#november grows closer every single year after all too

[eightylinesofvergil]

wuh woh

[expirednostalgia]

[ david castañeda, cis man, he/him ] — whoa! MIGUEL CORTEZ just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 1 YEAR working as a VET TECH. that can’t be easy, especially at only 35 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit SARDONIC and WITHDRAWN, but i know them to be RELIABLE and PRAGMATIC. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to STATEN ISLAND!

FULL NAME: Miguel Cortez

NICKNAME: N/A

AGE: 35

DATE OF BIRTH: November 18th

GENDER: Cis Man

PRONOUNS: He/Him

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

PLACE OF BIRTH: Houston, TX

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Havenwood Suites, Staten Island, NY

OCCUPATION: Vet Tech @ Soft Paws Clinic

AESTHETIC: Half finished mugs of coffee and dark circles under your eyes, an ache in your shoulders from carrying too much, the sound of your siblings' laughter echoing off the walls of the room you've all cramped into, a look of vague disinterest, stacks of books you'll get around to eventually, an old photo in one hand and a lengthy to-do list in the other, a small voice waking you up in the middle of the night to check the closet for monsters, the ever-present feeling that someone is missing

▷  currently  playing  ——  I FEEL HOW THE SNOW FALLS BY CHOIR BOY. 

Bio ! (death, terminal illness, grief, anxiety tws)

For some a large family may have seemed overwhelming or felt like it was easy to get lost between the cracks, but even at a young age, it was something Miguel enjoyed being part of. For a quiet kid who preferred to stay out of the spotlight, it suited him to have six other children around to soak up attention. In a lot of ways, he grew up feeling like his siblings were a security blanket, even if the majority of them were younger than him.

Growing up, Miguel was largely a well-behaved kid, aside from never-ending sarcastic remarks. He was the type of kid to do well in school, stay clear of most trouble, and focus on saving up for college, not because he felt obligated to set a good example for his siblings, but more out of a genuine interest in learning and disinterest in getting pulled into the conflicts of others.

That wasn't to say he never got wrapped up in other's problems. In fact, he always seemed to be helping his childhood friend out with whatever she was going through, and the same could be said about her with him. Polar opposites, someone who could pull Miguel out of his shell, they were each other's platonic soulmate. It was really no surprise to anyone when he was the person to help her out when she became a single mother, earning the honorary title of 'uncle Miguel'.

Life was all he could want it to be for a while, his siblings were around, he got to play a major part in his best friend's and her son's life, and was content with working at a vet clinic. And then suddenly things weren't too great. His friend got sick and kept getting worse to the point the very serious discussion of who would take care of her son came up. She didn't have family she was close to the way Miguel did and the kid's father had never been in the picture, so Miguel was the obvious choice.

So a promise was made and not too soon after, Miguel found himself raising a young kid on his own. A whole year passed and he felt like he wasn't cutting it, like he wasn't upholding his promise well enough while juggling new guardianship with grieving. Feeling stuck, he packed the two of them up and headed to the city, hoping that being closer to some of his siblings and away from where he grew up would help.

It's been a year now, and he still doesn't feel like he completely knows what he's doing. All he knows is that he made a promise and intends to honor it and do right by the kid he's raising.

Misc. !

The type of sibling to threaten to block every single one of their numbers whenever they're blowing up the group chat with memes he does not care about, but at the same time would drop everything to be there for them at 2 a.m. (within reason now just because he has a kid under his care now). Essentially acts annoyed but is a real ride or die.

Bounces between "yeah, sure you can vent to me, I'll help you clean up this mess" and "stop including me in this, oh my god I'm so tired, please get your shit together"

He carries so much anxiety around this guardian role. Part of it is "do I even know what I'm doing?", but the vast majority of it is just like "am I doing right by my friend? Am I raising Sonny the way she would've wanted? If she saw us now, would she approve?"

Definitely more of an animal person than a people person.

On top of that, getting him to socialize and go out is a chore. He can and will come up with a million excuses to stay in and if you somehow convince him to go out, you can guarantee he's going to complain about wishing he was home. Also, just not a yapper and more of a "if I have something to say, then I'll talk. If not, then I'm keeping quiet" type of person.

Honestly??? Doesn't know how to live in the present. He somehow manages to be too preoccupied about the future and a number of ways things could go wrong while also being very stuck on things that have already come to pass.

Between already being a pretty withdrawn person and then losing his very best friend, he does not make it easy to get to know him. Very much that post that's like 'when they start with that 'you never open up to me' nonsense but you've only known them for 5 years.........."

Wanted Connections/Plots !

All of his siblings, please and thank you. x

Fellow Parents: Will he directly ask for advice? Maybe, maybe not, but he'll definitely want to hang around with them and observe so he can later spiral and be like "I am in fact doing everything wrong!!!" But you know, maybe they can sort of help ease the pressure he puts on himself.

Babysitter: Unfortunately for him, he is going to get dragged out sometimes and he'll need someone to watch Sonny for him. This is something he would take very seriously, so it would have to be someone with prior experience with kids.

Opposites Attract: Like in a platonic way. Someone more high energy and social to drag him out to get him to enjoy things from time to time. And who knows, maybe there could be some angst attached to this because it's like "do I enjoy you as a person or do you just remind me of my dead friend?? Am I trying to replace someone with you??" </3

Misery Loves Company: Hear me out, I just enjoy grumpy characters sitting together and being grumpy together! Do they have to necessarily be friends? No, but they can just complain to each other and lament about how everything has gone wrong for them whenever they're around each other.

An Annoyance: In general I need more antagonistic plots, but anyway! This is just that one person he can't seem to get along with at all. The vibe is "it's a city of 8 million people and yet we keep running into each other and every single time it is a nightmare and I hate you more than I did previously."

More Ideas Here ! Open to anything though <3

[wilsonthemoose]

The Answer Lies in the Silence

Written for week 1 of the Dark!Dean Event, for the prompt: Altered State | Under Supernatural Influence

They grow up strange.

Or, Dean stopped talking after the night of the fire. He'd be 25 when he finally speaks for the first time again.

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Season/Series 01, POV John Winchester

On the 2nd of November 1983, John Winchester heard his wife scream and ran into his son's nursery to find Sammy cooing and Mary pinned to the ceiling, dripping blood.

As he looked up at her, fire caught around the edges of her nightgown and a tongue of fire leapt out at him.

Out of a night filled with vivid images that would haunt him for the rest of his life, that stood out: the tongue of fire shooting toward him, almost a pyromancer's trick in the way it behaved.

That image, and what he saw as he scooped Sammy in his arms and turned around one last time at the door: the sight of Dean standing on top of the dresser in the burning room.

He'd suppose later that Dean had been trying to climb up to the ceiling and rescue his mother, stupid boy. He'd looked at John in the doorway, fire reflected in his watery eyes. John had a heartbeat's hesitation, then a window had blown up bringing fresh air into the room and blowing the fire outwards.

Sam had shrieked in his arms, and John could not remember running down the hallway, the stairs, and out the door, but he remembered falling to his knees a few paces from his front door and sobbing into Sam's blanket.

Years later, he'd reflect that he need not have rushed. The fire would have waited patiently until Sam was out of harm's way.

As it was, Dean had stumbled out himself a few minutes after John, soot-blackened, coughing, but otherwise unharmed.

John had breathed a sigh of relief and said a prayer of gratitude each night through the believing and disbelieving years.

Dean stopped talking. Watchful as a fox in a forest, always at arm's length. John would pull him closer, tucking him under his arm or picking him up but he'd remain impassive, reciprocating as a matter of form but never with any warmth.

He hadn't even cried.

The social workers shook their heads, the doctors offered sympathetic, guarded reassurances of possibly favourable outcomes with time.

"How much time?"

Tilted heads, sorry expressions, "There's really no timeframe to these things," shakes of the head.

Blurry weeks and months later, Sammy babbled and Dean only listened. In many ways, John had lost them all that night, not just Mary.

When Sam learnt to talk, normally if somewhat morosely, John breathed a sigh of relief.

He tested Sam every way he could think of, learn, or just plain makeup, silver knives and holy water, mirrors and iron and salt. And he tried to pretend he didn't see the almost hateful, sneering glances Dean shot him, like the echo of that orange glow still lingering in Dean's eyes from the fire all these years later.

Storms followed them out of every state and down every country road. Cattle turned up mutilated. And always, inevitably, a corpse with a cut throat in every town they left.

They lived an isolated, cut-off existence.

People around them didn't have very long lives and John learnt early not to leave the kids with anyone. He'd get a call from Sam in the middle of the night, drop everything and haul ass back to wherever he'd left them, and find gory murder when he arrived.

Missouri, Bobby, Caleb. He didn't let the list get too much longer.

Sam dropped out of school after the fourth grade.

They were sullen, the two of them. Gaunt faced in their tattered second-hand flannels and patched denim, mistrusting and secretive.

Sam was often sick. Fevered and delirious through the nights, weak and exhausted during the days.

Dean was single-minded, devoted, and sleepless with a seemingly endless reserve of patience and strength that kept John from losing his mind even as it cut at him.

What if— what if someday they had to—

He'd watch Dean taking care of Sam like some silent angel and knew that Dean would follow Sam to hell, would break John's neck for suggesting otherwise.

It was paltry comfort.

He felt out of step. An intruder in his own family when what he'd wanted most of all, all his life, was a family by the fireside and a home where he belonged.

He tried to bond and tired of trying. Parks and museums, roadside sparring, shooting spare cans, fishing.

At 12, Dean could shoot a gun better than most adults, at 16 he was better than John.

At 18, he still hadn't spoken a word to him but John could have sworn he'd seen him talking to Sam. They got on well enough without words it was true, and he shook his head, it wasn't possible. He was being paranoid.

Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, he could hear a soft rough voice quite unlike Sam's through doors and at night when he was asleep, seeping into his dreams.

He poured salt at every doorstep and window sill, saw with relief that his sons were content to stay inside.

Lank-haired and sullen, gaunt and hollow-eyed but with a live-wire undertow of efficiency that John's own practiced eye would have missed had he not known better.

He didn't bat an eye when one shot up from the bed and crossed to the window, panther-silent and swift, but he thought of changelings and demon spawn and sometimes, when he left, he thought of never going back.

Sometimes, he wondered if he'd get another call from Sam and go back to find Dean the way he'd found Bobby all those years ago.

Dean was 25 when he finally spoke to John.

He was missing for days and when John finally found him, covered in blood, at least half his own, dirty and scraped, he stumbled and collapsed into John's arms, breathed, "Dad," and passed out.

John cradled his head, repeated "I've got you, I've got you, son," and took him back to the motel.

He woke up terrified, tried to tell John about a demon, tried to tell him something about Sam, but his voice was hoarse, breathing laboured, eyes wild, and forehead burning up. John hushed him, said, "I know," and soothed him until he passed out again slipping uneasily in and out of consciousness through the night and late into the next morning.

He sat vigil, watched Dean toss and turn, speak in his sleep, try to stay awake long enough to tell him something.

Three days later, John left the motel for the first time to get them all something to eat and when he came back, Dean was on his feet. Weak and exhausted, but his old self again.

John tried to get him to talk, but he would only stare, jaw clenched and something like a sick glint in his eyes.

John got up, went to the bathroom, and punched the mirror into fragments. It wasn't until a few days later, that he realized.

If he'd known earlier (and he should have), John might have stood half a chance. As it is he can only hate himself for not knowing his own son.

But he walked in and out of Pastor Jim's church a hundred times, he didn't flinch at holy water.

John recalls the glow of his eyes, fire-orange, he always thought, flashing at him like a challenge— really, it was sulfur yellow. He thinks of Sam, sick so often, fevered and delirious, shaking, writhing in agony. Passing fevers, John would try to pass them off as, occasional illnesses. Textbook withdrawals, he never let himself think.

He thinks of the games, the signs halfway across the country that took them packing. The little whispers, the gun that could kill anything, the Kurd knife he traded for two pints of his own blood. It's in his jacket pocket, one flick of the wrist out of his grasp but he never reaches for it.

It would be futile anyway.

[darlingpoppet]

WIP — Where The Dead Forget Chapter 7 excerpt

Either a few days late or a few days early for WIP Wednesday :) Here are the first 600 words or so of the chapter as of right now, though it might still need some tweaking. Contrary to this initial scene, this in fact a very Patroclus-centric chapter and he’s the POV character most of the time and I’m very excited about it!

I’m hoping to finish this chapter sometime in February, though admittedly I’ve feeling a bit of fatigue the past couple weeks after writing and/or editing so much every single day since November, lol. So it’s been going a bit more slowly while I allow myself a break & some time away from the draft. I know this comes as no surprise but the writing process can be pretty lonely sometimes. I suppose any encouragement and feedback is welcome! <3

Patroclus looks up at the sound of Achilles’ approach.

Achilles stops short, a few paces away from him at the top of the stone staircase, uncertain if he ought to come any closer. He assesses Patroclus’ mood carefully.

There is recognition in his face this time, but it is impassive—whether Patroclus feels joy, annoyance, or nothing at all at the sight of him, Achilles cannot say. He is unsure whether or not this is what their reunion would have been like, if none of this had happened. If only he had ever tried to imagine it.

“So, you’re back,” Patroclus says.

“Yes,” says Achilles. “I said that I would come again, did I not?”

“You did.”

“Are you displeased?”

Patroclus lifts his chin and regards him for a moment, considering.

“You are free to do as you wish,” he says, finally.

Achilles decides this is as close to assent as he is going to receive at this point. He gently lays down his spear by the riverbank, and then sits himself on the grass beside Patroclus, neatly folding his legs. He sets his clasped hands into his lap, trying not to fidget.

Patroclus’ manner had always been soft-spoken and unassuming in life, but there was always an underlying mischief to it, a dryness and sardonic, vicious wit. Now however, there is a monotonous lilt in his gentle voice, a listless look in his eyes. Is it the fault of the Lethe? Or had Patroclus always been this way in death? Even with the apparent blank spots in his memory, he still seems to have kept his wits. In many ways, he has become much the same as Achilles in death: an incomplete soul, quiet and contemplative. However, Achilles is unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of Patroclus’ coldness, reserved usually only for those he truly disliked or otherwise did not trust. Even from the beginning, he had been more shy rather than abrasive towards him (even if Achilles had once mistaken it for the latter).

