The violent shivers and chattering teeth ceased ten minutes ago, and not even the line of Derek’s werewolf heat down his right side makes any difference. It turns out the discount boots he bought last year from Bob’s Bargain Bin aren’t such a bargain; frigid water seeps through the seams, turning his toes to ice, to fire. He wiggles them regularly as they trudge through the thickening carpet of heavy snow, fearing the numbness he could easily succumb to.

Stiles isn’t stupid. He can decipher the messages his very-human body broadcasts loud and clear.

“No,” Derek commands, slapping at his cheek with a gloved hand, the impact dull and muted against his frozen skin. “Eyes open, Stiles. Stay with me. Stay with…”

Damn the Nemeton, screaming out to every worthless supernatural pain-in-Stiles’-ass. This time it called down a Chenoo, a man-eating ice giant from the Great White North. The demon slid down the west coast like an avalanche, bashing through the border, ushering in plummeting temperatures, a torrent of wind-driven snow and sleet slashing Stiles’ face like werewolf claws.  Vicious gusts of icy wind followed, slithering inside Stiles’ thin jacket to coil around his heart and crush his lungs. Stiles would have preferred it brought Kraft dinner and Molson Canadian, like a typical tourist.

A California boy born and bred, his genetic makeup lacks an adoration of arctic temperatures. He’s ill-equipped for a blizzard in November.

Even Derek’s nose glows Rudolph-red from the chill.

“You can kill a Cheeno by melting its heart with salt,” Deaton supplied earlier that afternoon, “but a few legends claim you can save the man within the monster.”

“Save a cannibal? Yeah, fuck that noise,” Stiles had said, tossing down the magazine he’d been reading and grabbing the cannister of Morton’s Iodized, slipping his feet into his crappy boots. It seemed like a good idea at the time, he and Derek against the latest monster of the week. Nothing new. But now a blanket of white makes it impossible to see ten feet in front of them, flakes floating down from the sky like errant feathers, dancing in front of his eyes like a whirl of stars. It blinds him, envelopes him. Every minute lasts an hour.

He should have taken the FBI assignment offered when he attended the academy. Memphis. It didn’t snow in Memphis. Why hadn’t he taken it? Oh yeah. Scott. His father. Derek.

The sun dips below the horizon, adding insult to injury.

Stiles can’t feel his nose anymore, or his toes. He inhales broken glass with each breath. The longer he stares into the white void, the more everything starts to feel peaceful and pointless. Stiles closes his eyes.

“Do you hear that?” Derek hisses. Stiles’ eyes snap open in time to see the breath billowing out of Derek’s windburned lips in rolling clouds of steam. “It sounds like…”

Stiles hears the violent wind rattling dry, bare branches of winter-dead trees, and the random song playing on repeat in his head. Going down with my wings on fire, guess I’ll see you in another life. He prays that in a few years, in a decidedly less stark and frozen landscape, the lyrics will blast through Roscoe’s shitty speakers, and Stiles will stop and listen, say “ah yes, that time I almost froze to death,” just another moment unfolding in the supernatural shitstorm of his life, and not the soundtrack to the end of it.

But Derek cocks his head, eyes narrowed into slits, frost clinging to his bushy black eyebrows, so Stiles tugs up the ear flaps on his hat, strains to hear past the snow’s white noise, so like a chorus of howling werewolves. Yowling, squalling, wailing…

“A baby,” Stiles gasps, voice rasping through blue-tinged lips, knees threatening to buckle in shock. Who would ever bring a baby out in this storm? He was tired, drained, and dispirited before, and now, a thin film of desperation stretches over it all like saran wrap. “I hear a baby crying.”

Derek pulls Stiles impossibly closer, abruptly turning them to the left and floundering through calf-deep snow mounds and crushing darkness. Derek blunders toward the cries with steps as uncoordinated as a newborn foal, his confident gait lost to the storm. Stiles grits his teeth and slogs on.

Mother nature pummels him into a Popsicle.

“Oh,” Stiles says some indeterminable time later, “I see something.” Up ahead, a small cabin materializes, rising from the bleak isolation like a desert mirage, windows alight with a dim glow. Every blink of his heavy eyelids brings the cabin into better focus; green tin roof, stainless steel chimney pipe puffing out grey clouds of smoke, two rickety steps leading up to a narrow porch laid with red cedar planks.  

Derek takes Stiles under the armpits and hauls him up over his left shoulder, heading toward shelter with Stiles bouncing clumsily into Derek’s back with each step. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, going statue-still.

“Wha?” Stiles mumbles toward Derek’s ass.  

A moment of hesitation. “I only hear one heartbeat.”

The desperate mewling raises in pitch. “Derek, can we please go inside? If the damn Cheeno has somehow lured us here, at least I’ll be warm when I die.”

Derek drags them both through the front door, leaving a track of icy puddles and slushy clumps of snow as they stumble over the threshold. Stiles finds himself dumped unceremoniously onto an oriental rug in front of a slowly dying fire. “Get your clothes off!” Derek barks at him as he kneels in front of the weak flames, pulling off his gloves and reaching for the stack of wood next to the stone fireplace.

Stiles always wanted to hear Derek say those words, and he’s honestly a little pissed they’re wasted on a life-or-death situation.  

Stiles isn’t capable of finesse on his best days, but his numb fingers fumble pathetically at the snaps and zippers of his clothes. Each new piece of blue and purple dappled bare skin he uncovers sets alarm bells peeling inside his skull. “Wh-wh-where is the b-b-baby?” The chattering teeth return, his neck swollen and stiff as he turns it this way and that until his gaze lands on a bassinet in the corner.

“Fire first, then I’ll get the baby,” Derek says, blowing on the growing blaze. “Take everything off. All your wet clothes.” He closes the wire mesh curtain across the hearth and stands, shedding his own clothes piece by piece as he crosses the small living space. Derek blows warm breath into his cupped hands before he reaches into the bassinet, pulling out a wiggling red blanket and clutching it gently to his bare chest. It’s a sight to behold, but Stiles can barely keep his eyes open.

Unable to stand, Stiles reaches for the corner of a quilt thrown haphazardly over a worn plaid couch, dragging it down and pulling it across the floor. Derek keeps the baby in one strong arm and hoists Stiles’ limp body onto the quilt with the other, settling down next to him on the carpet.

“Come here,” Derek says, reclining with one arm around Stiles’ shoulders, maneuvering him, so Stiles’ backside faces the fire, and Derek’s werewolf body heat blazing down Stiles’ front, the baby a warm weight on Derek’s ribs.

“The parents?” Stiles slurs, imagining the bloodbath that will ensue when an unsuspecting mother and father find two butt-naked grown men cuddling their kid.

“I can’t detect any other scents. It’s just us.”

“Hmmm.” The heat of the fire and the safety of Derek’s body make Stiles’ eyelids very heavy.

“Don’t go, Stiles,” Derek orders. “Stay with me. Please.”  For a brief moment, a white halo frames Derek’s beautiful face.  He cups Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles could swear his fingers feel like scratchy wool mittens.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles replies and promptly falls asleep.  

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Stiles wakes with the luxurious Saturday morning feeling of having slept in with no alarm, despite early dawn light seeping into the room through sheer curtains, casting everything in soft dream-like shades of gray. He’s so warm and content he buries his face back into the plush pillow under his head, determined to retreat once again into sweet oblivion.

“You know I adore your mom, but she was wrong about this co-sleeping thing. Best decision we ever made,” murmurs a tender voice behind him. The words get emphasized with some semblance of a kiss, all hot, soft lips and tongue leaving goosebumps in their wake as they travel lazily down the back of Stiles’ neck. The easy-going morning disperses like mist as Stiles blinks open his eyes to see the tiny, angelic face of a baby–presumably the same one from the cabin–wrapped in a thin red muslin blanket and sleeping next to him. It lies in a strange contraption attached to the bed with three breathable mesh sides, atop a fitted sheet adorned with fluffy dancing sheep wearing nightcaps. As Stiles watches, the baby’s tiny bow mouth makes adorable little sucking motions.

Wait a minute.

Stiles knows he’s in trouble when the baby makes sense, but the king-sized bed he’s woken up in doesn’t.    

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Stiles has run with wolves since age sixteen and can keep a tight lid on a furiously beating heart. “Pretty sure this place did not look like this last night,” he says, words falling from his mouth in a smooth line as his stomach ties itself in knots.

A huffed laugh. “I’ll do the laundry today, I promise. Who knew a baby could go through so many clothes?”