“I wanted to come see you again, because I’m not sure that we started off on the right foot last time,” he says. “I was too forward. I did not respect your feelings or your privacy. I did not mean to pry. I am sorry.”

Achilles’ thoughts lingered once more on their adolescence. Back then, in the days and weeks since learning the extent of Patroclus’ past—of his crime and all the rest, the reasons for his behaviors over the previous years began to make sense. Patroclus had been a person who guarded his wounded heart carefully, wary of anyone who might try to gut him completely. And yet, it seemed as if he had opened it to Achilles so easily back then, their relationship so full of intimacy and closeness and touch since that very first day of their friendship. It was the privilege of children perhaps—still innocent, and brazenly eager to love and be loved in return, in spite of everything.

It is a privilege that both of them no longer have. Achilles is doubtful that Patroclus could grow to love anew what he has become now—a wretched and gloomy shade with only his sorrows and too many regrets. And though his hands practically twitch with his ache for it, he does not dare to try to touch him now.

Perhaps unexpectedly, Patroclus’ expression softens.

“To be honest, I am a bit relieved that you came back,” he says. “On the contrary, I was unkind last time. I too, had wished to make it up to you.”

[usmsgutterson]

Yellow- Pin Hawthorne

OKAY, YES-- I’ve wanted to write for Pin Hawthorne since having finished the show, and I’ve decided to do it, because I simply can’t resist and Pin is my favorite moody horseboi, plus, this blurb (imagine? I don’t know how long it’s gonna go yet!) is entirely inspired by the songs Yellow and Sparks by Coldplay, because the show is modern and the songs were released W A Y before the years that show is set in, so yay! 

Pins aged up in this, as well. In the show he’s around 16-17? In this, he and the reader are both 20!

I might have Pins characterization a little off because I’ve only watched the show once (I’m gonna rewatch it before I do a shadow and bone rewatch,, moody pin is just a bit too endearing) but other than that, lets do it!

The reader is American for this, and I did mostly keep it gender neutral, aside from an outfit description! Even then, though, I did try to keep it androgynous

Fic type- fluff

Warnings-none

It took a ton of convincing on Pins part to get his dad to let him use the castle for something that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed small. He’d known it might’ve, and started the process a good month before the event was even to happen. A decision that he’d made that wound up working in his favor. 

“You really love them, don’t you?” His father asked, pressing the keys into his palm as Pin gave a nod. “Even with all the stupid nicknames?” Pin grimaced, but nodded again. 

“Even the stupid nicknames, Dad,” he assured. “All of them.” His father broke out into a smile, pulling Pin in for a hug as he tucked the key away into his jacket pocket.

“Well then, happy anniversary,” his father mumbled. “Five years? Gotta admit, I had faith, but I didn’t think you’d make it this far. Not with someone like them.”

“I know,” Pin retorted. “I’m pretty lucky.” Pin knew that ‘pretty lucky’ might as well have been understatement of the year, but went along with it anyway, pulling away from his father and slowly approaching Elvis, patting his side a few times before climbing onto the saddle and riding down to the castle that he, as the duke, could technically call home. 

The castle was big and at times, tough to get around, but he made his way just fine, letting Elvis move at a slow gallop rather than a run, figuring that he had the time, considering you’d agreed to meet at 8 and it was barely 7:15.

When he arrived, he put Elvis away safely, and made his way through the entrance and up to the outdoor balcony, which had a view outlooking the expansive land on which the castle was built, and the trees that went around the outerrim of the space.

He grabbed his bag off the chair on which he’d had his butler leave it the day previous, almost grinning to himself as he sat at the glass table, rummaging through the bag for everything that he’d put in it.

A bottle of wine, because why not, several sweets, a ton of the polaroids you’d taken in the seven years you’d known each other, some fairy lights that he’d hang up so that you weren’t totally and completely in the dark, and a bluetooth speaker that Becky had gotten him that Christmas; one that he’d still not bothered to use, despite the fact that it was almost June. 

“Can I get you anything sir?” Arthur poked his head through the balcony door way, and Pin found himself startled. 

“Uh, yes please. Wine glasses,” Arthur gave a single, solitary nod.

“The dinner that you requested will be here by the time you requested for it,” he responded. “Though, are you really sure fast food is what you want? It doesn’t seem right to celebrate an anniversary with fast food.” Pin forced his gaze to his lap so that Arthur wouldn’t glimpse his smile. 

You’d come from America, just like Zoe had, but you’d moved with your family to the island when you were eleven. You’d met Pin when you were thirteen. 

One summer, Pins father was insistent that he get away from the stables, spend some time somewhere he’d not gone before, travel a little, and your family had agreed to let him spend the eight weeks of summer with you in the united states. 

You’d had your first date in a McDonalds that same summer, when you and Pin were fifteen. He’d felt weirded out, at first. The fact that he’d never eaten from a McDonalds, despite there having been a couple on the island, almost made him confused. You’d gotten chicken nuggets to split and a couple of the pastries to count as a desert of sorts, and thus sparked the relationship.

“No reason,” Pin murmured. “It’s quick. It’s easy, and the last meal that they ate was lunch.” Arthur gave another nod, and Pin began fiddling with the speaker as he heard Arthurs footsteps grow farther and farther away. 

It was a speaker that was almost the size of his hand and designed to look like a vintage radio. Forest green was the color, and the dial on the right side would control volume. The three buttons below the dial were the power button, the on/off button, and the skip button. Pin turned it on, checking the sound quality by playing two MCR songs, silently bopping his head as Arthur returned, the supplies that Pin had asked Arthur to gather in a bag perched neatly on his arm.

Arthur placed the bag on the table wordlessly, leaving Pin to do his thing as he stopped using the speaker,  deciding that the sounds of nature; the river, the rustling of trees and the beautiful view of the sky as the sun grew closer and closer to setting was much better company than Gerard Way scream-singing his lungs out. 

He’d spent the remainder of the time he had working on your gift. At the end of it, he felt proud of himself, even despite how dumb he’d thought the idea was at first.

It was all of his favorite photos of you--polaroids he’d taken via polaroid camera and polaroids that became polaroids when he’d used a polaroid printer alike-- neatly put into a big picture frame, plus a couple of his sweaters that you liked to steal, some of your favorite sweets, and a journal he knew you’d been eyeing at one of the shops. 

Arthur put the McDonalds onto the table in the last ten minutes before eight, putting the wine glasses beside the bag. “I’ll send them here when they’ve arrived,” he murmured, shooting Pin a smile as he turned and walked away. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Pin had the dinner mostly set up, the chicken nuggets at the center of the table, fries on either side, wine glasses filled the appropriate amount. 

“You’re lucky I love you, Hawthorne,” Pin was almost breathless as he glanced over to you, putting the bag that he’d put your gift in on the ground to his right. “If you were anyone else, I’d not have waited so long to eat dinner.” You’d worn a simple pair of black jeans, with a black turtleneck and a dark gray blazer overtop. You styled your hair like you always did, and your smile was bright, eyes warm as you looked at him.

“McDonalds and wine,” you sat, putting the gift you’d gotten Pin on the ground to your left, reaching across the table and taking his hand in yours. “The perfect way to a persons heart.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, gesturing to the fairy lights Arthur must’ve put up while he was busy in the world of gift making. They weren’t lit yet, as the sun had barely begun to dip over the horizon, but he’d light them once it grew darker. You nodded.

“It’s absolutely lovely,” you responded. “I didn’t think you’d put this much effort in, to be totally honest.” You were poking at him, pricking gently at his work ethic in the hopes of getting a kiss across the table. 

“I’d have been fine just cuddling the day away,” you admitted. “And I know you would’ve, but thank you. For everything.” He smiled, feeling grateful for Zoe’s suggestion that he use the castles balcony to his advantage when he’d brought his plans up to her and Marcus. 

“You’re welcome,” he responded. 

After that, you lapsed into a comfortable silence, making occasional conversation as you ate and drank. You let Pin ramble about the sick horses at Bright Fields and made a mental note to visit the hospital part of the stables, see how they were doing and make sure they knew that they were loved. As you cleaned up, putting your garbage back into the McDonalds bag, you gave Pin updates on some of the horses around the stables and the wild horses that you and Jade had been tracking. 

“There’s a foal, too!” Pin loved seeing you get so excited, and that was no exception. “I know that we shouldn’t name the wild horses, but I couldn’t help myself, so I named the horse November.”

“Why November?”

“The foals coat is white. Snow is white, and snow happens in November. It just seemed fitting!” You grabbed the bag, going inside only briefly to put it into the nearest trash bin before walking back out and sitting back down. 

Pin grabbed the bag with your gift in it at the same time you grabbed the bag with his. He slid yours to you with a bright smile, and you slid his to him with the same.

You opened yours first. “Your hoodies!” You yelled out, smile turning into a full on beam, “Pin, you know that we’re moving in together in the fall, right? You’re just gonna get these back!” Pin shrugged.

“You get them until the fall, I’ll wash them, wear them a couple of times, and then they’re yours again. I get to see you in my clothes and you get to be warm and comfortable constantly! I call it a win-win situation!” 

“Can’t disagree with that!” You put the sweaters back in the bag, grabbing the photo frame next. 

You sighed, feeling your legs turn to jello as your heart melted. You looked up at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you did. “Five years of polaroids,” you whispered. “And you’re giving them back to me?” Pin just shrugged, feeling tempted to round the table, crouch next to you and kiss you senseless, but he resisted. 

“I took photos of them,” he responded, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and waving it around. “I can always get more copies from the polaroid printer.” You laughed lightly.

“Thank you, Pin, so much.” You’d never stop saying it. You had so much to thank him for. Every smile, every laugh, every dinner date, every ride out into the countryside and every kiss. 

“You don’t need to thank me, love,” he responded. “Theres one more thing in there for you.” He gestured to the bag as you put the photo frame back into it, pulling out the journal you’d been eying a moment later. 

“No fucking way!” You cursed, turning it over in your hands. Pin leaned back into his chair, shrugging while he nodded. 

It was a simple journal: a brown leather bound thing that was the same color as Elvis’s fur, but it had pages that were suitable for practically anything.

“I know you’ve wanted it for a while, and, well, I figured you could use it for just about anything. Sketches, diary entries, even putting bank statements in the thing would make a good use for it,” You slightly stood, planting a kiss to his nose across the table. 

You put the journal back into the bag and gestured to the bag he’d put in his lap. “It’s your turn, duke.”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered. He narrowed his eyes at you, but the smirk that followed after told you he’d not been serious. 

The first thing he’d pulled out was a scrapbook of the years that you’d spent together. From photos like the victory one that Ted had taken after you’d completed riding lessons, Pin doing a thumbs up on the right side of your horse while you sat on it still, throwing a peace sign and smiling, to random photos you’d taken together. 

Blurry ones that’d been taken with the timer feature. You flipping off the camera while Pin flopped back onto his bed. One from when you were both sixteen, in the middle of turning around, his arms snaked around your waist and yours resting on his shoulders as you kissed, the screen blurred but not so blurred that you couldn’t tell what was happening. 

A couple that Zoe, Jade, Becky and Marcus had taken. You, exhausted, with your head in Pins lap as he fiddled with a camera, curled up and almost hidden from sight in the haybales. You and Pin at the pony prom, slow dancing, looking at each other with nothing but love in your eyes. A shot taken as you and Pin left the stables, backs to the camera, hands interlocked. A photo of you and Pin in the haybales again, you with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders, hay in your hair. A laptop sat discarded beside Pins sleeping body, playing old episodes of Criminal Minds. Both of you had sleepy smiles on your faces. 

Pin laughed as he saw more than one picture of you two asleep in the haybales, some taken by Jade, most taken by Zoe, though there were a few shots that’d been taken by his father. 

“I love this,” he glanced up at you, then to the speaker that sat on the edge of the table. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, horse-boy!” He snorted, putting the scrapbook on the table and grabbing the next thing in the bag.

It was a sweater; one that he’d not seen since before his eighteenth birthday. “Thief,” he murmured, folding the sweater and putting it atop the scrapbook. 

“You’re my favorite person,” was your lovestruck retort. He blushed as he grabbed the last thing in the bag.

It was a camera; a polaroid to replace the one that’d been broken in the months before, and it was vintage. 

“You didn’t,” he looks up at you, face showing disbelief as clearly as his voice did. In response, you just shrugged.

“We’ve taken a lot of photos, and you loved the polaroid camera. I used a connection or two that I have and I grabbed it for you.”

“How much was it?” He asked. “We had a limit! No more than fifty pounds!” 

“It was forty nine pounds, and the taming of a wild horse found just outside the coast of Maine. She comes in a couple of days, by the way.” Pin put the things back in the bag and stood, grabbing the speaker and turning it on, connecting his phone to it a minute later.

“You love chaos,” he teased. “But I love you, so I love it by association.” He held his hand out to you, and you took it, giggling as he pulled you in close, bringing you into a passionate kiss that lingered on your lips even after it’d ended. 

He paused only to have Yellow by Coldplay stream through the speaker, putting his phone on the table next to it.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, emphasizing more on his accent in a silly way to get you to laugh. It worked, to his delight, as you nodded, cheeks flushing bright red.

“You may have every dance, if you so wish it,” he felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and gently swaying with you as your arms moved to rest at his shoulders and his moved to your waist, wrapping around it, his hands meeting and folding at the small of your back. ‘

He’d found a way to loop the song so that it played a couple of times back to back, but you didn’t mind. You had Pin. You had Pin and his sarcasm, his smiles, his voice, still drenched with sleep in the mornings and his peaceful face while he slept. You had tea in the mornings, quiet afternoons spent riding or in helping horses, and evenings laughing with your friends, Pin at your side. 

You’d known Pin for seven years, and you’d been dating him for five. He was like the lgiht at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel, and he embraced you tightly as you finally escaped it. 

“What makes you happy?” he asked you absentmindedly, just to get to hear the melodic sound of your voice again. You laughed, meeting his gaze with a smile. 

“You, Pin,” you responded. “You make me happy.” He stared at you for a long moment, wishing that he had what he’d kept in his sock drawer since Christmas. 

“What makes you happy?” You repeated.

“You, Y/N. Always you,” you leaned up, pressing your lips to his without so much as thinking twice.

The kiss was messy, and you stumbled backward a little, but you giggled as you did. When you pulled away, you were delighted to find that Pins cheeks were burning as bright as yours, the same red that coated some parts the sky as the sun dipped down the horizon. 

“You’re the love of my life,” Pin was almost in awe at how easily you said it, like you’d been reading off a grocery list or ingredients for a recipe. Pin had wanted to say it since he’d bought the thing that sat in that pathetic little sock drawer, but he’d still not figured out how to say it and make it worthwhile.

“Do you want forever?” The closest he’d get, but he was fine with that, and relieved as you’d nodded. “I promise you forever then, Y/N.”

[fatehbaz]

Ah man I'm so glad you made that post about ski resorts and racism, I never see content about the effects of ski resorts on the land. Keeping jumbo wild was a huge W and I was so glad to see it, and I hope it puts pressure on the people trying to push zincton through. I actually haven't heard much abt the zincton project lately, do you know of any updates? Thanks again for the content, so rarely hear other voices online from the inland temperate rainforest

Hey, thank you so much for the message. I know you’re also a fan of the region. Glad you saw that post and said something to me. :)

Yes, there has been some new media coverage of Zincton as of November 2020. And can I use this as an opportunity to say a couple of things about this rainforest? Sorry in advance for rambling and all of this text.

Right? The downfall of the Jumbo project was uplifting. Ski resorts obviously (like many “parks” in US and Canada) involve Indigenous dispossession and obscuring/erasure of histories and lives. (Details from that article: US sky resort visitors are 88% white, and half make over $100 thousand a year.)  As for voices from the inland temperate rainforest: Gotta mention that the province of BC goes to such great lengths to silence the voices of the Sinixt people, declared “extinct” by the Canadian government and whose traditional territory includes much of the inland temperate rainforest (between 2016 and 2020, BC has fought against the Sinixt and their request for recognition, appealing every ruling, culminating in an October 2020 Supreme Court hearing). BC institutions like to claim the inland temperate rainforest as a “treasure” or “prize”, a “globally-unqiue” ecosystem, as a sort of entitlement or patrimony; meanwhile, the province of BC legally fights the Sinixt in court, ignores the caribou extinction, and still issues dozens of logging/timber and clear-cut contracts in the inland temperate rainforest each year. That said, the end of Jumbo was good news.

For anyone unfamiliar: Jumbo was a ski resort mega-development project planned for the Purcell Wilderness on Ktunaxa traditional territory right in the heart of the inland temperate rainforest region of interior so-called British Columbia, in old-growth cedar-hemlock forest, on the edge of glaciers, and in the middle of key habitat of southern mountain caribou, grizzly, wolverine, mountain lion, lynx, wolf, elk, mountain goat, marten, fisher, etc. The Glacier Resorts-owned project would’ve been “the single largest ski resort in North America” including a “resort base” of at least 110 hectares, a hotel with over 5,500 beds, and an expectation of over 3,000 visitors a day. The Ktunaxa had opposed the project since 1991, and took a case to federal Supreme Court. In January 2020, the Ktunaxa were able to buy-out the project, and the Jumbo area will now be managed as a formal Indigenous Protected Area.

The new Zincton resort is also being built on Ktunaxa and Sinixt land, about 70 kilometers away from the former Jumbo resort site.

Traditional territories:

And yes, there are some updates on Zincton from November 2020.

@moss-effect -- I know that you already know this stuff. But for anyone unfamiliar:

The Zincton resort is being constructed only about 70-ish kilometers or so away from where the Jumbo resort was planned. Zincton is also on Ktunaxa territory, as well as traditional land of the Sinixt. Zincton (being built near Valhalla and Goat Range, between Naksup and Kaslo) expects a “grand opening” in December 2021. The project is run by the owner/founder of a local outfitter/recreation company. As of November 2020, BC’s Mountain Resorts Branch is still reviewing the owner’s formal proposal. Zincton sits closer to even more extensive old-growth forest and major protected areas.

Zincton also seems to be a manifestation of that now-classic category: “progressive” settler-colonial entrepreneurs from coastal BC, the Pacific Northwest, and/or Rocky Mountain West are familiar with local rhetoric and therefore elude criticism by rebranding their extractive and development projects as “eco-friendly”. According to The Narwhal (November 2020) the owner/project leader had this to say about the project: “There is a real story here of a proven disruptor facing down the mob to do one last project for the kids and grandkids. … Jobs for locals, a future for families, saving the hospital. Zincton is the Tesla of the ski village business.”

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Also, for context: Here’s a post I made about the inland temperate rainforest, its ecology/geography, and its endemic creatures. Here’s a post from June 2020 about the Zincton resort development. Here’s a compilation post with news/timeline/summary and maps describing the extinction of southern mountain caribou in 2019 (southern mountain caribou are a local icon, completely endemic to this region, and are highly endangered; caribou were declared extinct in the contiguous United States in 2019 when the last of the southern mountain caribou were relocated farther north to BC). Here’s a compilation post with news/timeline following the Sinixt case to receive formal recognition from BC/Canada in 2019 and 2020 (much of the rainforest, including the Zincton site, is within Sinixt traditional territory; the Canadian government declared the Sinixt “extinct” in the 1950s).

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Location of core cedar-hemlock forest of inland temperate rainforest region, compared with distribution range of the southern mountain caribou:

Photos I took of stream habitat in inland temperate rainforest:

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Coincidentally, just a couple of days ago, The Narwhal just released an “explainer” dedicated to the Zincton: Paul Fischer. “Why B.C.’s Zincton resort, the proposed ‘Tesla of ski villages,’ is worrying conservationists.” The Narwhal. 27 November 2020.

Zincton claims that it is a “radical departure from the status quo” and will be a “carbon-zero” resort. But local groups oppose the project, including Wildsight, West Kootenay Eco Society, and locally-famous Valhalla Wilderness Society. (The core of the inland temperate rainforest is sometimes referred to as “Valhalla” or “Caribou Rainforest”.) The project also claims that the resort’s focus on so-called “eco-tourism” is a good way to “grow and replace economic decline,” which you might perceive to be a settler-colonial interpretation of the “value” of the forest and also suggests that the concern here is, of course, making money. From Fischer’s article: ‘In a series of emails with The Narwhal, Harley [the project leader] dismissed environmental concerns. He said impacted grizzly habitats are low quality and categorized the criticism from certain environmental groups as a “copy and paste” campaign motivated by a desire to oppose everything rather than contribute constructively.’

These quotes can be found in the article:

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Here’s some other stuff:

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Headlines from the Jumbo resort news:

The Sinixt case:

Southern mountain caribou herd decline in the inland temperate rainforest between 1990 and 2018. The Zincton resort will directly affect Purcells South, Central Selkirks, and South Selkirks herd.

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And I want to say that both the Ktunaxa and Sinixt people have recently been undermined, insulted, and dispossessed by BC and development projects in similar ways. Media, educational material, and conservation groups in BC like to point out that the inland temperate rainforest is “globally-unique” (in that it’s really the planet’s only sizable “coastal-type temperate rainforest” existing inland and away from a coast). And you’ll see the inland temperate rainforest described with terms like: prized, treasure, gem, hidden/secret rainforest, etc. And the region is discussed in settler-colonial terms/concepts (”BC’s forgotten rainforest,” “BC’s other rainforest”, “a magnificent carbon cache”, “unparalleled resource”) as if it is the patrimony of the province of BC or Canadian state. Which of course is problematic because it (1) associates the forest’s importance with bioprospecting/scientific extractivism, carbon sequestration, or other metrics of settler-colonial “value,” and also because (2) the province of BC continues to fight very hard against recognizing the land as part of Sinixt territory (after Sinixt people and allies were able to win cases against BC, the province continued to appeal, and this case has now culminated in the October 2020 hearing at the federal Supreme Court, which will soon make a final ruling on whether or not Sinixt people are legally allowed land rights to harvest, travel, etc. within BC).

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Here’s a map:

From 2018, there is this book:

In the US, too, parks, like ski resorts, are implicated in Indigenous dispossession.

Glacier National Park (at the border of BC, Alberta, and Montana) sits on the edge of the Kootenay and inland temperate rainforest regions. Conservation groups, universities, and other US institutions have taken to calling Glacier part of “the Crown of the Continent” (another possessive/patrimonial term maybe?), a portion of the heavily-glaciated Canadian Rockies that kinda includes Banff and Jasper, too. Glacier National Park is on Ktunaxa and Blackfeet territory. A recently published book that might be interesting: People Before the Park: The Kootenai and Blackfeet Before Glacier National Park. Sally Thompson, Kootenai Cultural Committee, and Piikuni Traditional Association. 2015

Described by Montana Public Radio in 2017: “Step [...] into the world of the Kootenai and Blackfeet peoples, whose traditional territories included the area that is now Glacier National Park. [...] In this book, the Kootenai and Blackfeet tribes share their traditions -- stories and legends, foodways and hunting techniques, games and spiritual beliefs.”

Just a special place.

Thank you for saying something.

[delldarling]

forest vows | aspen iii

non-binary forest being x gender/body neutral reader 5100 words lemon | making out, multiple tongues, fingers, oral, size difference, sex pollen (but consent is Very Much still included) chapter one? or chapter two?

───── ❝ ❦ ❞ ─────

Winter makes one last desperate grab for spring, sinking lightning strikes like talons into rain heavy clouds. The days are still cold and gray, still better suited to thick jackets and staying off the roads, but green finally appears on bare tree limbs, sprouting and unfurling into bright shoots before you can blink. All you can think about is visiting Aspen now that the snow has stopped falling. The heavy scent of them has been lingering in the air, the faint sweetness of nectar and the crispness of greenery. You know from experience that it isn't the wisest decision though, running off into the heavily soaked trees all on your lonesome. Then again, you’re not sure you can make any claims to being wise when you’ve been dating a creature of the forest, brought into being by human feelings of love and affection. And lust.

You can’t forget about the lust.

The bloom that Aspen had dropped for you that first night fed on lust, just the same as them. Small and dainty, with a single stem, you’d brought it home and put it in water, charmed by the gesture. You hadn’t thought much of it for a few days. Hadn’t done more than give it a few glances, thoughts drifting to Aspen’s rumbling voice and slick tongues. It looked normal enough, but after a few days you’d noticed that it was still fresh, and after a week that it had grown.

Nervous, and wondering if you were going to have to tend to some kind of child-like Ent creature, you’d brought it back to Aspen a day later, but the sight of the thriving blossom had only made them laugh.

“This was meant to be a gift only. A reminder.” Aspen had bent, their branches creaking, threads of lichen getting caught on your shoulder as they prodded the petals. The bloom hadn’t moved, hadn’t grown or opened beady little eyes, but then Aspen had tilted their head to rest upon yours. A leaf sprouted along the stem when Aspen touched you, quickly followed by another bud. The motion had left you both enraptured, wide eyed and silent until it stopped growing. “As long as you desire me," Aspen had murmured, lowering their voice as their wooden mouth brushed your ear, "I believe it will remain fresh. Indeed, it may well grow larger.”

“Will it be sentient?”

“I know not,” they’d confessed, truthful. You hadn’t missed the teasing glint in the depths of their dark eyes though. “But I doubt it. Many of my blooms have dropped here through the years, but none have lingered for long.” Aspen had plucked the bloom out of your fingers and then had tucked it behind your ear. It had sprouted more leaves, had grown a small offshoot, but a day after you’d gone back home, it had… If not exactly withered, had returned to its original state. And then every time you’d been in the same room as the bloom, every time you’d even felt a hint of arousal, the flower had perked back up, had flourished like it had roots and the perfect soil. Until midwinter.

Aspen, for all intents and purposes, hibernated during the coldest months of the year. There had been little reason to try and stay awake when humans stopped coming to Makeout Point before you, but even with your presence and touch bolstering them, Aspen had begun to grow drowsy. Three days before midwinter, they’d barely been able to speak past cracking yawns, the moss and lichen on their shoulders and chest grown dry and brittle. The lack of them, of being able to look forward to seeing them, had put a damper on your spirits. And then the bloom going into stasis three days later had been a bit worse.

Winter felt like it lasted an age, but two days ago the little white flower had perked up again. You’d been walking past the small vase, lonely and lost in thought when the moving petals had caught your eye, reaching slowly towards the weak sunlight shining through the fogged windows. You’d assumed it had only been disturbed by a breeze until you’d reached for it, extending two fingers. The blossom had shot up, stem growing long until it bumped into your skin, Aspen’s heady scent filling up the room until you’d breathed deep and, overwhelmed, sneezed. You’d felt a bit silly asking the little plant if Aspen was awake, and even sillier when it hadn’t reacted in the slightest. There was little cause for doubting though, not after the flower had followed Aspen into its own rest, all you need to do now is wait.

But waiting is proving much harder than you want it to be. You miss Aspen, have been missing them and their rumbling laugh. You miss the way they can’t seem to stop stroking your cheek or your shoulder, eager to touch you, to have your attention. You’ve thought about them frequently through the winter, but that nectary taste is so heavy on the back of your tongue now, no matter what you drink, no matter how deeply you breathe in that it feels… Off. I should go, you tell yourself a few times a day, but as soon as you make it to your car, you find a handful of excuses to stop. To stay. The winter might have been long, but another week won’t hurt anything, will it?

Twice you drive halfway there, but the state of the roads always sends you back. Rain has been pouring from the sky, leaving the underbrush of all forested areas slogged with mud, and Makeout Point will be the worst of all. The normally well traveled paths are always dotted with leaf litter, and this time of year they’re likely to have puddles, floating with decaying leaves, unassumingly deep. All it would take is one misplaced step, your feet gliding through the slick mud, for chaos to reign. If Aspen is awake, they would most definitely attempt to help, but you can’t imagine a giant tree person carrying you back to your car without a few lingering consequences.

The rumors about Big Foot and wandering bears died down towards the end of November, but at best that would start them up again. At worst—well, you don’t really want to imagine the worst. Most of those thoughts have to do with mob mentality, and you can’t let yourself imagine that fallout without feeling sick.

You swallow, finding yourself back on the road to Makeout Point, heart beating a bit too fast. You don’t fight the urge to go this time. The flower had been much larger today, dotted with new buds and leaves, and all it had taken was a single inhale of the little thing to make you ache.

Even if all you do is spend a short time by Aspen’s side, you have to see them. Just to make sure they’re awake. Just to make sure they’re okay.