Not me, Stiles thinks, sitting up in bed and kicking away a blue sheet. He’s wearing unfamiliar light-gray sweatpants and a maroon t-shirt. The man next to him grunts at the loss of body heat, and Stiles glances over. Yup, it’s Derek, black hair sticking up every which way like he stuck his head in a blender.  

Stiles crawls to the foot of the bed, tip-toes to the sliding glass doors leading to a balcony, and parts the curtains an inch. Pre-dawn light paints the curving facade of the U.S. Bank Tower mellow orange. Stiles has only ever seen it in movies. Free from alien encounters and earthquake damage, the staggering architecture looks like a staircase up into the pink morning clouds. He puts his hand up to the cold glass. “We’re in L.A.”

Another grunt behind him. Stiles’ head pivots back and forth between the skyline and the majestic view of Derek sprawled on his stomach, broad shoulders tapering down a smooth, naked back. He follows the line of Derek’s spine to his boxer-brief clad backside on full display. The cotton clings to every dip and curve of Derek’s perfect ass.  

“How did we get to L.A.?”

Derek’s head rises from the pillow. “Huh? Come back to bed before you wake Conor.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing.” He scrubs a hand down his face, huffs out a breath. “The bed. That wasn’t here before. Or the fancy baby crib, or your underwear, or the god-damn city of Los Angeles.”

Derek twists, sitting up in bed and rubbing crust from his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks. Then he does something so crazy Stiles thinks he just may have died out in the snow.

Derek smiles.

Not just any smile. Stiles’ has seen Derek produce some mean ones, some faux-flirtatious ones, some blood-thirsty ones, but he’s never seen one like this: huge, happy, full of white teeth. It lights up Derek’s whole face, makes his green eyes go adorably squinty.  

“No, nope, uh uh.” Stiles tries to take a step back, but his shoulders collide with the slider. What imposter wears Derek’s flawless butt and happy face? Stiles has a mini heart attack.

“Who are you?”

Now the smile falls away, leaving behind comically-wide green eyes and an arched brow. His Derek would never show this level of befuddlement. He’d school his face into an impossibly hard mask.

“Dylan,” he answers, very slowly, “I’m your husband.”

———-

Imposter-Derek’s name is Tyler, and he remains unfailingly patient and positive in the face of his husband’s epic freak out and insistence that a mythological creature in an alternative universe cursed him.  ”I should have paid more attention to Deaton when he talked about annihilating the Chenoo, but there was a fascinating article in Entertainment Weekly.”

“This better not be a ploy to get out of diaper duty,” Derek-Tyler says with a smile.  Honestly, the guy’s demeanor baffles Stiles. This level of sweetness doesn’t exist outside a candy store.  

Baby Conor wakes up with a chortling wail, demanding food and a clean butt, which Tyler supplies as Stiles does a convincing imitation of a lost puppy and follows him around.  “You’re good at this whole thing. At parenthood,” Stiles praises. The sight of Derek–or a Derek look-a-like–gently cradling a tiny infant in his massive beefcake arms, holding a warm bottle of formula in his meaty fist, makes Stiles want to swoon.  Even the greedy pig-like noises Conor makes causes a strange effervescent bubbling behind Stiles’ ribs. What in the world is happening to him? Gas? Or did he show up in this parallel universe with a uterus and a biological clock? He pulls the waistband of his sweatpants away from his torso.  Well, at least the equipment on the outside remains the same.

Stiles and Tyler get dressed, and migrate into the kitchen through a narrow hallway and spacious living room; walls painted the color of buttery suede. Books and baby toys litter the floor, framed family photographs, and baseball paraphernalia hanging on nearly every wall of their home.  Upon closer inspection, Stiles finds one of the pictures is of Tyler in a Sacramento River Cats uniform, mid-run, right arm slung back, ready to throw.  

“Dude, do you play professional ball?” Stiles asks, impressed, fingertips tracing the edges of the black wooden frame.

Tyler blushes, becomingly, one muscular arm cuddling the baby closer to his broad chest.  “Yeah. I played baseball in college and got drafted, but I injured my hamstring a few years ago. I doubt I’ll ever get called up to the major leagues. Want some water?  Juice?”

The seamless transition of conversation, the quick, subtle deflection onto Stiles and away from himself is such a Derek move it leaves Stiles dizzy, struggling for balance as he straddles two worlds.

“Water,” Stiles croaks.

Tyler opens the refrigerator, reaches for the Brita with his free hand, and at least twenty glass bottles stacked on the door shelves clink together like Christmas bells. “Uh, why do we own so much root beer?”

Tyler shrugs.  “You’re a big root beer guy.”

Huh.  Stiles can’t remember the last time he had root beer, but his mother adored root beer floats “Actually, I’ll take one of those.”  

At the kitchen table, Tyler leaned his chin into his hand, gazing at Stiles while he sips his carbonated sugar. A shaft of late-morning light catches the fizzing bubbles surging up the neck of the bottle, sending little sun sparks dancing across the wood between them.

“I don’t know how you can remain so calm in the face of all this,” Stiles says for the millionth time in the few short hours they’ve been awake.  “Does your husband typically try to convince you that he’s someone else?”

Tyler props Conor on his shoulder, gently rubbing and patting his back. “Only when we role-play.”

Root beer sprays from Stiles’ mouth in an inelegant arc, splattering all over the tabletop.  Fantastic, now his overactive brain supplies him with enough jerk-off material to last a century.  It’s just his luck to land in a universe where Derek smiles and laughs and is kinky to boot.

“But seriously, Dylan, we’ve been through worse than a little memory lapse.”  Stiles lays his head down on the wet surface, resolutely refusing to ask. He doesn’t want to know.  Knowing would mean caring. “Though I do wish you’d reconsider going to the hospital. They could run some tests and-”

Stiles holds up a hand.  “No. No tests. At least, not today.  If we wake up tomorrow and nothing has changed, then yes, I promise I’ll go to the doctor. Just…” He remembers having an MRI, the fear and panic before rolling into the claustrophobic tube, the loud clunks and bangs, of what bad news the results will bring.  Because it’s doubtful skipping universes like a pebble on a lake produces anything positive. “Not today.”

Tyler nods.  “Okay. I have an idea.  Here, hold Conor.” He passes Stiles the baby and walks into the living room, opening the doors on a TV stand and pulling out an old DVD player.  Stiles watches as he fiddles around behind the flat-screen television, plugging it in and powering it up. “I’m going to grab our wedding DVD,” Tyler says, heading toward the bedroom.

Stiles is left alone with Conor for the first time.  “Hi, little man,” Stiles whispers into the crook of the baby’s warm neck.  He smells sweet and powdery, and the unique scent kind of makes Stiles feel high.  He’s adorable and small, and fragile, and now that Stiles thinks about it for half a second, completely panic-inducing.  Who in their right mind would leave Stiles in charge of a baby?! He breaks everything. Hopefully, this Dylan guy is a bit less accident-prone than Stiles.

Tyler pops in the video, and they lay the baby on a blanket in the living room with a few toys, and Stiles gets to watch two hours of footage of himself marrying Derek.

Half-way through the reception Erica and Boyd waltz by, and Stiles sees Isaac in profile, standing at the bar laughing at something Jackson says. He desperately wants to ask, but doesn’t think he could handle it if these pack members, lost to lies and danger and that merciless bitch the Grim Reaper, are just phantom faces with different names.

“That was sweet and kind of funny,” Stiles says after listening to himself recite his vows.

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees.  “You’re pretty amazing.”

Is this who Derek would be if there’d been no Kate? No Jennifer?  No Paige? Seriously, it’s like a case of the body snatchers. Fuck Stiles’ life (but not this one! This one’s pretty perfect).

“Did it jog any memories?” Tyler asks when the TV goes black.  

Stiles hates letting down someone so earnest.  “Sorry, man.”

“It’s all right.” Tyler squeezes one of Stiles’ shoulders in a firm grip.  “I have one more idea if it’s okay with you. Then we can give it a rest until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.  But first, do you mind if I shower?”  A phantom layer of dried sweat from his trek through the snow yesterday still sticks to Stiles’ skin.  

Dylan and Tyler’s shower has soapstone walls, duel jets, a rain massage showerhead, recessed lighting, and a cedar plank ceiling.  If he ever gets home, he’s convincing Derek to build a replica of this shower, and let Stiles use it any time he wants. Derek’s trust fund should go to something other than tight pants and dark colored shirts. Something that benefits Stiles directly (since the clothes benefit his eyeballs indirectly).