You’re clutching at the curved handle of your umbrella, rain splattering against the arch of water-proof material, as well as the sleeves of your zip-up hoodie, when you realize you may not have thought things through. Again. You look down at your feet, frowning at the amount of mud already caking your boots, and glance back up at the winding path disappearing through the trees. It would be smartest to head back, rather than risk a dangerous slip down a too-soft hill. Smarter to keep the visit short, rather than risk getting soaked through.

You think of the soft fan of Aspen’s fern-like eyelashes when they blink, and the way they shiver every time you press a kiss to the whorls on their cheek. They always turn to kiss you in the best way they know how, afterwards. A gentle tilt of their head, the slow, slick curl of one of their tongues around yours. You can taste the faint sweetness of them on your lips, can feel the pressure of their fingers on your back. You’ve already come this far out to see them. You can take a few minutes to give them a kiss, despite the chill and splatter of rain, can’t you?

The trail becomes worse as you go on, the rain having battered down the dirt in places where the branches overhead are thin. You have to hug the trunk of a twisted oak as you slip by one of the deeper puddles, fingers scrabbling at the craggy bark when a root proves too slippery. You don’t fall, but it’s a near thing, and your heart doesn’t thank you for the scare. Moving slower becomes necessary the longer you walk, searching out patches of thick moss to dry and wipe your boots on. Even on drier patches of dirt you’re still sliding with mud and leaves sticking to your boots. When you finally crest the small hill that leads to Makeout Point, you assume your impatience will wane, that this arduous ache will ease now that you know Aspen is close. Instead, it grows tenfold.

It’s cold outside, the rain is freezing, but as soon as you see the riot of fauna and moss crawling down the path, you feel terribly hot. It’s like you’ve been running a marathon in your winter clothes, like the umbrella is keeping the relief of the cold rain from your face.

You toss it aside, striding up the path, barely paying attention to the unsteadiness of your steps. You can still feel the mud sliding under your feet, you recognize the sensation of rocks and bits of dead branches catching in your boots, but none of that matters now that you’re here.

Makeout Point no longer looks like a mildly haunted hangout for people looking to bring a bit of a thrill back into their lives. The rough campground atmosphere has vanished in the wake of springtime. The sky overhead is still grey, still covered over with clouds, but they’re thinning, bathing the spot in the promise of sunshine soon to come. The fire pit, made of forest found stones or carefully cultivated bricks, is overgrown with ferns and green and purple leaved clover. Dainty white flowers are brilliant in the tide of greenery, drawing the eye like a meandering path of scattered stars. As gorgeous and awe-inspiring as Makeout Point currently looks, the calm feeling that you came here for, prior to Aspen finally deciding to speak to you, is utterly absent.

The humidity has risen, and sweat dots the back of your neck while you slowly creep closer, staring up at the ocean of thick leaves and blooms and buds swaying with the breeze. It’s always been shadowed, has always sported full branches, but this is almost overkill. The branches are so heavy with buds and new growth that they’re bowing, and the gentle weight of a single bird looks like it could make them snap. You breathe in deep, fumbling with your hoodie, eager to shrug out of it, when you finally turn and spot Aspen, standing straight and tall in their normal place.

They’re waking, the obsidian gleam of their eyes mildly unfocused as they blink. The horn-like branches on their head are draped so thoroughly with vines and thick leaves, and the blooms that match the one you have back home, that all you can bring yourself to do is stare. You’d thought that Aspen looked impossible the first time you’d seen them, a being so strange but artfully put together that surely they could be nothing but animatronic, something you would normally only ever see through a movie screen. A creature pulled straight out of someone's imagination.

“Lovely,” they say, and their name for you reaches right down into your depths. Your bones, you realize, have felt like kindling placed too close to the fire, and Aspen’s voice is the bright burst of heat that finally makes everything pop. They take a step away from their spot, caught midway between two towering redwoods, and half the branches overhead seem to come with them. They have to pull free of a net of vines, so thickly overgrown that when the vines and loose branches fall, and they do, scattering like a strong storm has passed through, you have to skip back a few steps to avoid being caught in the deluge. You suck in a breath, almost choking on the sweet taste of them as your eyes catch on their shoulders. The tiny mushrooms that had dotted them all through autumn have grown, tall and thick, and faintly yellow or white, and then there are shelves of them trailing down Aspen’s biceps, edges gone periwinkle blue.

They cross the little clearing in a handful of steps, swooping you up into their arms and cradling you against their chest. The thunder of their movement startles near-by birds into screeching and taking flight, branches snapping as they take off, and then Aspen turns in place. They’re a walking, talking tilt-a-whirl that leaves you breathless until you rap your knuckles against the least green covered spot you can find, closing your eyes to try and keep them from stinging.

“St-stop spinning!” You gasp and the world jolts to a halt, leaving you blinking and panting. Aspen is ripe with the scent of growing things, and it feels like you’ve been rolling through a field absolutely chock full of sweet smelling flowers and the tang of pine. If you thought Aspen made you weak kneed before, with their scent and taste and rumbling voice, it’s nothing as to now. You’re overheated and happy to see them, and blood is rushing to all the right places—but your wanting is so terribly strong that it still leaves you feeling off kilter.

“I have to ask,” you get out, doing your best to breathe through your mouth. It doesn’t help much, you can still taste everything on the back of your tongue, can see their wooden jaw lowering, writhing tongues just barely visible. “In Spring, your… You said once, that I made you feel like Spring when—”

“Ahh,” Aspen murmurs, and then very, very gently, lowers you back to your feet. They keep hold of your shoulder until you’re standing straight, and only then do they take a few careful steps away.

The space is a little maddening, even though you’d been hoping for it so you could get your head in order. You have to swallow to keep from following after them, to tamp down the urge to move your feet and instead make your mouth speak. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing where you come from,” you say with a wry laugh, clutching tightly at your sweater sleeves. “...Does, has your presence always been a kind of aphrodisiac in spring-time? Or is that just with me?”

Aspen flutters those little fern eyelashes, slowly crouching, elbows resting on their knees. Considering. “Perhaps it has been. I don’t intentionally give back what was given to me, but it’s hardly outside the realm of possibility.”

And it might well explain why, even after it became a little less cool to wander through the forest rather than head to the movies, couples still continued to flock here. You’d noticed that Aspen had fed from your pleasure, had bloomed every time you kissed or touched, so it isn’t entirely a surprise to know that they feed upon others. Granted, in a much less hands on kind of way.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Aspen asks, reaching for you, and then thinking better of it. Their long, branch-like fingers curl, hesitating before dropping back to their side. “While I am wonderfully glad to see your face, Lovely, if you want to leave—”

You wave away their words, closing your eyes to see if that will help with anything. The ache of yearning for them is still very much present, but you’ve yearned for their touch since the night you first had it. It’s stronger now, but you were still able to reason through it enough to ask. You were still able to stop yourself and think before stripping off your clothes. You forget to breathe through your mouth though, and that sweet scent makes you shudder, makes your mouth grow terribly dry and then fill with saliva to overcompensate. If you stay, or if you wait and come back when the height of spring has passed, what will change? You’ll still want Aspen. Still crave their company and the refuge that their home has become. You’ll still want their touch. You’re just… A little more horny than normal right now, and a little more willing to speak about it.

“Not leaving,” you finally say, blinking your eyes open when one of their fingers presses against your shoulder. You’re swaying forward, most of your weight balanced against their precarious hold. “I want- I want to stay, but I have to tell you: All I can think about is getting out of my clothes.” Whether the statement might have shamed you normally or not doesn’t seem to matter. The words are so overwhelmingly true that a weight vanishes from your shoulders, decision made. You do your best to slow your movements though, trying to straighten your stance as you lift both hands to grab hold of their arm. Your fingertips brush over the spongy edge of a mushroom on their forearm, and another mushroom promptly pops into existence right next to your hand.

“Oh, good,” Aspen says, reaching out for you with both hands now. You let them lead you close, let them lift your feet onto the bend of their knee, leaving you within range of their mouth. “I dreamed of you while I slept,” they confide in you, and the deep rumble of their words makes your knees want to buckle.

Even with the heavy humidity pressing in on you from all sides, making your back faintly damp with sweat and pushing your hands to quest for zippers and buttons, your brain is still working. A flicker of half recalled knowledge about dreams clamors for attention. If they were dreaming of you, if Aspen is more akin to humans that either of you think, their dreams were recent, had in the moments or days just before waking. Maybe that was why the bloom grew, why it started budding, why whenever you breathed in the faint scent of nectar, you started to ache for the lack of them. “And what did I do in these dreams?”

For a single second, Aspen looks abashed, ducking their head close enough for you to press a kiss upon. Their eyes fall closed when you brush your lips on their face. Your hoodie comes off, tossed over your shoulder to land somewhere upon the carpet of multicolored clovers. “Shall I tell you? Or would you rather I show you?”

There it is. Their mouth opens, a single fingertip finding your chin. It’s softer than normal and cool compared to the normally temperate feeling of their wooden body, and you have a split second to glance down and see that those blue edged mushrooms are growing along the length of their finger. Then Aspen is tilting your head back to kiss you. Like the first kiss you’d shared, they start out slow. A single, sticky-sweet tendril traces your lips until you part them and then slips into your mouth to curl around your tongue. You suck on it, hands pausing in their overeager quest to strip off your clothes. You want to brace yourself against Aspen’s face, to press your hands to their chin as you roll your tongue, arousal flooding you so fiercely that you can barely breathe. You forget about your clothes entirely when you tilt your head back a little more, gasping as another one of those thin green tongues flicks out to touch your lower lip. Aspen’s hand, gentle in the middle of your back until now, curls around your torso, fingertips pressing a little uncomfortably into your ribs. They groan, in that lovely, low tone of theirs, the noise filling you up with a gentle, steady vibration until you wonder if you could get off on that alone.

You pull back, just trying to get a hint of space to breathe, but Aspen chases after you, more green tendrils flicking against your lips and trying to slip into your mouth until you gasp out for them to slow. You tip your head to rest against theirs, breathing hard and smiling too wide, and then get back to the business of shedding your clothing. Aspen’s grip on you trembles, but they allow you the space to shuck what feels like yards of material, fingers tensing like they half want to help. They tried, just the once, in the very middle of November, thumb and forefinger pinching at the end of your sleeve. They’d been careful, truly, but Aspen had still moved a little too fast, a little too sure. They’d split the seams of one of your jackets at the arm and then nearly dropped you in fright. For both your sakes, it’s better that you handle most of your own clothing. Now they just stick to watching. You can catch the vague shape of yourself in the dark mirror of their eyes, and can feel the soft wind of their breath on your quickly bared skin.

“Is all of this you?” You ask, looking away when your face becomes a little too clear in their large eyes. Makeout Point is rife with plants now, and looks more like humans haven’t been in the area for decades as opposed to a single winter. A cool drop of water splashes onto your shoulder from the crown of greenery still circling their horn-like branches. You jump, and Aspen reaches out to swipe the scattered droplets away with their finger while you unlace your boots and push your clothes down your hips. “The new growth. The flowers.”

Aspen hums, turning their finger until the new blue tinged mushrooms drag over your skin, leaving behind a trail that tingles, even after they’ve stopped. “I suspect so. I’ve never been quite so ardent in my dreams of spring as I was this year. But then I’ve never gone to my dreaming knowing I may well wake to your Lovely face.” The end of their finger comes to a stop in the hollow of your throat, eyes dropping to watch you swallow, to watch your pulse speed faster. You shake one of your legs, letting your boot drop to the ground and clothes slide down your skin. You switch, uncaring about the muddy boot print you’re putting your foot back down on. The other boot and the rest of your clothes drop to the ground. The chill in the air is all but gone, or what senses you have that would notice it have been overwhelmed by lust alone. The press of your thighs, the warmth of your own skin, is enough to make you want to slide your hand down yourself. As impatient as you are though, you want Aspen’s touch more. You tilt back your head again, reaching out to rest your hands against their jaw—and pause.

“After this, the growing is going to get a little out of hand, isn’t it? Will I still be able to make it through when it comes time to leave?”

It takes a fair amount of effort for Aspen to drag their eyes away from you, but they make a quick glance around Makeout Point, noting the shiver in the still moving plants. “I won’t let the forest cage you,” Aspen promises and then huffs when you grab hold of one of the dangling vines twisted about the branches on their head. They let you tug, let you pull their attention back to you, and their eyelids lower as you tilt back your head for another kiss. When Aspen’s vine-like tongues curl around your tongue this time, there’s more than just the one. They angle their head to the side, pale green shoots tracing your lips before pushing into your mouth with the others. Aspen doesn’t choke you, leaves plenty of room to breathe, but it’s still a little overwhelming, have that many vines snaking into your mouth. They twist and writhe against your tongue, drag over the edges of your teeth like they enjoy the sensation, and desperate ache for them grows stronger, until it feels like you shouldn’t need to breathe. Aspen picks you up off their knee, a deep rumble echoing through their chest when you keep hold of them.

They’re slower even than they were the first time, without the cushion of your clothes to keep your skin from pressing too hard on some of their fingers. They cradle your back and neck and head with one hand, while the other curls around your hips and thighs as they stand up straight. The rush of movement is strange when you’re still holding onto their face, still sucking on their tongues, eyes closed, but you don’t care about it right now. You trust them, and nerves have been pushed far to the wayside when you want them so badly that every inch of you feels like it’s on fire.

There’s a gentle pressure as they urge you to open your legs, but you barely need the prompting. You part your thighs willingly, gasping when they finally pull their mouth away from yours, tongues flickering over the hollow of your throat and along your collarbone. You expect them to lift you higher, to angle you towards their mouth as their tongues are still sliding down your chest. Instead Aspen’s thumb, ridged with those blue edged mushrooms, drags over the top of your thigh. That tingling feeling spreads over your skin and then your legs start to shake as the mushrooms press between your legs, soft and growing warm from your own body heat. The tingling sensation turns sharp as they stroke their thumb gently over you, and you can’t help but whimper when they drag the gills of the mushroom down to your ass and then back up. You can’t see what it looks like with their head in the way, Aspen’s fern eyelashes closed as their tongues curl and pluck at one of your nipples, but it's starting to feel like the mushrooms must be secreting something slick. The next drag of their thumb, the tip of it pressing into you, makes you arch and moan. You reach back to grasp at the finger bracing your head, legs shaking as you get closer to orgasm and then Aspen pauses, one of their tongues fluttering over the edge of their wooden mouth.

“Did you dream of me, Lovely?” They ask, but not entirely like they expect you to answer. “Was that why you rushed to see me when spring dawned?”

“Yes,” you gasp, immediately. That was partially why you came, but every inch of you is hot, and you’re still right on the precipice of coming. It’s too hard to cobble together a coherent sentence.

Aspen’s thumb pushes and turns and then your eyes are rolling into the back of your head as you come, breath leaving your lungs in a harsh, almost painful gasp. Their mouth finds you as you do, slick, sticky vines pushing into you alongside their mushroom ridged thumb. They drink down your pleasure, moaning when your thighs tremble against their face. They don’t seem to notice when you dig your fingernails into the smooth wood of their skin, they just keep moving, the pressure of their tongues and thumb leaving you full and clenching as you finally whimper. “Fuck, fuck, fu- Aspen! Aspen, I’m-” You buck against their face, noise dying on your parted lips as that only presses them deeper. You kick out your leg, bare toes brushing over the moss on their shoulder, but that only makes Aspen adjust their hold.

Maybe it’s because it’s spring time, or because yearning for you has been building up in them as steadily as it had for you during the winter, but even after you stop shaking, even after your legs go limp, Aspen isn’t quite done. Their thumb pulling out of you makes your back bow again, and then they turn you over. You’re on your stomach in their giant hands, Aspen’s tongues filling you up over and over again before you breathlessly ask for them to cease. Your legs feel like jelly, and that strange, hot ache has finally ebbed.

When you blink, glancing around the circle of trees, it looks like the forest has erased all signs of humanity. Vines are thick and tangled over every inch of the area, laced between trees. Ferns peek out from the ground, and those pale, white blossoms are scattered around the area like wedding petals. Aspen’s next lick is gentle, cleaning rather than fucking, and you shudder in their hold.

“I don’t know if I want to leave,” you mumble, tired and sated. “I missed you something awful.”

There’s a creaking noise and then you clutch at their fingers as they sit, flowers and leaves puffing up into the air and raining back down. Aspen carefully turns you to sit on their thigh, arranging you against their midsection until you’re lounging and grinning for all their effort. “...shall I come with you?” They ask, and when you glance up at them their head is tilted to the side. “While I know you will return now, it’s always difficult to part.” Aspen hesitates and then places a fingertip to your lips, eyes filling with pleasure when you kiss it tiredly.

You’ve watched them turn back into nothing more than a tree in the presence of others, and… And a bigger yard would be nice. A backyard, you amend, thinking of neighbors catching sight of a moving tree, or simply noting the fact that a tree has switched places somehow overnight. “Not yet,” you say, trying and failing to hold back your grin. “I think the park rangers and the rest of the town might notice if you were following my car back to my house. But… But soon. I would like that.”

Aspen hums again, that deep rumbling noise making you warm a fraction. “Simply tell me when, Lovely, and I will always follow,” Aspen vows, and plucks your hoodie out of the nest of vines. They spread it over you like a blanket and a spiral of flowers blooms along their forearm.

...Maybe you should just find a house out in the middle of the forest.

───── ❝ ❦ ❞ ─────

[berrynarrybanana]

Deck the Halls - pt. 1

A/N: Ummmm.....so this is kind of like a Christmas fic, but it turned out very different than I expected it to. It’s more of a...wintery suspense type thing with an actual lengthy as fuck plot, but the romance is strong from the beginning. I tried to keep it in one post, but the word count is simply too much for me to put in one post. I plan on updating everything that I have so that you all can indulge in the story while I finish it up. I know that this might not be everyone’s cup of hot chocolate, but I hope that some of you enjoy it! I haven’t really done anything of this nature before, so I’m kind of nervous about the whole thing. I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday, and I can’t wait for us to ring in the new year together! I love you all loads! 

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, smut, fluff....other things i can’t remember at this moment? 

November 1

Harry is walking through the snow. 

The soft sound of snow crunching under his boots and the wind whipping around him is all that he can hear at first. He feels cold, but he’s been colder than this. His hand feels warm, though his hands are bare. He glances down, his eyes locking on an emerald green mitten. He feels the fingers in the mitten flex, gripping his hand tightly. He trails his eyes up the arm covered in a light green coat, freezing when he sees the curly tendrils of snow white hair draped over her shoulder. He knows instantly who it is, and he knows exactly how this dream will end. 

When his eyes finally land on rich, berry red lips, he feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s never seen her face before this. She’s usually drowning by the time he gets to the lake, already under the block of ice as the man with blue hair holds her under. He can’t help but stare, taking in the beautiful and ethereal features of her face. It’s almost as if she isn’t real at all, from the color of her skin to the pointed tips of her ears. The hair was strange, but he’d gotten used to the beyond platinum shade over the years. It wasn’t so shocking to him anymore. 

Harry turns his attention from the girl when he hears a twig snap, his gaze dropping to the snow covered floor of the forest they've been walking through. He wasn’t sure why they were walking in the woods, or where they were going, but he was happy to be spending time by her side. He was happy that he wasn’t watching her die for once, her beautiful face still full of life as her lips moved. She was talking, but he couldn’t hear a word that she said. All he could hear was the wind and the snow, a whistle and a crunch echoing in his ears as if he had winter sounds playing from a quality stereo. 

He hated that he couldn’t hear her.

He hated that he didn’t know where they were going. 

But suddenly, it all becomes clear. 

The lake. 

“Don’t.” Harry croaks out through chapped lips, squeezing her fingers in an attempt to get her attention. Her lips stop moving as he pulls her closer, but she offers him a sad smile. “We shouldn’t-”

“It’s alright.” He can finally hear her voice, the sound something akin to Christmas bells being softly run in the middle of the night. “We have to go.”

“You can hear me.” He breathes out, his eyes stinging due to the wind, and the inevitable tragedy that’s about to occur. “You can hear me and I can hear you.”

“I guess so.” She glances up, an amused smile curling the corners of her lips as she hums out. 

When she looks back down at Harry, he loses his breath. 

“What’s your name?” She asks, turning her back towards the lake, giving him her full attention.

“Harry.” He whispers the word, almost as if he’s afraid for anyone else to hear it. “I...who are you?” 

“I can’t tell you.” He watches her face fall, her expression going dismal. “But I want to.”

“You can tell me anything.” He moves closer, squeezing her fingers. “Talk to me, love.” 

“I can’t say it.” Her brows furrow in frustration. “It won’t come out, no matter how hard I try to say it.”

“Why is this happening to us?” He presses, moving his feet closer. “Why do you drown every single time? Why can’t I save you?”

“I don’t know.” She glances down, her cheeks losing their glow. “I wish that you could save me, Harry.”

“I’ll try harder this time.” He gulps, his throat tightening as tears threaten his eyes. “I’ll try harder to save you, I promise.”

“But you won’t save me.” She looks up, her own eyes glossed over with unshed tears. “It’s okay, Harry. It was meant to be this way.”

“No, I don’t believe it.” He shakes his head. “I can save you.”

She shakes her head, slowly backing away from him. 

“We have to go now.” She says softly, her feet carrying her towards the iced over lake. 

Harry notices a pair of skates dangling over her shoulders. 

“No, don’t go.” He reaches out for her, but she continues to move away. “Don’t leave me.”

“I have to.” She steps onto the ice, the soft cracking noises causing Harry’s eyes to grow wide with panic. “Save me, Harry.” 

And just like that, it’s all over.

November 2 Harry’s POV - Age 21 

Harry pushes the door to Paradise Records open, watching a few flakes of paint fall to the concrete stoop outside of his shop. He made a mental note to buy some paint to touch up the door before the holiday season started. 

He could feel the frustration creeping up his spine at the mere thought of Christmas, and it was times like these that he wished the world had sympathy for those who hated the holiday.  He hated to give into the global phenomenon, but it did bring in enough business and revenue to keep the shop afloat until the annual summer sale rolled around in June. 

He sipped at his bitter, black coffee, walking into the record store with a relieved sigh. This was truly his paradise where he escaped from the demons that haunted his mind. For a split second, he was finally at peace after the grueling nightmare he endured. That peace was quickly disturbed by the jingling of bells from the front door, causing Harry to frown as he turned on his heels. 

“Another beautiful day in paradise, eh boss!” Niall clapped his hand down on Harry’s shoulder on his way towards the checkout counter, causing Harry to bite back a whine of discomfort. “How are you today?”

There were knots in Harry’s shoulders causing him pain, and most of them were caused by the cheery Irish lad pushing behind the checkout counter.

“Good morning, Niall.” Harry turned towards the boy with a sarcastic smile. “Why are you always so bloody loud.”

 “You knew I was loud when ya’ hired me, I put it under my strengths on my job application.” Niall called out as he walked through the beaded curtain to the back office, whistling a tune that made Harry’s ears ache. 

“I didn’t know that you were a fucking foghorn, mate.” Harry hiked his leather bag higher up on his shoulder, fighting off a yawn as he followed slowly in Niall’s footsteps. 

“Did you have a long night?” Niall popped out from the beaded curtain, causing Harry to jump as he made it behind the counter. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, long night.” Harry grumbled, shutting the employee gate at the end of the counter. “You watch the front for a few hours, I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on.”

“Sure.” Niall nodded as Harry pushed through the curtain. “If you need anymore coffee, just let Mitch know. He’s stopping at Java Java before he comes in.”

Harry pulled out his phone, typing a quick text telling Mitch not to get Niall coffee. 

He didn’t need any more energy. 

He needed a proper nights rest.

Harry sat down at his desk, putting his coffee by his keyboard with a heavy sigh. 

There wasn’t enough espresso in the world to fix the aching in his head caused by the nightmare he had last night. In the sixteen years that he’d been having the recurring nightmare, he was never able to talk to her in the dream. He was still haunted by the beautiful sound of her voice when she spoke to him, but he was mostly haunted by the sound of her desperate pleas for help. But his feet were frozen solid to the ground as the man with ice blue hair held her under the water. He emerged from the cracks in the ice this time, pulling the girl under with him as she screamed for her life. Harry remembers screaming for her until his throat was sore, but when he woke up this morning, he felt fine. 

Harry brushed his palms over his face, inhaling sharply as he tried to push the image of her face from his mind. He didn’t need to spend the rest of his day thinking about her. He needed to get to work. There was a lot that he needed to do in preparation for Christmas. Every single year, parents and Uni students would come into Paradise Records and buy out his record players, and usually all of his Christmas albums. He’d already pre-ordered Christmas albums, but he needed to get in contact with the shipping company and the manufacturer to make sure they all arrived on time for the Christmas sale. 

“Hey boss,” Niall’s sudden shout made Harry flinch, muttering a curse under his breath at the Irish lad. “Gemma is here.”

“Tell her to come back.” Harry called back, reaching into his bag in search of his glasses with his left hand while he booted up his computer with his right hand. 

He hated wearing glasses, but Gemma bought them for him last Christmas when he opened the shop, insisting that they would improve the quality of his eyesight by blocking out the blue light in most devices. He did notice a slight difference in the quality of his vision after using them. 

“Look at you, a dapper young man in his glasses.” Gemma pushed Noah’s pram into Harry’s office, the toddler screeching out the second his eyes landed on his uncle. “Alright, young man, Mum isn’t superwoman. I can’t move that fast.”

“You have five seconds to hand me my nephew before I start screaming with him.” Harry teased, looking at Noah with a wide smile. “I’ve missed you, mate.”

“It’s been three days, not three months.” Gemma huffed out, unbuckling the straps on the pram until Noah was free of restraint. “Alright, you can stop your crying now dove, uncle knobhead is right here.” 

Harry scowled at his sister, leaning up to grab his nephew by the waist with ease.

“Harry.” Noah screeched, patting his palms against Harry’s cheeks. “Hi.”

“Hi, bubba.” Harry kissed over Noah’s face, causing him to giggle out as Gemma found a seat on the opposite side of Harry’s desk. “You know he’s not going to leave here without throwing a fit, right?”

“I know.” Gemma let out a breathy laugh laced with frustration. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry settled Noah in his lap, resting his hand on Noah’s lap so that he could entertain himself by playing with the rings on his uncle’s fingers. “What brings you by?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about Christmas.” Gemma said softly, watching Harry’s face change from curious to furious in two seconds flat. “I know, you still don’t feel ready to celebrate after Mum and Dad, but I think we should start easing back into it. Noah is getting older, and we’ve got friends who-”

“I’ll do it for Noah, but I don’t want to celebrate with other people.” Harry interrupted. “I still don’t get how can you be okay with it, Gemma? They died because of some stupid Christmas tradition.”

“So are we supposed to hate pancakes now?” She tossed her hands up with an eye roll. “You drive a bloody car, don’t you? The pancakes didn’t kill them, Harry. Some reckless driver knocked into their car.”

“It’s not-”

“You’re being childish, Harry.” Gemma snapped at her younger brother, shaking her head. “Christmas isn’t the thing that killed Mum and Dad. I know that it sucks, having the anniversary of their death on your favorite holiday, but you have to deal with this. You can’t keep pushing it off like this.”

“I can, and I will.” He said, clearing his throat as his sister shook her head. “I don’t want to be happy without them on such a terrible day, Gemma.”

“I really think you should talk to someone about this.” She sighed, brushing her palms over her thighs. “I think it would do you some good to work out the issues you have surrounding this whole thing. I’ve been talking to someone since it happened, and it’s really helped me cope.”

“I don’t need help.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Gemma.”

“It’s not fine, and the fact that you don’t seem to realize that worries me the most.” She whispered. “You’re drowning in your own grief, and I can’t save you.”

Harry froze, his eyes snapping back to his sister. 

“What did you just say to me?” He asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I said it’s like you’re drowning in your own grief.” She said slowly, tilting her head with narrowed eyes as Harry stared back at her like she’d stepped on his foot. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because…..” He paused, licking over his bottom lip as he inhaled sharply, shaking his head. It was best not to mention the nightmares, or the girl. “Nothing.”

“There you go again.” She let out a bitter laugh, smacking her thighs. “You can’t keep everything bottled in forever, Harry.” 

But this, I should keep bottled in. 

“It seems to be working out alright.” Harry shrugged, searching for something to change the subject. “How are we on presents for little man this year? Did you get everything on your list?”