After he’s dressed, Stiles leans against the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror with the corner of his damp towel. He studies his reflection—same number of moles on his cheeks, same wide amber eyes.  Fingertips poke at his cheeks, eyebrows, forehead. A hand rubs between his eyes. Why do you get to keep him in this universe, but not your own? his reflection asks.

Hushed voices filter in from the living room, and he sneaks a peek around the door jamb. A pretty middle-aged woman stands by the front door, shooting a frown at Tyler, her head tilted.  “What do you think it is?” She asks, shrugging out of her cardigan sweater and draping it over the oversized recliner. “Stress? PTSD?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies.  Wait, PTSD over what?  “If the memory loss persists, we’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.  I thought maybe seeing you would help him.”

Stiles steps into the living room, capturing their attention.  The woman isn’t familiar, he’s never seen her in his life, but he knows her face the minute she looks at him.  Stiles’ father has filled his life with love, but there’s no substitute for a mother. And that’s who this woman is, his mother.  No one’s looked at Siles this way since he was eight years old. A razor edge of pain cuts into his heart.

His eyesight blurs, and red, blotchy heat creeps up his cheeks. Stiles swipes a thumb under one eye and tries to make it look like he’s scratching his cheek.

“Oh, Dylan, sweetheart,” she says.  “I’m your mom, Lisa.”

—————

Halfway through Lisa filling him in on Dylan’s early life growing up in New Jersey, their move to California when he was twelve, and his stint in a band, Stiles’ stomach lets out a growl loud enough to rival a werewolf.  

“We haven’t eaten anything all day,” Tyler says. “Root beer doesn’t count.”

“Why don’t you both go out for dinner,” Lisa offers.  “I’ll watch Conor.” She makes kissy faces at their son, who yanks at her brown hair, and warmth swells in Stiles’ chest.  He’s missed being part of a family, and this one sits gift-wrapped like a present just for him.

They walk outside, shoulders bumping. “We could drive into downtown,” Tyler offers, “but the traffic will be terrible, even at this time.”

Stiles shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed jeans, scoping out the view of the city skyline in the distance. “Whatever, dude. I’m game for somewhere local.”

Tyler eyes him, weighing the options, then graces him with another one of those megawatt smiles. “I think this day calls for The Coop.”

Stiles finds himself at a hole-in-the-wall, family-run pizzeria, scarfing down the best-tasting pizza ever. They split a large pie, ordered off a red menu adorned in green and white writing that makes Stiles think of Christmas.

Tyler wipes the grease off his lips with a paper napkin and leans back, resting his elbows on his chair arms. “You love eating here,” he tells Stiles. “We don’t often come here because I’m usually trying to stay in decent shape for baseball, but when we get here, we always order the works, hold the pineapple. You’re known to demolish an entire pie by yourself.”

At least this Dylan guy has good taste in pizza.  Slow roasted tomato sauce and melted cheese punched him in the nose as soon as he walked in.  

Stiles throws down his napkin, a white flag signaling his defeat to the single slice left on the pizza pan. He picks up the red plastic cup half-filled with root beer–turns out this stuff is pretty addicting– and gnaws on the cardboard straw between sips. “So, how’d we meet? Did I accidentally traipse across your yard, and you tell me I was trespassing?”

Tyler blinks. “That’s weirdly specific.” He picks up his beer bottle, takes a swig. “No. You’re a sports broadcaster, and you came to one of my games to interview me.”

“Love at first sight?” Stiles inquiries, tongue chasing his straw across his lips.

Tyler raises a brow, gesture a mirror-image of Stiles’ Derek. “That’s very distracting. Who taught you to use a straw?”

Stiles places the cup back down on the lacquered tabletop. “Sorry. D-” he pauses. “My friend back home complains about that too.”

“This friend who looks suspiciously like me?”

“Yeah. Him.”

Tyler laughs. “I’m sure he finds it distracting, too. Give the poor guy a break.”

“Anyway…” Stiles doubts he’s ever the person to steer a conversation back on track, but today is a day of firsts. First time I woke up in bed with Derek.  There’s more, but his brain keeps getting stuck on that one. “Was it love at first sight for you and your husband?”

Tyler’s eyes go soft, unfocused. “We clicked right away, but no. Every date we went on just got better and better until we eventually moved in together.”

“When did you know he was the one?” Stiles asks, trying to imagine a world where he and Derek didn’t immediately clash like oil and water.

Tyler’s cheeks bloom apple-red. Oh, there’s a story here, and I want it.  “I knew the first Christmas we spent together when I watched you hump an artificial tree. I said to myself, ‘Tyler, you’ve gotta keep this one.’”

Laughter bursts out of Stiles’ mouth. “Please,” he wheezes, “tell me more.”

Tyler does.  

“How’d we end up an old married couple with a kid?” Stiles asks as they push through the doors of the restaurant, spilling out onto the warm pavement. Stiles thinks of the freezing temperatures of the blizzard he trudged through with Derek the day prior and shivers despite the sun’s heat.

Here Tyler hesitates, shoulders pulling high and back, spine lengthening. It’s Derek’s ’going into battle’ pose. Stiles has seen it enough times to know it by heart, his own body reacting on instinct, stepping closer to Tyler, creating a united front.  

“We were going along great,” Tyler says, “having a good time. We both figured we’d get married, eventually. Our careers kept us busy; we didn’t rush into things. But one day, I’m in Sacramento, practicing at Raley Field, and my manager calls me off second base to tell me I’ve got to get home; you’d been in an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Stiles asks. Just as disaster-prone, I see.

Tyler’s hands clench at his sides. “A car hit you at work.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, stupidly. I’m usually the one running over people.

“You had a terrible concussion, the doctors worried about brain damage, and pretty much the entire right side of your face needed reconstructive surgery.”

“Jeez.” Stiles presses fingertips to his right cheekbone. “I can’t imagine your terror.” Derek’s reactions every time Stiles gets hurt is bad enough; he can’t imagine what Tyler must have gone through watching the man he loves lay injured in a hospital bed.

“All of a sudden, things didn’t seem so carefree. The thought of losing you was-” Tyler stops, takes a deep breath. Before he registers the movement, Stiles grabs Tyler’s hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing reassuringly. Tyler smiles shyly, presses back, and air stalls in Stiles’ lungs. Quicksand paves the road they’re walking down; the more Stiles flails around in memories of a life that isn’t his own, the deeper he sinks.

“We got married a year later after you’d recovered from surgery. We know we’re lucky to have this nearly stolen life, and we wanted to share that with someone. Now, we have Conor.”

Tyler stops walking, turns to face Stiles—to face Dylan. “It took us a long time to get here.” He pulls Stiles into a tight hug, and Stiles willingly goes, lets himself get wrapped up in arms he never thought he’d feel around him. “But we got here.”

———-

They dismiss Lisa with a round of hugs and promises to call in the morning if nothing has changed. Conor gets a bath in a tub they place in the ample kitchen sink, gurgling happily over the plastic bath toys Stiles flies around his bald head while Tyler scrubs him down. “My mom used to wash the Thanksgiving turkey in the sink,” Stiles tells them.

“Are you comparing our son to overstuffed poultry?” Tyler honest-to-god giggles. Did Derek ever giggle? Could Stiles help him find that much joy?

Stiles pokes at one of Conor’s adorably chubby legs, earning a gummy smile. “The resemblance is striking.”

Tyler does the bedtime routine, and they eat a quiet, amicable dinner of grilled chicken and baked potatoes at the kitchen table.

“I don’t know about you,” Stiles says around a yawn, “but I’m freaking beat, man. This day has been an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Agreed,’ Tyler replies, rolling his shoulders. “Sleep?”

“Totally.”

“I can take the couch?” Tyler offers when they walk into the darkened bedroom. Stiles eyes the bed between them, bathed in the milk-light of the moon streaming through the curtains. Conor is a tiny lump in his bassinet, soft snores echoing around the room.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. It’s totally fine. Married people sleep in the same bed.”

Tyler smiles, shoulders dropping from where they’d migrated to his ears. Stiles has stared at that smile all day, but he’s still not immune. It’s a flash of lightning, bright and dazzling, rolling through him like thunder. He’s shaken. “I’m glad. Honestly, I always sleep better when you’re with me.”

I’m always with you, dumbass.