“Yeah, nearly.” Gemma mumbled, picking at a loose strand of thread on her scarf. “Niall has helped me get most of the shopping done when I’m at work. He’s truly a godsend, Harry. I’m so happy he lives close by, and that Noah loves him.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at his sister, previous suspicions about Niall and Gemma creeping back into his mind. He always knew there was something between the two, but he could never get a straight answer out of either of them on their feelings. Gemma swore that he was only a friend, and a good neighbor. Niall swore that he only hung around Gemma to hang out with Noah. Harry pressed his lips together, watching as Gemma’s cheeks turned pink, the soft color giving away their secrets in an instant. Normally, she was better at hiding it. 

“What?” She squeaked out, shifting in her chair.

“You slept with Niall, didn't you?” Harry said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “You finally bit the bullet and slept with him.”

“Harry, Noah is right there.” Gemma’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t say things like that in front of him!”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Gemma! Who was watching Noah when you were getting it on with Niall of all people!” Harry asked, his brows lifting up towards his hairline. “Noah doesn’t know what that means, calm down.”

Gemma snapped her mouth shut, sinking in her chair. 

Harry wasn’t really mad, but he enjoyed teasing Gemma. 

Niall was a good guy. 

“My poor nephew.” Harry tutted, shaking his head before he pressed a kiss to the soft ginger hair on top of Noah’s head. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ll make sure to dock Niall’s pay to help out with the therapy you’re going to need when you’re older.” 

“Alright, we get it.” Gemma grumbled, crossing her arms with a frown. “I’m a terrible mother and a horrible sister.” 

“Hey.” Harry snapped, turning his attention back towards his sister with furrowed brows and a deep frown. “I never said that, and I never will. I’m only teasing you because you slept with fucking lucky charms out there, I’m not shaming you as a woman or a mother in anyway. You’re allowed to have fun, Gemma.”

“I know.” Her lips curved into a smile as her brother nodded, glancing at Noah as the toddler tried to pull off his Grateful Dead ring. It seemed to be his nephew’s favorite ring, and Harry couldn’t wait until Noah was old enough to wear it himself. “I’ve raised you well.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes with a playful snort. “I just don’t want to hear about you and Niall’s sex life ever again, capiche?”

“Got it.” She nodded, trying not to smile. “He’s a really good guy, Harry, and I really like him a lot. I would also love it if he could spend Christmas with us.”

Realization dawned over Harry as he looked at his sister. 

So that’s what this is about. 

“You want him to spend Christmas with the three of us?” Harry asked. “Like, as a family?”

“We’re gonna ease Niall into it, but I think so.” She softly laughed. “Noah adores him, Harry, and quite frankly so do I.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at his nephew with hesitation. 

These two were all that he had left in the world, and bloody Niall was trying to take them away. 

But maybe she needed someone like Niall in her life to balance out all of the bad that loomed over her head. The Irishman was supportive, and positive no matter what situation he was in. He was loyal and kind to everyone he met, and he was honest, and genuinely the best at giving advice. Harry hated to admit it, but Niall was everything Harry used to be. He couldn’t be that positive influence that his sister and nephew needed anymore, but Niall could. 

So maybe he needed to let them move on. 

“Yeah.” Harry whispered. “I’ll think about it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Gemma smiled. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I can’t believe-”

“Oh, actually-” Gemma held up her hand, interrupting Harry. “I am also asking that you won’t kill him when I leave.” 

“That’s asking a lot.” Harry blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I’m definitely allowed at least one punch, Gemma. My best mate slept with my sister, c’mon.”

“Please don’t punch him, he bruises like a peach.” Gemma groaned.

“How do you know that?” Harry’s brows lifted before they fell, a look of disgust washing over his face as Gemma pressed her lips together. “That’s fucking gross! I didn’t need to know that!”

“I’m sorry!” 

“Did you tell him?” Niall’s head poked into Harry’s office. “Did he call me his best mate a second ago?”

“I’m going to punch you.” Harry lifted his free hand, pointing at Niall. “You’re lucky I have Noah in my lap, mate.”

“But I bruise like a peach!” Niall looked at Gemma with wide eyes. “Did ya tell him, love?”

“I did.” She nodded, but she pursed her lips in defeat. “I can’t help you with this one, Ni.”

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Niall groaned. “I knew I should have taken those self defense classes with you Gem.”

Harry watched Niall sulk out of his office, Gemma glaring at Harry before she got up to follow her new loverboy. Harry rolled his eyes before glancing down to Noah. The toddler dropped his head back against Harry’s chest, lifting his uncle’s hand up to chew on one of his fingers with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“This is your fault, mate.” Harry said softly, not a stitch of malice in his voice. “I’m only agreeing to this because I love you more than anyone else in the world, and I expect you to change my nappies in return when I’m old, do you hear me?”

“Harry.” Noah gurgled out, a gummy smile melting Harry’s fake stern expression. “Harry, hi!”

“I love you.” Harry pressed soft kisses all over Noah’s face. “You’re my favorite human... even if you don’t have any teeth.”

November 3 Holland’s POV 

Holland felt like she was going to vomit as she walked through the halls of Santa’s workshop. 

As the elves watched her with judgmental, licorice colored eyes, her palms started to sweat, and her feet moved faster. Her father requested her for an urgent meeting, but Holland truly had no idea what it could be about. She hadn’t told anyone about her dreams, afraid that people would think she was crazy for having them. She was used to the dreams, but last night’s dream put her on edge. Something was different about the situation, and it wasn’t just the fact that she knew the boy’s name. 

For the first time since they started, she saw his face. 

She would admit without shame that she would die over and over again in her dream if it meant she could look at him. His hair was shoulder length and the strands curled up at the end. He had a beautiful set of candy pink lips that Holland wanted to taste with her own, and gorgeous jade eyes that were almost translucent. She spent most of her nightmare staring into them, trying to see into his soul as if it would help her find him. 

But it didn’t work. 

He was still just a stranger to her. 

A stranger named Harry.

As she approached her father’s office, she felt her palms become slicker than they were before as her heart pounded faster and faster in her chest. She reached down for the doorknob, turning it before she pushed the heavy wooden door open. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed the three, ominous figures standing off to the side of her father’s desk. The vibe that they gave off sent shivers down her spine as the little hairs on her arm stuck up to warn her of danger. 

“Come in.” Her father ushered her in, and Holland’s feet followed the command without hesitation. “Holland, I would like for you to meet the Council of Elders.”

“Hello.” Holland offered them a small wave, her body shrinking nervously as they glared back at her. 

Their dark robes were just as creepy as the large, wooden walking sticks they carried. 

“Young child.” One of the men spoke up, holding his hand out to her. “Give me your hand.”

Holland looked towards her father, afraid to take a stranger’s hand. 

“Go on, Holland.” Her father said. “Do as they ask, my dear. I promise that they won’t hurt you.”

Holland moved closer to the man with jet black hair, sliding her fingers into his palm. 

A shock greeted her senses, causing her to gasp and jump. 

“It’s alright.” The man whispered. “Close your eyes, show me what you see.”

When Holland obeyed his order, Holland thought of the lake.

Her entire dream played out in her head, almost as if it were on a television screen instead of in her mind. The closer they got towards the end, the harder Holland gripped the man’s hand in her own. The end was the part that she hated the most, the part that tore her apart. 

“Holland, baby, please breathe for me.” Harry’s palms brushed over her cheeks, tears streaming down his own as he tried to bring her back to life. “I need you to wake up, Holland! I need you.”

The dream finished with Holland on the ice, Harry sobbing into her neck. 

He did know her name. 

“My, my, my.” The man spoke, tutting his tongue. “It seems that I was right after all.”

“Right about what?” Holland whispered, blinking her eyes rapidly in attempts to clear the tears from her vision. “How did you know about my nightmares?”

“Because I rule them, my dear.” The man spoke. “I’m Morpheus, the god of dreams.”

“Oh.” She whispered, still in shock. “You make those happen?”’

“Most dreams are of my creation, but not yours.” He said. “Your nightmare is crafted at the hand of someone else, a master manipulator that has conned his way into using someone else’s magic.” 

“Morpheus, I would like to know what in the sleigh bells is going on with my daughter-”

“Kristopher, this is not your place.” The shortest of the three men hissed, his chubby cheeks turning red. 

“Now, now…” The only woman spoke up, a sly smirk on her black painted lips. “Erotes, Kristopher is merely concerned for his offspring.”

“If he was concerned about her well being, Ma’at, he would not have split her from the boy-”

“Erotes.” Morpheus drawled out. “He could not have known about the boy.

“He should have known.” Erotes turned back to Holland, offering her a soft smile. “To be parted from the other half of one’s soul is a pain I would not wish on my worst enemies. I sincerely apologize on behalf of myself for letting you be away from him for so long.”

“I don’t understand.” Holland looked from Erotes to Morpheus, her brow furrowed. “What does-”

“Things have changed, haven’t they?” The man hummed out as if Holland were a specimen that he was examining in a lab instead of a girl. 

“He knows my name.” She whispered. “And I know his name.”

“And you didn’t know it before.” The man narrowed his dark eyes, staring at her with a curious grin. “How is that, little elf?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to pull her hand back, but the man kept her fingers in a tight hold. “I just...I had the first dream when I was five, and it’s always been the same up until last week. It was all the same until suddenly I saw his face, clearer than it’s ever been before. I said his name like I’d known it all along and then….when I was drowning I saw him for the first time.”

Holland cleared her throat as it started to tighten, trying to regain her voice.

“You saw who did it.” The man spoke. “You know who it is that is trying to kill you both?”

“I do.” She nodded, licking over her lips nervously. “It’s Jack Frost.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Kris spoke up from his desk, his chair scraping across the wooden floor as he stood up. “What does Frost have to do with this?”

“The boy that you exposed yourself to as Santa sixteen years ago on Christmas night is your daughter’s other half.” Erotes said. “They are two souls created from the same star, the brightest star, and their love for each other has been tainted by your ignorance. The moment you laid eyes on the boy, you should have contacted me.”

“He reminded me of Holland, but I didn’t...” Kris said. “He had that same glow that she has in her eyes, I remember that much about him.”

“Their souls were forged from the ash of the Christmas star.” Morpheus said. “Other than you and your son, these two are the last people on earth with true Christmas spirit and it is their job as children of the Christmas star to instill that spirit into the souls of everyone they meet.”

“Jack Frost wishes to kill them both to absorb that power for a different use, of course.” Ma’at spoke up, drawing Holland’s eyes from Morpheus. “In the wrong hands, their power can be used for evil things.”

“When Frost kills them both, he will kill Christmas.” Erotes tutted. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, Kringle. The humans wouldn’t know what to do without Christmas, it would be horrible.”

“So what do we do?” Holland looked at Morpheus, swallowing around the lump in her throat as he looked down at her. 

“We must keep an eye on Jack Frost.” Morpheus spoke. “And you must find your soulmate. He has suffered great tragedy, and his Christmas spirit is nearly gone. You must save him, and restore his power if you wish to properly fight for your lives.”

“Both souls must be pure in order for you to fight Jack Frost and his twisted magic.” Ma’at said. 

“You must go to him, Holland.” Erotes said. “You must be by your beloved.” 

“I don’t have any clue how to survive in the real world.” She shook her head. “And I don’t know where to find him, or how I would even begin to restore his Christmas spirit. I’ve never been trained on that kind of thing.” 

“Look at me, Holland.” Morpheus snapped. “I have faith in your ability to do this without failing, but my faith in you is nothing if you don’t believe in yourself. Let that be the lesson you learn during this mission of yours.”

“Without Christmas, the rest of us will cease to exist.” Ma’at said. “The entire world of magic relies on you.”

“I will take you to him in six days time.” Erotes said. “He is in London.”

She swallowed, clenching her fingers into fists at her side. 

“Alright.” She said softly. “What do I need to do to prepare myself?”

“There is a book you must read.” Morpheus said. “I will send it to you as soon as I return to my own realm. You need to practice your Christmas magic, little elf.”

When Holland blinked, the council of elders was gone without a trace.

She turned around to her Father with wide eyes, her mouth open in shock. 

“What in the sugar plum just happened?” 

November 7 Harry’s POV

Harry felt like he was one gust of winter wind away from falling over. 

The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him as the days grew shorter and the nights colder. 

Fighting off sleep to avoid the violent dreams that plagued his mind at night wasn’t helping, because no matter how hard he tried to fight it off with caffeine, or cold showers, he ended up falling into the ominous forest in his mind where he would inevitably watch the girl die the same way that she always did. But the blue haired man was getting bolder, taunting Harry with icy smirks and snide remarks. Harry could never retaliate with his feet frozen solid to the forest ground however. His eyes were always glued to the girl with snow white hair as she cried his name out, his heart breaking in his chest as he accepted the cruel fate bestowed upon them. 

She was fighting so hard to stay alive, and it killed Harry knowing that it was never enough. He spent a lot of time trying to convince himself that it was just a nightmare, something that the darkest parts of his brain conjured up to punish him. But with each passing night that he stared into the girls eyes, he started to think that he was wrong about that. His brain didn’t conjure this dream up at all, it was real. It made him feel insane, of course, thinking that some recurring dream with two strangers in it wasn’t a dream at all, but a reality. But he couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was a premonition, not a figment of his imagination. 

That girl was real, and Harry cared for her. 

They weren’t just friends in the nightmares, they were lovers.

At this point, he was considering committing himself to an insane asylum so that he didn’t end up accidentally telling someone about these dreams. If he told anyone, they would surely look at him like he was loony, and he couldn’t really blame them. It was a weird situation, and he didn’t have anyone he could confide in. 

“Why do you look like you’re in pain?” Niall nudged Harry’s foot with his own, lifting his pint up to his lips as Harry snapped out of his thoughts. “You’ve been staring at the table for like, five solid minutes. Do you have heartburn or something?” 

“I don’t have heartburn, you prick.” Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing his own pint from the table before he tipped it back. “I’m still upset with you for sleeping with my sister.”

“Here it goes.” Mitch inhaled, trying not to laugh as he reached for his whiskey. “Styles, I don’t think talking about your sister’s sex life with your best mate, while your drunk, is a good idea.”

“Yeah, what Mitch said.” Niall shifted uncomfortable as Harry slapped on a fake scowl, sending it towards the blonde boy. “You’ve already threatened to punch me-”

“I’m still going to.” Harry said plainly. “Of all the women in the world, you had to pick my sister.”