Stiles can see why. As soon as they slide under the covers—Stiles in the sweatpants and T-shirt ensemble from the morning, and Tyler in his boxer-briefs and nothing else—Tyler cuddles up next to him, sighing deeply. He’s a comforting line of heat and weight, and Stiles turns toward him, instinctually. Tyler’s already drifting off, blinking sleepy half-lidded eyes at him.

“Goodnight,” Stiles whispers.

“Mmm, goodnight,” Tyler replies. He leans forward, rubs the tip of his nose against Stiles’, and brushes his mouth against Stiles’ lips, tongue lazily surging, tasting like mint, fresh and sharp. Is this wrong? It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Tyler threads his fingers into Stiles’ hair, pulling him closer, cradling the back of his head like he’s something precious, beloved. Large, strong hands skim across Stiles’ skull, cup his face, thumbs brushing featherlight over his cheekbones. Stiles hums contentedly into the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler slurs, pulling away just far enough to look into Stiles’ eyes. “I know you don’t remember, and I-”

“Tyler, kiss me again.” The next few moments simmer between them, threatening to boil over, but they dial back the heat, let it cool until their foreheads pressed together, lips and noses gently rubbing.

Stiles closes his eyes and lets himself believe that Derek Hale, the king of drawing lines in the sand and chasing Stiles back to the other side, cards long, gentle fingers through Stiles’ hair as he falls asleep. Stiles could get used to this; he wants this. And because Stiles lies to himself on the daily, he refuses to acknowledge that he has desired this for as long as he can remember knowing Derek.  

Would it be so wrong to stay here and keep this life? It’s a luxury he hasn’t dared to allow himself to ponder since he woke up in this alternate reality.

Conor lets out a couple of guttural, cranky sounds. Tyler grumbles and starts to stir, jerky, half-asleep movements, “Shh,” Stiles says, running a long-fingered hand down Tyler’s back. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

He carries Conor—his son—to the changing pad atop their dresser, and flicks on the lamp. It casts the little corner of their world in a soft golden glow. “We got this, buddy,” he tells Conor in a sing-song voice. “I’ll be a diaper changing expert in no time.” Conor blows spit bubbles at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles answers. “We’re both doomed.”

Changing diapers is a little more involved than Stiles realized, and he ends up with baby pee all over his shirt and Conor’s onesie. He divests Conor of his wet suit and takes a moment to plant a few raspberries against the soft soles of the baby’s feet, earning delighted squeals and flailing limbs. “This little piggy went to the market, and this little piggy stayed home,” Stiles recites, wiggling Conor’s tiny toes. “This little piggy ate roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little p—”

Stiles rubs his eyes frantically, blinks hard a few times. Counts. Counts again. One, two, three, four, five…

Six.

He studies the other foot. Six toes. Heart in his throat, he takes Conor’s grasping little hands in his and counts. No, no, no. Six fingers on each side.

How do you tell if you’re awake or dreaming?

Your fingers. You count your fingers. “You have extra fingers in dreams,” Stiles tells Conor, and then he wakes up.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

Stiles wakes in a panicky stupor, faces of nurses, doctors, and the Sheriff, who looks like he’s aged ten years, staring down at him, blurring together like paint on a canvas.

He flings out one hundred-pound arm, reaching for his child, for Tyler, for a world where his pack is alive and well and happy.  I’ve only had the perfect life for a day and a half, but if anything happened to it I’d kill everyone in this room and then myself. A giggle hiccups out of his dry throat.

“…nerve damage…dead tissue,” the surgeon explains, but some morphine-derivative courses through his system and he listens to it all from the deep end of a warm tunnel. “The bad news is, you lost the one toe to frostbite, but I saved the others. And the loss of a pinky toe doesn’t impede balance at all.”

Stiles nods. The conversation hangs around him like a dense fog. “That sucks,” he croaks out, words lengthening as the drugs pull his tongue like taffy. “But…where is my husband?”

Behind the doctor, two nurses exchange glances, eyes wide over their surgical masks. His father shakes his head back and forth. “Stiles… you’re not married.”

”I am, ” he insists.  ”And my baby. I have a baby.”

“Completely normal,” the doctor consoles. “Nothing to worry about. Some patients experience hallucinations and dreams as the anesthesia wears off.”

Oh yeah. Conor’s happy squeals, Tyler’s glorious smile, having a mom again. None of it was real.

“Recovery time typically takes between two and six weeks. You’ll have to keep the incision clean diligently and the stitches covered, but before you know it, you’ll walk again,” the doctor tells him. “You’ll run.”

Laughter gallops up his throat like a wild horse. He’s shaking again as he did in the snow, bones rattling and teeth clicking audibly together even as he desperately tries to clench his jaw and keep them still.

I’ve been running since I was sixteen. I don’t want to run anymore.

His father plucks a Kleenex from the box on his hospital tray, hands it to him. The thin tissue is sandpaper between Stiles’ raw fingertips. “Wh-why are you g-giving me this?” Stiles asks between gasps of air.

“Son,” his father says softly, “you’re crying.”

———-

His hospital room smells like a funeral parlor. Lily of the valley, morning glory, and peony. Scott charges in the moment Stiles can receive visitors outside the pathetic roster of family members, carrying a vase of blue dicks. “Get it?! Because you had hypothermia! You were freezing your-”

“Yeah, buddy. I get it.”

Get Well Soon the generic message on the flower card commands, but the problem is, Stiles isn’t sick. He’s grieving. But how can I mourn a life I never had?

By lunchtime, the snow stops, the sun shines, and Derek saunters into his hospital room as if he owns it. He looks stoically handsome in his black leather jacket and signature scowl, calm and composed, and smells like fresh air. Stiles’ emotional state soars dangerously from elation to despair, settling somewhere in the realm of weary acceptance.  

“They obliterated my toe,” Stiles tells Derek when he approaches the bedside, pulling back the sheet to reveal his foot wrapped up in a mountain of gauze.

“I know,” Derek replies, pulling up a folding chair and falling gracefully into it. He props his sneakers up on top of the room’s air-conditioning unit. “I brought you here and stayed until your Dad could come. The doctor said he’d try his best, but…” Derek shrugs. He knows all about good intentions.

“Scott told me you went back out after I got out of surgery, killed the Chenoo.”

Derek grimaces. “I have salt in crevices where salt should never go.”

“I’m ah, I’m sorry I was wea-”

Derek holds up a hand. “Stiles, stop. Never apologize for your humanity.”

But it’s more than physical feebleness.  It’s the mental weakness that settles on Stiles’ shoulders like a villains cloak—stitched with shame, edged in anger, dyed red because he looks damn good in red, and no one can tell him otherwise.

Stiles pulls a flat hospital pillow into his arms, holding it across his chest like armor, curling tighter around it with each word. ”Scott said you know about the hallucinations.”  Might as well get this over with now, when the wound is still fresh enough to heal with a minimal amount of scarring.

”I do, ” Derek replies.  ”Did Scott tell you I stayed the entire time? I only left this morning to kill the Chenoo.”

”He may have mentioned something along that line.” It’s the sole reason Stiles is brave enough to tackle this conversation now.  Dude, Scott had said, Derek stood outside the ICU for hours.  Your dad totally thinks you’re boning him.

“Derek?” Stiles fidgets with the sheet covering his leg. “I need to ask you something.”

Gold-flecked green eyes bore into him. Lacking Tyler’s delicate laugh lines, they feel sharper than a knife. “You can ask me anything, Stiles.”

He already grilled his father in every detail, but he needs to hear it from Derek’s mouth. “Did we find shelter from the storm in a cabin in the preserve? Was there a…” He stumbles; Conor’s face flashes before his eyes. “Was there a baby there? A baby boy in a red blanket?”  

Derek’s punctuates his gentle but firm statement with a shake of his head. “No, Stiles. You passed out, and I carried you here.”

“From the preserve? Dude. That’s like… Miles.”

Derek nods. He doesn’t say it, but somehow Stiles can hear the unspoken And I’d do it again because he’d do the same for Derek. Sadness surges like a wave, sudden and powerful, the words pulled from his mouth in the tide. “I dreamt we were a family.”

“We are family, Stiles. Pack is family.”

“No.” Stiles bites his lip. “I imagined it all, made it up in my head, but it felt so damn real. We were a family; you, me, and our son.”

Derek’s feet drop back to the floor, his spine a tautly pulled string. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me more.”

Stiles tells him everything.

“Wait,” Derek says after Stiles finally stops speaking. “This sounds vaguely familiar.” Derek unfolds from the chair and moves toward the hospital room door.  

“It does?” Stiles asks, hope igniting inside his chest. Maybe Derek’s dreamed about this before too.

“Stay right there,” Derek commands, eyebrows furrowed as he walks out of the room.

“Where do you imagine I’m going to go?” Stiles calls. “My foot is—”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded familiar!” Derek declares as he rushes back into the room, waving a magazine in front of Stiles’ face.

“What the heck, man?” Stiles struggles to sit up. “Did the nurses at the desk see you using werewolf speed?”

“Look,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles as usual. “Your surgery took two hours, and your father was scrambling for coverage so he could get over here. I sat in the waiting room, reading every magazine they had. I read this one.” He flips open an Entertainment Weekly and holds it under Stiles’ nose. There’s a handsome, dark-haired man in profile on the cover, looking down at a baby in a red blanket nestled in his arms. Another man flanks the infant; a smiling face turned toward the camera. The cover line reads, Tyler and Dylan may have ended their run on Teen Wolf, but their story is far from over.  

Oh my god, you are such an idiot.

“Oh my god, I am such an idiot!” Stiles squeals, snatching them magazine out of Derek’s hand. No. No, it can’t be. Stiles did not almost die of hypothermia just to imagine he Freaky Friday-ed with a couple of actors.  

“I knew Tyler and Dylan sounded familiar. They’re those actors who got married in real life, the ones on that stupid teenage werewolf soap opera you and Scott loved. And then they—”

“Adopted a baby last month,” Stiles finishes, flipping through the familiar pages. He’d perused the same magazine in Deaton’s clinic while they discussed how best to destroy the Chenoo.

“It makes perfect sense, Stiles,” Derek says, laying a hand down next to him on the bed. “Your brain latched onto the last thing you focused on before we left to hunt the Chenoo. It’s almost like that one episode of the show where Dylan’s character ends up in the Phantom Train Station between dimensions.”

“Hey,” Stiles gives Derek the stink eye. “You swore you never watched the show.”

An overly exaggerated eye roll. “I may have caught a couple of episodes.”  

Stiles’ eyebrows smugly say, I told you so, and Derek’s answer, shut the fuck up, Stiles.

“Which one were you again?” Derek asks. “Which guy?”

Stiles looks at the happy face of the actor. “Dylan.”

“So I was Tyler?” Derek grimaces. “That guy looks like he’s thirty-five.”

“Yeah, but in the best way,” Stiles insists.

He huffs, but Stiles sees the tips of his ears burning bright pink. Derek looks down, rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “You know I’m not him, right?” Derek asks, pointing to the handsome, besotted face on the magazine cover. “I’m not some happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine.”

Stiles tosses the magazine to the window ledge, where it falls between two flower vases. “Yeah, I know,” Stiles softly replies. Butterflies flutter in his stomach; they tingle at the ends of his ten fingers and nine toes. “Doesn’t stop me from loving you, though.”

Derek climbs into Stiles’ hospital bed, presses his face into Stiles’ throat and sighs, warm breath fanning over Stiles’ skin, words vibrating. “The entire trek to the hospital, I was terrified.”  Derek brushes an errant lock of hair from Stiles’ forehead. “Then we got here, and they wrapped you up in this insulation, trying to raise your body temperature. It took hours, and I spent every minute thinking I might never get the chance to tell you…I don’t know for sure what’ll happen; marriage, kids, all of the above, none of the above. But I know I never want to lose you.”

And he remembers Tyler, standing on the busy streets of Los Angeles, looking like a lost little boy when he talked about almost losing his husband.  It’s the same face Derek wears now.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles answers.  Why did he think this would be hard? It’s as natural as breathing. “Important question, though.  This might make or break everything, so think hard before you answer. How do you feel about bathroom makeovers?  I have some ideas.”

“I feel strong to very strong about dual shower jets.”

“Dude,” Stiles says.  “There’s a definite possibility we’re soulmates.” And then, Derek smiles. It’s not as big or as bright as Tyler’s, not nearly as all-consuming as his subconscious conjured, but Stiles thinks, with time and love, it will get there.

They’ll get there.

[morkmywords]

Not Really a Cinderella Story | Royalty au | Exo | Sehun | Part 13

Masterlist | Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 8.5 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 [FINAL] Royal Palace of Oclaria, Iyle

Royalty!AU

Length: 6.7k

Note:my last final is tomorrow which means hopefully more parts coming soon

Warnings: nothing really

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Genre: Fluff/angst

Summary: When a strange string of not so great events somehow and you with a job at the palace punching the wrong people can be not so great.

We travelled through the city during the night with the stars above us. The ship that would take us to the mainland was leaving from the port on the other side of the island which held Oclaria’s capital city at dawn and not a moment later. You, Cha, and his small entourage of two guards and a couple of citizens from Iyle which had come with him to visit family would be travelling down the coast of Oclaria which was the majority of the east coast of the continent. Iyle took up all of the southernmost coast of Oclaria and most of the islands in the surrounding area along with part of the eastern coast. Edesea owned the other half of the southern coast of the continent which meant all the trade coming from the other continents went through Edeasea or Iyle. Now it was theorized that ships could travel up the coasts without ever coming in contact with the two countries but the tropical storms which were rampant off the coast of Edesea and Medezia stopped all ships up the west. On the east coast the small islands provided to tight of a space for the large trade ships to navigate, forcing all trade to go through the port cities on the southern coast.

Nobody asked questions and you were grateful because you could still feel the sting of tears freshly. By the time the boat was ready to board at dawn, your tears had dried. It wasn’t the first time you had been on the ship from the mainland to the capital, after all, when you first arrived you had to get to the capital somehow. But you had only been to the northern part closest to Arye, never had you seen the southern lands that stretched down the coast. The sun shone between the clouds, breaking through in bright beams which seemed to descend straight from the heavens. The briny sea air filled your lungs and seemed to travel through your spine, into your lungs and all the way down to your toes, wrapping you in its salty embrace. You let it flush you of all the anxiety and sadness trapping your heart like a cage and stood with your eyes closed, fingers curling around the railing of the deck until the bellowing horn blew. The ship was docking on the mainland and as you rejoined the rest of the travellers and smiled as you stepped off the ship and onto the land.

New horses were already waiting for you on the dock, prepared to take you through the bustling port city and down the coast on your journey to Iyle. You took one last look at the castle in the distance and left your heart locked away inside it with the king as it disappeared behind the tall ships and building as you set off down the road.

Every night we would stop at a town and stay the night at an Inn. Your nights were usually spent over a warm meal in the pub downstairs, listening to the stories of weary travellers and sometimes even telling some of your own. It always felt warm during those times, not just because of the roaring fireplace but because of boisterous laughter and open smiles as people talked freely like they were old friends instead of strangers who had just met.

Oclaria was never as developed as countries like Vraetis. Of course, they still had the latest technologies but buildings were never rebuilt, only patched up to keep them standing, roads were made with cobblestones from years ago but more commonly dirt. Yet the outdated country had a sort of haunting beauty to it, crumbling castles and roads which were more akin to beaten paths made through the wear of years.

On one side the road you travelled sharp cliffs dropped into crashing waves, gulls cried overheads before diving below the surface. Somedays you could feel the salt spray on your face while others the sun shone brightly on the rolling hills to your right. Tall grasses danced in the wind small flowers beginning to bloom as spring was right around the corner.

It was five days later when you first crossed the border into Iyle. The town was bustling, they called it ‘the gateway to Iyle’ as it was the town every traveller stopped in before heading into the territory. Market stalls lined every street, selling anything you could imagine as your horses waded through the sea of people who stopped and waved when they recognized Lord Cha. Some people began waving to me as well and I did my best to smile and wave back, as we moved further down the street people began cheering, children ran up beside us and stuck flowers in our saddle bags. By the time we reached the Inn we would be staying at my cheeks were sore from smiling so much and everyone in our party was decorated with blossoms from head to toe and chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

You wandered into the dining room which was oddly empty and sat down across from Lord Cha. In all the Inns you had been to before this were packed with travellers but this one was extraordinarily quiet.

“I see you’re pretty popular,” You teased as you grabbed a bread roll out of the bread basket in front of him, “Kissing babies left and right.” He smiled as you tore off a piece of the loaf and stuffed it into your mouth.

“I could say the same for you, I don’t think I’ve seen a genuine smile from you since we left the capital,” He reached over and grabbed a stray flower petal that was still left in your hair.