“Mitchell, help me.” Niall whined, glancing over at the brunette with desperate eyes. “I don’t want to die tonight.”

“I don’t think that I can help you.” Mitch shrugged his shoulders, catching the wink Harry sent his way. “He might actually kill you.”

“I might.” Harry shrugged, sipping at his beer. “I might save it for a rainy day, who knows?”

“Jesus.” Niall scoffed, shaking his head. “I better call my Ma and tell her I love her then.”

“Niall, I’m kidding.” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I’m happy for you both. I think you’re good for her, even if I hate to admit it.”

“Really?” Niall let out a sigh. “Because I really like her.” 

“I know that you do.” Harry nodded, sitting his pint glass on the table. “And I know that you love Noah just as much as you love her.”

“I really do.” Niall’s lips curved up in a secret smile. “They make me happy.” 

“And the end of the day, that’s all we can really ask for.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. "But I don't want to hear anymore about how you bruise like a peach or what you get up to in your spare time.” 

“That’s fair enough.” Niall nodded.

Harry lifted his pint glass, downing what was left before he stood up. 

“Where are you going?” Niall’s brows furrowed. “It’s still early!”

“I’ve got to open the shop tomorrow.” Harry reached for his jacket, sliding his arms in. “I don’t want to be late….or hungover.”

“I think you’ll already be hungover.” Mitch laughed. “I can open if you’d like me to, I don’t have any plans tomorrow.”

“Nah, you spend time working on those guitar skills, shredder.” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked at Niall. “And you, treat my sister to breakfast or something you lowlife.”

“Will do.” Niall laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “We’ll drop something off for you with Noah?”

“I’d like that.” Harry mumbled, offering Niall a tight lipped smile. “Alright lads, you be good.”

“Same to you.” 

Harry waved at his friends before he made his way out of the pub. 

He walked towards the end of the street, looking both ways before he ran across. 

His building wasn’t far from the pub, but the wind whipping around made it feel like a twenty mile trek in the tundra. Harry was shivering by the time he made it into his building, his feet carrying him slowly through the lobby and towards the lift. He stepped in, using his elbow to press the button to his floor as his teeth started to chatter. The landlord was going to get an earful about the temperature inside the building tomorrow, Harry would make sure of it. 

He stepped off of the lift, fumbling his fingers around in his pocket until he made contact with his keys. He pulled them out, glancing down until he found the one that opened his flat. As he walked down the hall, his mind went back to the girl. He could almost smell her familiar scent in the air, berries and clove filling his senses with every step he took. He was sure one of the ladies that lived down his hall was burning a winter candle with the same scent. 

It was the only explanation. 

When he made it towards his door, he heard a soft gasp. 

He lifted his head up, his eyes growing wide as he saw the girl from his dreams standing right across the hall from his flat. She was staring at him, her pine colored eyes wide with disbelief and her berry red lips parted with shock. Her hair wasn’t as white as he remembered, more honey colored tones tied into the strands to compliment her skin. Harry stopped in his tracks, his heart slamming against his rib cage as she blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if she were trying to bring herself back into reality. 

Harry swallowed around the nerves in his throat as he took one step forward. 

Just as his foot landed on the ground, she fell to the floor. 

Harry felt like he lost all of the air in his lungs, vivid visions of her body falling through the ice playing through his mind. But this time, he could do something about it. He rushed forward, grabbing her arms with his palms to lift her up as her head lolled back. She was limp, her body heavy and warm in his hands. He was shocked by just how warm she was, her skin was usually ice cold by the time that he got to her. He felt the tears blurring his eyes as she lay there. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “Get up!” 

Her eyes snapped open at that, the dark shade of green greeting Harry like a breath of fresh air. 

He was stone cold sober when he yanked her against his chest, holding her tight in his arms. 

“I can’t breathe.” She gasped out, her hands tapping his shoulders. “Harry?”

He pulled back, staring back into her eyes with pink cheeks. 

“How are you here?” He asked her, licking over his lips. 

“Um, I don’t really have an answer for any of it.” She cleared her throat, glancing away from his gaze with shy eyes. “I just kind of...ended up here?”

“Did you take a taxi or something?” He asked, confused when she laughed. “Do you live in London? Have you always lived in London?”

“To be honest with you, I think that I teleported here.” She said slowly, like she was unsure of the response he might have. “That might sound insane to you. I know you only ever see stuff like that in Dr. Who, but um, it’s kind of real?”

“You sound like a mad woman.” He whispered, his eyes flitting over the features of her face, taking it all in. “But for some reason, I believe you.”

“If you think that was mad, wait until we dive into the fun stuff.” She said softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, if I’m being honest with you.”

Harry nodded, loosening his grip on her arms. 

“Do you have some place to stay?” He asked her. “Or do you plan on teleporting back to wherever you came from?”

“Um, that’s my flat.” She pointed to the door just next to them. “I’m staying there until...well, until I can go home.” 

Harry suddenly felt drunk again, his mind swirling with information as he let go of her. 

She sat up on her own, clearing her throat as she brushed her palms over her thighs. 

“I’m gonna get off of the floor now.” She said softly. “Is that okay?”

“Just promise me that you won’t faint again.” He felt his brows pull together in concern, panic flashing into his heart. “Please?”

“I will try not to.” Her laughter still sounded like bells. “Um, so, I know your name-”

“But I’ve never learned yours.” He finished for her, standing up before he offered his hands out to her. He pulled her up, pressing his hand against her hip when she stumbled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” She offered him a smile, one that genuinely comforted him. “I’m Holland.” 

Holland. 

“Holland, baby, please breathe.” 

“I did know that.” He cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck as his cheeks grew warm. “I guess….I guess I forgot about that part of my dream.”

“Our dream.” She pressed her lips together, fighting off a smile. “I have the same one.”

“How do you know both of our dreams are the same?” He asked, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Maybe mine is different from yours.”

“I think I die in each version of the dream, Harry.” She said softly, trying not to laugh when his face paled. “But, I’m here now, in the flesh!” 

“But you’re going to die.” He said slowly, anger rising in his chest. “That’s not funny.”

“No, I’m not going to die.” She was firm with her response, holding her chin up proudly as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I refuse to die like that, it just won’t do.”

“I don’t think you can control it.” Harry said, his voice bleeding with frustration and disbelief. “You are a mad woman.”

“I’m not.” Her berry lips pushed out into a pout, and Harry nearly dropped to his knees. “I’m very smart, and extremely sane, Harry. I just….I happen to know things that you don’t!”

“Things like teleportation?” He asked, his brows lifting towards his hairline. “You look different, did you know that?” 

“No.” She said. “Why do I look different?”

“Your hair is normally white.” He lifted his hand, grabbing a few strands gently. “And your skin is normally like the snow.”

“I suppose it would be weird if I walked around London looking like that, eh?” She asked. “I can’t exactly be myself in this world.” 

Harry knew what that was like. 

“I think you’ll be just fine.” He whispered. “You’re still beautiful.”

“Well, I should probably go inside.” Holland said softly. “I’m quite knackered from all of that teleporting and stuff.” 

Harry felt panic start to rise in his chest again. 

She was leaving him. 

What if something happened to her while he was just across the hall?

He would never forgive himself. 

“You’re…” He felt his palms get sweaty. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I’m sure.” She nodded. “I’ve done a lot of research on this place, so I think I’ve got the hang of everything.”

“This place, as in the complex or this place, as in earth?”

“This place as in London.” She snorted. “I’m from Earth, gumdrop. I just come from a very small, remote island near the arctic.”

“Are you really from earth?” He let out a breathy chuckle. “Because I could have sworn you fell from heaven.”

Harry watched her cheeks glow like they did in the beginning of his dream. 

“You’re cheeky.” She said softly. “I learned what that means by watching Skins. By the way, those children should all be on the naughty list, they’re horrid.”

Harry froze, watching Holland as she shook her head. 

“You still believe in Santa?” He asked her softly, as if he were afraid he would startle her. 

“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes grew wide, but she was quick to look away. “Who doesn’t?”

“Most of the world.” He cleared his throat. “Most of us don’t even like Christmas.”

“Gumdrop, by the time I’m through with you, I’ll have you singing Christmas Carols with Santa himself.” 

“If there’s one thing you should know about me, Holland-” His voice was low as he spoke, frustration bubbling in his chest.. “It’s that I will never love Christmas or anything that has to do with that bloody holiday.”

He pulled his hand back, turning on his heel before he slipped his key into the lock. 

He could feel Holland’s eyes on his back, but after the comment he made, he needed a little time to cool down. Sure, Holland was someone that he had dreamed of meeting for most of his life, but he didn’t really know her as a person. He drew the line at Christmas with anyone, and she was no exception to his strict rule. He pushed into his flat, shutting the door behind him with his foot. Seconds later, he dropped his head against the door with a heavy sigh. 

“Maybe this is another dream.” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Wake up, Harry.” 

But when he opened his eyes, he was still standing in his apartment, and he could still smell the sweet scent of berry and clove. 

[bluescarfvivi]

Mystery March Day 31 - Ghost

I haven’t been keeping up with most of the prompts, but I didn’t want to miss out on today’s as it is the last day of Mystery March.

October 2014.

 A four and a half minute long animated music video dropped on Youtube and Tumblr.

Nobody, not even the small team who created this video and the musician who commissioned them, expected this video to gain INSTANT attention and popularity overnight. Many artists, creators, and fans of Mystery Skulls (new and old) instantly fell in love with this creation. Fanart poured out every day afterwards and questions were flying around; asking about the characters’ information, their age, their occupation, what happened to the beloved purple ghost man and the humans who ventured into his mansion.

For myself? I jumped on the hype train a week or two after the video was posted. I still remember the night I came across it on my main blog’s dashboard. I was sitting in the dining hall at college, talking to my friends about this video and how it’s getting so much attention. I went back to my dorm room, sat down, watched it once, then twice, and I think about four more times.

I cried, I won’t lie to you on that. But something even more amazing happened that night, and it’s something I wouldn’t know until years passed.

This tiny fandom helped me in so many ways. It brought out more of my creative side. I started getting into voice acting by dubbing MSA comics, providing my interpretation of the canon character’s voices, and building my repertoire. I delved into drawing and art. And most importantly, my writing has significantly improved since the day I created this blog.

Back in November 2014. Vivi and her muse have been around in me for nearly 7 years now. She has developed so much since then, undergoing her own journey as well as my own journey into becoming a creative writer.

On top of those personal accomplishments I wanted to share, this fandom has given me SOOOO MANY life-long friends! I could tag each and every single person, I really could but it’d be taking up way too much space in this already long post. You guys know who you are! I can’t thank them enough for all the time we spent together, whether it was staying in Skype calls for 12 hours straight, helping each other through some very rough times, or enduring what was know as the Brock fiasco. I love each and every single moment I got to spend with you, and will continuously enjoy your company for more years to come!

This fandom gave me the chance to grow even closer to another very good friend, one that I can happily call my boyfriend! A very loving, sweet, funny, and down-right kind person. I cannot believe how lucky I am calling you as such, you’ve helped me out in some many ways as well. I love you with all my heart, and I am truly blessed each and every day knowing I get to say those words to you. ​

So thank you Mystery Skulls!

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and for every other person impacted by your creative works. Not only have you created such amazing music, but you are downright an absolute sweetheart. I won’t forget the first conversation we had when I saw you on tour in LA. You may have had a bit too much to drink, but the light in your eyes when you saw someone cosplaying one of the video’s characters is an image I haven’t forgotten. 

This community may be small, but we’re very mighty! I look forward to your next album release and a time where it’s safe for you and your crew to tour again! ❤️💜💛💙

[wonderlustlucas]

jack pot ; part 2 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader, bang chan x female reader ⇢ word count 7.5k ⇢ genre fluff, angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way), smut ⇢ warnings (18+) drug & alcohol use, explicit sexual content (fingering & thigh riding) ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n don’t kill me </3

⇠ part 1

three.

Student Mentor Program dinners aren’t the same without Maddie.

While she’s off in like, Panama, or something, studying treefrogs and whatnot for the semester, you get to spend almost two hours every other Wednesday night at the same restaurant, with the same people, eating the same food. You don’t even know half the kids who signed up this year, and with Maddie away and Seungmin deciding to just not show up anymore, you are beginning to think maybe you’re not cut out for the whole teamwork-planning-collaboration thing. Free Italian food is nice, but even the chicken parm is mediocre. How do you fuck up chicken parmigiana?

This is the last time you will ever bother making yourself look so formal, you tell yourself when you stop halfway up the stairs to take your heels off. Maybe it will be the last time you even bother going to the meeting, especially when fucking Dan likes to plop his ass down next to you and talk your ear off about his Mom’s dating life back at home.

When you enter your apartment, the silence is startling. Jisung is usually sprawled out on the sofa when you get home on Wednesday’s. Maybe he’s still hanging out on campus; he’s recently become a goblin for the new pho bar they built in the alumni cafeteria.

Throwing your shoes haphazardly toward the closet, you make a beeline to the kitchen, mouth watering for the pink lemonade Jisung has been so keen on making since the day you moved in. After drinking nothing but water for the past two hours, you have never been so grateful for his newfound addiction, grabbing a glass and filling it, chugging that, filling it again, and then taking steady sips. Speaking of Jisung, you jump when you hear a burst of laughter from his room. And he definitely isn’t alone.

Slowly making your way over, you hesitate before knocking on the door. “Jisung, I’m home.”

“YN!” Someone shouts. You’re not certain who.

“Come in! How was it?” This time, it’s definitely Jisung, and you suck in a deep breath before cautiously cracking open his door considering you have no idea who or what is with him.

“It was,” you stall, brows furrowing in confusion when you find him, Hyunjin, and Jeongin all huddled around his laptop, “terrible. What the hell are you guys doing?”

“Nothing,” Jisung snickers, lowering the hood of the laptop, “why was it terrible?” You pretend you don’t see Hyunjin looking terribly cute with his head tilted as he regards you.

“Food sucks. I miss Maddie and Seungmin. I don’t like people,” you grumble. Then, with a hand on your belly, “Did you get dinner?”