You ducked your head and stared at the half-eaten bread in your hands. You cleared your throat and looked back up at him, “What’s with the flowers anyways, and why is it so quiet here?” You asked trying to quickly change the subject.

He let out a chuckle, “Well my dear, the reason for the flowers and the lack of people is the same. On the last day of spring, the people of Iyle have a celebration we call the final blossom, It’s a time to gather with your family and give thanks for everything the year has brought as well as pray for the coming harvest. We celebrate by giving each other flowers and fresh produce and everyone travels to stay with their families for the weeks leading up to it. The festival itself lasts for three days with village feasts and games for families to play, flower wreaths and garlands are hung from every place imaginable. It’s easily the largest holiday in all of Iyle.”

“I never knew about it,” You sighed taking another chunk of bread and chewing idly. If a holiday was so big why wasn’t it talked about all over?

“Most of the other countries have a similar festival around this time of the year but nowhere places such an importance on it as Iyle,” Lord Cha explained when he saw the confusion on your face, “At the time of the actual festival we’ll be in the capital.”

That night you stayed up for hours talking to Lord Cha and some of the others about the traditions of Iyle until finally the day of riding caught up with you and you retired to your room for a well-needed bath. In the warm water, foaming with the scent of lavender you floated through dreams of dancing and singing, laughing between flowers with your parents who were soon joined by many of your new friends. As soon as his face danced into your mind, surrounded by familiar blossoms, of yellow and white, it was as if the bath water had turned cold and you climbed out. Drying off and crawling into bed where he crept back into your thoughts and the familiar warmth wrapped around you and the two of you danced into your dreams.

In the morning the town sent you off with more flowers and baskets of fresh peaches in the morning, wishing you all a safe trip and happy last blossom. Your group continued to grow smaller as members broke off to head to their hometowns and reunite with their families for the holidays. It took another four days of travelling down the coast, each town filled with flowers before you finally reached the port town where you would board a ship that would take you to Iyle’s capital. The capital was, in fact, one of the smallest towns in Iyle, the largest cities lay along the southern coast, always filled with people but the capital was nestled among the many islands dotted around the eastern coast. It was only a small village nestled around the castle, a few farms to provide food, nowhere near as large as the royal palace and the city surrounding it. You could see it in the distance as you hung over the railing of the ferry boat. The sun was just beginning to rise as you let the ocean spray blow across your face, gulls chirped overhead as the small ship navigated between the maze of islands but you could see the spire of the castle in the distance. The planks of the deck creaked behind you as Lord Cha came to rest his forearms over the railing beside you.

   “No matter how many times I leave or how many places I go, coming back home is always the best part,” he sighed, taking a deep breath and letting the smell of ocean spray and salt fill his nostrils, “The smell of the sea never gets old.”

    “I always seemed to think the adventure was the best part,” you sighed, slumping down farther. You gaze followed a gull soaring across the sky and diving to the sea.

    He let out another deep chuckle next to you, “Not when you live here.”

    “And why’s that?”

   “You’ll see,” was all he said before pushing back up and heading to the front of the ship, “We’ll be there in a few moments!” He called, “You should come up to the front for your first time seeing the magnificent capital.”

    You took one more deep breath and closed your eyes, letting the sunlight wash over your face before pushing yourself up and following him and the rest of the passengers over to the bow of the ship. It was like something straight out of a romance novel as the ship turned around the last island, revealing the castle and city below just as the sun broke over the horizon. People chittered excitedly beside you as the boat pulled into the dock, though it was only just dawn people waved happily as the crowds departed from the ship. You watched as families reunited with a smile and even though you weren’t running into someone's arms and being held so tight it felt like you couldn’t breathe you felt at home. You followed Lord Cha through the cobbled streets of the village, as you passed by people were only just beginning to wake up and the waved sleepily as you passed by and headed towards the magnificent castle. You could just glimpse the fields stretching out behind the edge of the town before you passed through the gates and entered the castle’s courtyard. The staff bowed as you passed, still following behind Lord Cha, you could hear them whispering excitedly behind their baskets of flowers once you had passed but it didn’t seem ill-intended.

   “I’m sure you’re exhausted from the journey,” Lord Cha said as he showed you down winding corridors and to a grand room, “You can have the rest of this day to relax and do whatever you wish. I will call upon you tomorrow since we have some very important things to discuss,” he explained with sudden seriousness.

   You nodded and followed him into the room, sighing at its beauty and how soft and inviting the grand canopy bed looked.

    “Meals are served in the kitchen but you can ring for someone if you need-”

    “I’m sure I will find it,” you assured him before not so gently pushing him towards the door, “Just go relax,” you told him with a wave before shutting the door and turning back around to admire the room once more. The room itself was the grandest thing you had ever seen, it was nowhere near as luxurious as Jiyoon’s quarters but it was almost twice the size. The bed itself must have been large enough to fit ten people comfortably with a sheer canopy surrounding it to give it a sense of elegance while still leaving some privacy. There was a sitting room, dining room, vanity, and work space all in one large open space and after some exploring, you found out there were two separate empty rooms, a separate bathing room, dressing room, and across the hall was a balcony. You laid on the cloudlike bed for a total of five minutes before you got up and began to explore again. You found a cloak in the wardrobe and threw it on as you decided to go out and explore the town.

    You pulled the hood over your head as you slipped out the front gates. Everyone you passed offered you a friendly smile which you easily returned as they passed with their carts and baskets, the majority heading towards the castle, no doubt to prepare for the festival based on the sheer number of flowers they all carried with them.  You followed the stream of people and eventually ended up at the market place by the docks where you had first arrived from, though now it was filled with people and merchants shouting out their wares. Brightly painted signs advertised ‘Flowers and Fruits! Perfect for a loved one this Festival!’ or fishermen shouting out the prices of the seafood just brought in from their ships. There were even a few traders from the south selling fabrics and cooking utensils. Soon enough your stomach was rumbling and you followed your nose to a little bakery tucked into one of the alleys. You were immediately drawn to a deliciously frosted bun sitting right in front of the display case.

   “What can I get for you?” the man who you were assuming was the baker asked with a large smile.

   “One of whatever that is,” you said, pointing to the bun in the display case.

   “Good choice,” he said with a chuckle, “Made them fresh this morning, one of the town favourites,” he told you as he grabbed a small plate and placed a purple frosted one onto it.

You admired the quaintness of the little bakery, the table cloths were slightly mismatched and seemed to be handsewn which gave it a very familiar sense. The floral edgings and patterns were very familiar to the ones your mother had made when she was still alive.

“Would you like anything to drink?” the baker asked as he put your pastry on the counter.

You stopped and looked at the menu, half of the things you had never heard of before, ‘What do you recommend?”

“We just got a specialty tea from Medazia made from hibiscus flowers and other fruits, it goes really well with pastries,” the baker told you.

“I’ll have one of those,” You continued to chat with him as he prepared the tea.

“Are you new in town?” he asked, pulling down a teacup, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Something like that,” you hummed as you sat down at a nearby table, you don’t know why but you decided to make up and excuse, “Just came in to visit some family for the festival.”

“Ahh yes, there’s always an influx of people during the festival season even if they don’t have family, the capital is always the most beautifully decorated town and the feast I the castle is open to everyone,” he stated proudly, “When did you arrive?”

“Just this morning, on the first ship from the mainland.”

He let out a long whistle, “You came in with Lord Cha then?”

You nodded.

“You must’ve heard the rumours then, people are saying somebody that came back with Lord Cha is the lost heir of Iyle,” You gave him a confused look as he put the scone and teacup on your table, “It’s just a rumour though,” he assured you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you.”

    He left you with your thoughts and went back to whatever he was doing in the kitchen. The rumours he talked about didn't really cross your mind as you finished your pastry while peering into the bustling market below. A group of performers started dancing at one point, and it even brought a smile to your face watching everyone play along with the jugglers and other performers. You thanked the baker and left after finishing your tea, it might have been from Meadazia but the fruity tea really reminded you of the lanky prince.

   It was still bright out so you decided to stroll through the fields on your way back to the palace. The sunlight washed over you as you wandered between the dirt roads separating the farmer’s fields and pastures from one another. You waved to a group of workers picking an unfamiliar plant as you walked along the little stream running beside the road. A little way later you found the house of those who the unfamiliar crop belonged to as they were selling it out front in a small handcrafted stand.

    “Would you like to try some?” You flicked you head to where the voice was coming from and your eyes fell on the little boy running the stand, he couldn’t have been older than eleven but he looked at you with a bright smile.

“Sure…” you said taking a few steps closer, “But what exactly is it?”

He giggled like little bells, “I knew you looked new, this is your first time in the capital right?” He asked with a smirk and you nodded, “This is a rose-orange,” he explained, holding up the little round fruit, “It only grows in Iyle and we always eat it for the final blossom festival since this is the only time it’s ready to harvest.”

“Does it taste like oranges?” you asked him, taking the little pink fruit out of his hands and examining it closely. Weren’t oranges usually bigger, and you know, orange? This fruit was only about the size of a plum and pink, not orange.

“Not at all, to be honest, I have no idea why they call them rose oranges,” the boy explained, “They aren’t even a citrus fruit.”

You laughed at the way he scrunched up his nose before following his lead and taking a bite out of the fruit, “This is amazing!” you exclaimed, mouth still full of fruit.

“I knew you’d like it,” he said, laughing at the way juice was dripping down the sides of your mouth and chin, “Why don’t you stay for lunch, I’m sure my mom won’t mind.”

“Really?” You asked as he rounded the corner and flipped the sign over so it said closed. He grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the little farmhouse.

“Really, really,” he said, “the workers are coming in from the fields for break anyways, what's wrong with another mouth to feed? My name’s Kun by the way.”

“My name is Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you too Kun.”

You followed him around the side of the house and back to where an old barn was except it had been cleaned out completely and instead there were a few large tables and benches where people were eating. He pushed you down onto the bench before disappearing to get two plates of food from his mother.

“You’re the girl that was on the road earlier,” The boy sitting across from you exclaimed. He and the other boys around you couldn’t be any older than you were, they were all staring at you like you were an alien.

You cleared your throat, “Uh yeah I’m Y/n.”

“She’s new in the capital,” Kun cut in, setting a plate of food down in front of you, “These guys are, Eizo, Jungwon, Fen, and, Junseo. You’re probably the only female that’s ever paid them any attention so they’re all probably in love with you know.”

You laughed as Kun was met with cries of complaint and food scraps. For a while, you stayed and chatted with the workers and even helped them in the fields for a while before they sent you off with a basket of rose oranges free of charge other than the promise to come back to visit. As you left you heard the boys organizing a bet to see which of them could get you to go on a date with them first. You laughed to yourself as you continued back down the road and towards the castle.  

    The rest of your afternoon was spent exploring the castle itself and when dinner rolled around you made your way down to the kitchen with the rest of the staff and pulled out the chair beside Lord Cha.

   “Did you have a good day exploring?” he asked between bites of chicken, “I saw you coming back with that basket of rose oranges.” He smiled as your cheeks turned pink and you choked on a bit of chicken.

    “I didn’t steal them if that’s what you’re thinking,” you told him with a frown. He shrugged and went back to picking at his food, “I really didn’t!” you exclaimed, “They were a gift after I helped them in the field!”

   “Don’t worry y/n, I know you wouldn’t steal anything,” he assured you, “It’s nice that you’re getting along with the locals, having their trust will be good for the future.”

   You frowned at his comment, “I guess….” You chatted with him for a bit as the two of you finished up your food.

   “Can we meet in my study tomorrow after you’ve finished eating breakfast?” he asked, you nodded and wished him goodnight before you left shortly after and collapsed into the giant bed after changing into one of the nightgowns you found in the wardrobe.

   The next morning you woke to a maid pulling your curtains open and letting the sunlight filter in. You squinted against the brightness, groaning and pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

    “What time is it?” you yawned, collapsing back onto the bed and pulling the quilts back over your head. A moment later it was ripped off you and the bed entirely while the maid was staring down from above you.

    “You’ve already slept through breakfast and you have to meet with Lord Cha in an hour, there is no way you’re going back to sleep,” She ordered, pulling you into a standing position, “I let you have the day to yourself yesterday but you aren’t getting off the hook today,” she grumbled before shoving you into the bathroom with an order to wash yourself up as quickly as possible. When you came out of the washroom the maid was gone and there was a tray of food with a note. Instructions telling you to get ready and dress nicely with the clothes in the wardrobe and meet Lord Cha in his study as soon as possible.

   You knocked once before entering, Lord Cha’s study was almost identical to the one back in the royal palace, even down to the bookshelves lining the walls.

   “You’re right on time,” Lord Cha said, taking his eyeglasses off and coming to meet you at the door.

   “Why did you want to see me?” you asked with a smile.

    He brushed some imaginary dust off his pants before meeting your eyes, “Actually, it’s not me who wants to see you, It’s someone else.” With that, he turned and walked out of the study. You followed him all the way to the east wing of the palace and the old library where someone was waiting for you.

   “She looks just like her father,” the man said as soon as you sat down across from him. His face was wrinkled with age and his gray hairs were going every which way like the glasses which sat crooked on the end of his nose.

   “You knew my father?”

   He cleared his throat, surprised at your immediate response and pushed his glasses back onto his face, “I guess I should introduce myself, my name is Son Hwannim, I was your father’s tutor and I’ve known him from the moment he was born. He was always my favourite student, much brighter than his brothers.”

   “Brothers?,” you asked in confusion, “my father was an only child,” How did this man know your father.

    “I take it there’s still a lot you don't know y/n,” he said, glancing at Lord Cha, “Let me explain it all to you.”

    You looked between the two men before nodding your head silently, confused by the whole situation.

   “I guess I should start by introducing myself in more detail,” he sighed, “I was and still am the private tutor of the last Lord of Iyle’s four sons, your father was the second eldest. He was never favoured by his father, too headstrong and stubborn, not easily enough manipulated like the others. Their father, your grandfather, was like a tyrant, he treated the people of Iyle terribly and your father wanted to change that, in an attempt to control him, your grandfather set up an arranged marriage with the daughter of a neighbouring territory. What your grandfather didn’t know is that your father had already fallen in love with the baker’s daughter, your mother. He tried to refuse the marriage but the other Lord’s daughter was already infatuated with him and wouldn’t take no for an answer, she was a frightening young woman, that one. Your father and mother had no other options so they married in secret and fled to Arye with help from Lord Cha who was your father’s best friend at the time. The Lord’s daughter was so obsessed when she heard the news that they had fled she flew into a rage and disappeared, we didn’t think much of it at the time as the eldest son was taking your grandfather’s place as he got older and eventually died. But only a few years after your grandfather’s death his eldest son passed away without ever marrying and with no heir. With your father gone the role fell onto the shoulders of the two youngest brothers but they had already been married off to royalty from the southern continent. Your father’s youngest brother was the only one he trusted enough to keep in contact with after he left Iyle and the last thing we heard from him was that he had just been blessed with a baby girl. Without an heir Cha took over the governing of Iyle until we could persuade your father to return, he made the changes your father wanted happen and we thought he would surely return but we were met with horrible news. That lord's daughter never disappeared, she was hunting your parents, intent on ruining your lives like they supposedly ruined hers. She was the one who started the fire and when she found out you hadn’t died with them she followed you to the palace and married the king. Cha arrived just after you had left to the capital and followed you to make sure nothing happened to you and eventually he brought you back here.”

    “So you’re saying the dead Queen of Arye was the one who killed my parents?” you asked with tears streaming down your face. They both nodded.

    “She’s been trying to ruin your life since you were born.”

    “You tell me this insane story about my family out of nowhere, so why do I believe you?” you hiccuped as more tears streamed down your face, “Why did they never tell me?”

   “We think your parents also knew what was going on, and they were trying to protect you,” Lord Cha explained, “I know it’s a lot to take in Y/n but you know what this means right? You're the only heir the territory of Iyle.”

    “You don’t have to make any decisions now, we know it’s a lot to take in but we thought you should know,” Lord Cha said, voice full of regret as he took in your bedraggled appearance, “I’ll walk you back to your room and you can come talk to us further whenever your ready.”

   You nodded and stood up to leave, just as you were about to leave you whispered a quick ‘thank you’ directed at the man still sitting at the table before going back to your room.

   You stayed there for a day and a half. Curled up under your blankets crying, but it was different from all the times before, when you cried because of pain, whether it be emotional or physical. There has always been a tightness that wound its way around your heart but now you were crying from relief, all the things you had wondered about and the secrets that tormented you had finally been revealed and by the time your tears had all dried up it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders and you finally felt at peace with your parents passing.

    On the second day, you got dressed and headed to the bakery where you greeted the baker again and bought a box of pastries before heading back to the field where Kun and his friends worked. They gratefully accepted your offer of food and help in the fields as you were given a basket and set to work. As you plucked rose oranges and filled your basket you realized that you may have never wanted to be a queen but there didn’t seem to be any escaping the responsibility of governing and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you had people you trust by your side to support you, after all, don’t those who never want power make the best rulers.

-----

    “I’ll do it!” was the first thing you said as you burst into Lord Cha’s study that evening, “I’ll become the Lady of Iyle.”

   His arms wrapped around you in a tight hug before he pulled away with a huge smile, “I always knew you could do it Y/n,” he told you, “You won’t be alone, Mr. Son and I will be there to help you the whole way through.”

   “It’s what my father would have wanted,” you agreed.

    “I’ll arrange a meeting in the morning, you should go have a bath and go to bed, you look exhausted.”

    You nodded and walked back to your room where the maid from earlier was already waiting.

   “There’s hot water already waiting for you, go take a bath and I’ll make the bed,” she told you, “and I’m happy you finally figured it out our new Lady of Iyle, don’t worry too much, they’ll love you.”

    You thanked her before heading to the bathroom and sinking into the hot water and letting it seep into you like a warm blanket, things would be alright, wouldn't they?

-----

    The news that the heir of Iyle had returned that night and in two days time there would be a banquet to welcome you. People flooded the city with the news, usually, the other Lords and Ladies from the other territories and sometimes the royalty of other countries would come to celebrate but everything was so last minute only a few from surrounding territories who could make it came. Much to your surprise, you were greeted by the people with nothing but warmth, even the other Lords and Ladies congratulated you with smiles. Everything seemed to pass in a rush of your crash courses in governing from Lord Cha and his advisors which were pretty straight forward due to the amount of time you had previously spent with royals who never stopped talking about politics. You were bombarded with letters from every royal, lord, lady, baron, and Duchess on the continent as well as some who weren’t giving you their best regards and wishes for the future. You even saw one marked with the royal seal of Oclaria which you immediately shoved to the back of the drawer. But what really put into perspective of how much of a powerhouse on the continent Iyle was the news Lord Cha gave you in the meeting with your advisors a week after you coronation of sorts.

    “The Prince of Edesea is coming to visit for the Final Blossom festival and he’s arriving this afternoon?!” You exclaimed.

   “Yes,” Lord Cha sighed, “We just received word their delegation crossed the border this morning and they should be here by nightfall.”

    “You mean the Prince of Edesea as in Kim Minseok?” you asked, utterly dumbfounded. You hadn’t seen Minseok in months and now you were going to see him tonight? You had spent the last week helping to finalize the details of the Final Blossom festival in the capital and now you had to quickly organize for a visit from Edesea and one of your closest friends who knew nothing about what happened to you in the last few weeks.

   “Do you know Prince Minseok?” One of your advisors asked.

    You nodded, “I do but he knows nothing about me leaving the capital of Oclaria, much less being the Lady of Iyle.”

    You dismissed the meeting and quickly began planning for their visit and had the maids prepare quarters for the extra guests in the east wing which were supposed to be rooms for the governing family but weren’t in use since it was only you. Before you knew it evening had rolled around and you were standing at the dock with Lord Cha and a handful of guards as the boat carrying Minseok and his staff docked. You shifted from foot to foot as you watched people start to disembark and then you saw him surrounded by guards approaching where you were waiting, his eyes scanning the crowd and he stopped when they landed on you.

    “Y/n? What are you doing here?” He blurted out absolutely puzzled.

   Lord Cha cleared his throat and stepped forward, “Your Highness, this is Lady Y/n, the ruler of Iyle.”

    You stayed silent as his eyes widened with realization and he immediately bowed, “I apologize for my behaviour, It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Y/n,” he said stiffly.

   “Likewise, Your Highness,” you replied as you did your best to curtsy. You saw him purse his lips to suppress a chuckle as you wobbled coming back to a standing position, “It’s an honour to have you visit for one of our most important holidays, the news was a little bit last minute so I hope you find your accommodations suitable, Shall we head to the castle? I’m sure you’re all tired from your journey,” you said with a smile.

   “Lead the way,” he answered with a knowing smile as you stepped into the carriage with him and headed to the palace. Once the door was shut he turned back to you, “You can drop the formalities, we’re friends first and foremost.”

    “I missed you so much Minseok,” you exclaimed, doing your best to hug him in the tight space, “It feels like its been years since I last saw you.”

   “Me too,” he agreed, “And it seems like we have a lot to talk about,” he said, eyes drifting to the dress made in the style of most Iylian summer dresses which had short sleeves and scooping necklines and backs to combat the heat while still keeping your legs and torso covered.

The heat rose to your cheeks as you teasingly punched him, “Shut up, I heard in Edesea the women wear even smaller dresses.”

    “They do,” he chuckled, “But you look good, not just your dress but you look happier Lady Y/n.”

    “I guess I have to explain some things.”

   “It can wait till morning,” he assured you, “I’m sure we’re both exhausted.”

   You bid him goodnight as you entered your room and he entered his own, your maid whose name you learned was Shinhye was waiting to help you get ready for bed. It was always odd to think that just months ago you were in her position, helping Jiyoon get ready for the day and you were always reminded how much you missed your friends back in Arye.

-----

    The next morning you met Minseok in the Library in the east wing and explained everything to him, even what happened with Sehun in the royal palace.

    “I’ll kill him,” he seethed.

   “Please don’t,” you sighed, “It’s just as much my fault as it is his, just don’t tell the others,” You could see that he didn’t believe you one bit but thankfully he dropped it.

    “It actually explains a lot,” he told you before pulling out a stack of envelopes tied together, “A few weeks ago your friends from Arye sent these for you to the capital of Oclaria but Sehun immediately sent them back without any explanation. Junmyeon knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of his brother so when he heard I was going to visit the capitol after I visit IYle he asked me to give these to you, we thought you died or something.”

    Tears pricked your eyes as you saw letters from Jiyoon, Mari, Konu, Seon, and Kosho, “Thank you,” you choked out, doing your best not to ruin the makeup Shinhye had done for you this morning.

   “I’m just happy you’re okay,” Minseok sighed as he squeezed your hand, “Now how about you show me around your hometown?”

    The Final Blossom Festival went off without a hitch. You introduced Minseok to Kun, Junseo, Eizo, Fen, and Jungwon, who were still awestruck that you were the Lady of Iyle and friends with the prince of Edesea. The feast and ball were amazing, filled with laughter and dancing and delicious fruits. The dress you had been given was decorated with wreaths of flowers you were gifted by the attendees, Minseok was especially popular with the ladies, always having a partner to dance with as you indulged the boys in they’re bet and danced with each one, in turn, leaving each with a kiss on the cheek except Kun who declined almost immediately which made you all laugh.

    “Don’t let any of the Lord’s son’s see you kissing those boys or their heads might explode with jealousy, after all its not so often the Lady in charge of the most powerful territory in Oclaria is young, single, and pretty,” Minseok teased and you halfheartedly shoved him away. As much as Lord Cha assured you that you wouldn’t have to marry any time soon, you were familiar with this are of politics, and you knew eventually it might be necessary for you to solidify your standing. You didn’t let it cloud your thoughts because sure enough you were pulled onto the dance floor again. You wanted to live in the bliss of the festival for another few days but sure enough, that wouldn’t be the case as the next morning Lord Cha met you with an urgent letter, decorated with the royal crest.

----

Lady of Iyle,

   I wish to formally invite you to the Royal Palace to celebrate the beginning of summer. As the newly appointed leader of one of the most powerful territories in our country we regret that we were unable to attend the celebration but we hope you will be able to celebrate with us in two weeks time.

    His Majesty, The King of Oclaria, Sehun

----

“Well Minseok,” you sighed sitting down next to him in your dining room where you had been sharing breakfast before you were pulled away, “We won’t be parting ways anytime soon, The king has invited me to the royal palace for the beginning of summer festivities.”

   “Oh Y/n….”

   “I have to face him at some point, I can’t just hide here on this island.”

    “I didn’t tell you earlier…” he said quietly, “But the rumour is that his officials are pushing him to marry and he’s going to announce his engagement during the last day of festivities, during the ball.”

  You bristled and tried to swallow the lump in your throat, “I see, so everyone will be there?” he nodded, “I’m happy for him.”