“My leftover wings are in the fridge. You can have them,” Jeongin offers with a smile. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite? I love you, thank you,” you gasp, excited at the prospect of actual good chicken. Before racing back to the kitchen, you make sure to blow him a kiss.

You don’t know why Jeongin hangs out with these nerds you call friends. As an incoming freshman, he first met Hyunjin at some soccer club recruitment event, and before you knew it, he was part of the group. You can’t understand why, considering they treat him like their slave (especially Seungmin); always asking him to do this, do that. But Jeongin is too much of an angel to argue. He’ll give a snarky reply, but then do whatever his friends ask him to. So, you try to shower him with genuine affection whenever he’s around since the others show it in peculiar ways.

You have just opened the styrofoam container when Jisung’s door opens and closes. And of course, none other than Hwang Hyunjin makes his way into the kitchen.

Hyunjin and his girlfriend broke up in August, a few days before classes started. Better yet, she broke up with him. And you have yet to know why. Since then, though, you have substantially grown closer. Against your better judgment, of course. You were hurt, yes, but summer gave you time to forget all that happened; at home, spending time with your family and friends from town, you didn’t have to worry about Hyunjin and your feelings. Changbin, maybe, but he’s studying abroad, too, and the whole friends-with-benefits thing was fun while it lasted. It’s all behind you now, and with November approaching at an alarmingly fast rate, part of you is convinced that what happened that night was just an impulsive show of hormones and weed. It’s better this way—you have your feelings better under control, and even if being around Hyunjin every day makes your heart hurt at times, you wouldn’t trade your friendship and his constant need to be close for the world.

“If you’re here to steal some wings, go away,” you grumble at him, glaring as he steps closer. He frowns. “Just one?”

“No!” You snap, smacking his hand when he reaches for one. “You try wasting two hours at one of those meetings and you would understand.”

“Maybe I will,” Hyunjin challenges, crossing his arms over his chest. Huffing loudly, you move further down the counter and finish a wing clean off the bone. “Don’t,” you deadpan, waving it at him, “I’d rather have smegma than do this anymore.” Hyunjin wrinkles his nose in disgust. “That’s – ew, YN. You’re gross.”

“Then leave me alone,” you counter, eying him scornfully, “go back to your group masturbation.”

Hyunjin lunges for the wings, but you are quick to grab them, stumbling past him and retreating back toward the refrigerator. “Stop!” You yelp when he comes after you again; this time, you duck under his arm and back against the sink. “You already had dinner!”

In one last effort, Hyunjin manages to trap you against the counter. “You’re so mean,” he whines, arms caging you in, “Jeongin wouldn’t share, either.” You desperately want to brush the ruffled strands of brown hair out of his eyes, but lucky for you, your hands are preoccupied hiding the container behind you. The fact that he even had to go and bleach his hair and dye it a light shade of brown is just another factor leading to your insanity.

“Well,” you scoff, freeing one hand to jab a finger into his chest, “it was his dinner. Maybe he didn’t want to share.” Hyunjin pouts at this, lower lip jutting out much to your dismay. His puppy eyes alone are enough to break your resolve. “Fine,” you huff, bringing the container from behind you, “just because you’re wasting my time and I want to take this dress off.”

“Why?” He asks, visibly brightening once you let him take a drumstick. “You look gorgeous,” he mumbles like it doesn’t leave you week in the knees, clean hand tugging at the skirt of the yellow sundress you wear. “Thanks,” you hum, trying to ignore his use of the hefty G word and the sincerity in his eyes, you focus on your food, “but it’s uncomfy and I’m ready for bed.”

“You’re not going to hang with us?”

“Well, if you guys were doing something fun and totally not suspicious, maybe. But my brain is fried, so no. I need sleep,” you say, licking residue hot honey sauce from your fingers, “tell Jeongin he can come snuggle.”

Hyunjin gasps, beginning to panic when you turn on your heels. “What?” He screeches, shoving the leftovers back into the fridge and following after you as you head toward your room. “Why Jeongin and not me?”

“Because Jeongin is my favorite,” you tease, pressing your back into the door because you refuse to let him be in there with you, “and naturally, next is Jisung. So you’re shit out of luck.”

Hyunjin deflates in front of you. Like, actually, full on like a balloon; shoulders sagging, chin jutting, soft eyes clouding with disappointment. “I’m kidding, Jinnie,” you giggle, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck, “you’re all special to me.” This seems to make him feel better, brown irises flickering golden and arms wrapping around your waist. “Promise?” He whispers into your hair, swaying your body with his to a silent song. Pressing your cheek to his chest, your heart seems to give a single, solid thump as you try to etch this moment into your mind forever. Maybe in another universe, you would have this dress on for something else, and the two of you are slow dancing not in the corridor of you and Jisung’s apartment, and the heavy weight on your chest was from a different overwhelming emotion.

Yeah. You definitely have your feelings under control.

“I promise.”

Jisung straight up pulls an AirPod out of your ear like a monster.

“I hate you so fucking much,” you hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not disturb the fellow bus passengers. You go to take the earbud back but he only holds it up over his head like a child. “Jisung.”

“You owe Jeongin an apology,” he replies, gesturing to the younger boy beside him who looks up from his phone with eyes widened in shock.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jisung, you don’t—”

“Shush,” Jisung interrupts Jeongin’s rushed protest, “I don’t know what you and Hyunjin did last night, but he was real weird around Jeongin for the rest of the night.”

“Again, I don’t know what you are—”

“Do you like him still?”

“YN likes Hyunjin?”

You suck in a sharp breath, unsure of who to address first; a very flabbergasted Jeongin or a very annoyed Jisung. “Please,” you snap, snatching the AirPod from his grip now that he isn’t paying attention to it, “just announce it to the whole fucking bus, why don’t you.”

“I didn’t know you liked Hyunjin…” Jeongin mutters, clearly puzzled by the revelation. “That’s because it’s a secret,” you look to Jisung with a pointed glare, “but some people don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

“Oh, come on YN,” Jisung scoffs, “I thought we were over this. I thought you were over this. When are you going to stop?” Nibbling on the inside of your cheek, you momentarily look away to gather your thoughts. If only it were that easy. A snap of your fingers and you miraculously would not be hopelessly in love with Hyunjin.

“I’m not,” you sigh, “I’m not going to get over him, at least anytime soon. It’s… it’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand it. Your head is too far up your ass and sometimes Minho’s ass to know what it feels like.”

Jisung frowns at this, crossing his arms over his chest because he knows you’re right. “Is this like,” Jeongin waves his hand between you, “something that’s been going on for a while?” Jisung barks out a laugh at this, and even you can’t help but crack a smile. “Yes,” Jisung chuckles, “YN has been all heart eyes for him since they met.”

“Have you told him?” Jeongin asks. Totally serious. Eyes sparkling hopefully.

“I – well, no. Not with words.”

“Hyunjin and YN had a little wink wonk night last year,” Jisung whispers like it’s some sort of secret you don’t know, jabbing Jeongin in the side with his elbow. “Yeah, and then he met what’s-her-face and forgot about it, apparently,” you grumble, slouching in your seat. “YN! How many times do I have to tell you that you left in the morning before he woke up? He was upset! You left him!”

“Then he should have talked to me about it!” You bark, shriveling in your seat when a sea of heads spin in your direction. “Instead, he went to cry to his boba bitch and get his dick sucked or something while I had to clean up Maddie’s vomit for two days.”

“YN,” Jisung deadpans, looking at you with an unamused expression. “I’m done talking about this,” you sigh, looking away once more. When you go to put your earbud back in, it’s Jeongin who stops you this time.

“YN, you two are really close. This whole time I thought it was Hyunjin who liked you. You seriously need to talk to him. Whatever happened last year was awhile ago and I’m sure it’s all just a big misunderstanding. We’re around you guys every day, and we can all see that there’s definitely something going on between you.”

“But what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if it just fucks everything up all over again? I can’t live with that kind of rejection,” you whimper, wincing when your voice cracks. Jisung takes it as his cue to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you close. Reaching for your hand, Jeongin squeezes your knuckles. “You won’t know unless you try, right?”

“I guess,” you mumble, cheek pressed to Jisung’s shoulder, “why can’t he just make the move?”

“Well, I don’t know, YN. Maybe because you were off fucking Changbin every day?” Jisung teases, comforting arm turning into a chokehold when you go to move away. “We were not fucking every day.”

“It sure felt like it,” he snickers, finally releasing his grip when you punch him in the gut, “Binnie got a big dick or something? Were you crazy for Changbin’s chode?” You scoff, mirroring Jeongin’s own mortified expression. “I – he does not – never mind, I’m not talking about Changbin’s dick,” laughing to hide your embarrassment, you send a thanks to the heavens when the bus slows down at the first campus stop, “this conversation ends now.”

Following them out to the sidewalk, it isn’t until silence settles over you do you realize just how lucky you are to have such supportive friends, even if Jisung is a little shit about it. “Hey,” you pipe up just before you have to head in a separate direction, “thanks for listening. I appreciate you guys.”

“Does that mean you’re going to talk to him?” Jisung gasps, excited. Adjusting the straps of your bag on your shoulders and rocking on your heels, you can only offer them a shrug. “If it comes up, maybe. But it probably won’t, so I’ll just have to deal with you guys being shitty wing-men for now.”

“Hey!” They both shout in protest, but you’ve already spun around, laughing to yourself.

Jeongin’s right; things are different than how they were in May, but you are not ready to dig your own grave again. Besides, now that you’re living with Jisung, you get to spend way more time with not only Hyunjin, but all your friends. And even if you fall asleep making up cute scenarios with Hyunjin every night, you aren’t about to make things awkward all over again. So if you must suffer in the meantime, suffer you will.

four.

“What’s the point of smoking at a party if it’s just going to turn you into a slug?” Maddie whispers next to you, vaguely gesturing to Lia passed out on the recliner. Even you aren’t sure how she does it. No matter how high you may be, something about a good party only seems to heighten the experience; maybe it’s the music that now rattles your brain, maybe it’s your reputation, or maybe it’s just the combination of weed, alcohol, and friends.

“Lia can’t handle what she smokes,” you laugh, taking a sip of beer. Christ, it’s fucking nasty, but you’re not about to start with the heavy liqueur when you are only two hours in. You still have a long night ahead of you. “Weed just has a different effect on her.”

Maddie hums in agreement, whipping her head to look behind you at the sea of people when “A Thousand Years” starts playing and everyone cheers. “Jesus, what did you do without me?”

You laugh, turning to watch the crowd as well. Your university may not be big on Greek life, but the upperclassmen who rent houses as a group really know how to throw a good party. After time, though, they start to lose their appeal. They definitely can be fun, but it all depends on who you are friends with, who else is there, and what you make of it on your own. Personally, you’re not a ‘let’s dance!’ kind of gal (it’s kind of hard to dance to crazy rap songs from Meek Mill and Kendrick Lamar, anyway), preferring to chill, drinking and maybe smoking with your own friends, and that’s about it.

“I told you, I became a master at beer pong,” you grin, waggling your eyebrows at her, “we should play later.”

“Is that why everyone was saying hi to you when we came in?” Maddie gasps, connecting the dots. “Damn, girl. Ms. Popular now, aren’t you?”

“No!” You try to object, but then someone is leaning over to hug you from behind. And of course it has to be Jeon Jeongguk, of all people. So much for proving that you aren’t as ‘popular’ as she’s made you out to be.

“YN! What’s up?” The older boy shouts way too loud in your ear, chin resting on your shoulder. He winks at Maddie and she has to look away just to hide the way her cheeks bloom pink. “I’m good!” You yell back, leaning your head affectionately against his. “Are there any good drinks tonight?”

“Yes! Do you want me to get you one?” He offers, standing up but leaving a hand dangerously close to your neck. “No, thank you” you smile, tilting your head back to look at him, “I’ll check it out in a bit. Go find your friends, you look lost.” Realizing he is, in fact, lost, Jeongguk only flicks your nose before disappearing in the sea of increasingly loud students.

“Was that—”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t he—”

“Yes.”

“Christ, who are you? What did you do to YN?” Maddie fake-cries, burying her head in her palms. “Chin up, princess, your tiara is falling,” you attempt to joke but only earn an unamused glare in return. “Alright, I think it’s time for one of those drinks Mr. Jeon was talking about,” Maddie decides, standing up and tugging the hem of her skirt down. “Unless you still want to ‘vibe?’” She mimics your previous words with air-quotes.

Laughing, you chug what’s left in your cup and stand with her. “No,” you beam, “I need to find Felix and make sure he’s not dead, anyway.”

Following Maddie around the crowd ‘dancing’ in between where you were and the kitchen, you are delighted to find not only Ryujin and Chaeryeong standing around the island, but the rest of your friends, too. “You may want to check in on your roommate,” you say to Ryujin, wrapping your arms around her and resting your chin in the crook of her neck, “she’s knocked the fuck out.”

“Aw, man,” she sighs, definitely not the most sober one around either, “I told her not to smoke if she was going to drink.”

“YN, I just think it’s funny how Maddie comes and gives me a hug, yet I don’t think you’ve even said hello,” Seungmin barks at you from his stance against the sink, eyes bloodshot and frown deep. “Dude,” you laugh, making your way over to him and opening your arms wide to give him a dramatic bear hug, “please forgive me, my friend.” Swaying side to side just for the extra measure, you then pull back to cup his face in your hands. “How are you?”

“Good,” Seungmin beams, “take a sip out of Hyunjin’s cup. It’s so good.”

You step back to look at the older boy who’s too busy playing rock-paper-scissors with Felix and Jisung. “Why?”

“Trust me.”

Shrugging, you step around a shrieking Felix to snatch Hyunjin’s cup right from his hand. “Hey—”

He stops once he realizes it’s you. “Seungmin told me to,” you confess, handing it back once you’ve taken a sip. Shit, that is good. “What is that?”

“Want me to make you one?” He offers, ignoring the initial question. You nod, unable to give him a verbal answer because Felix is already yanking your hand to get your attention. “Are you high?” He asks, spinning you in a circle until you end up in the corner of the kitchen. “Yeah, a little,” you hum, watching curiously as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a chocolate bar. Leaning closer to hide it, he whispers, “Don’t have it tonight, but this is the best edible I’ve ever had. I was actually seeing different dimensions earlier.”

Laughing, you take what’s left and turn it over to inspect. Looks like chocolate. Smells like chocolate. “Alright,” grinning excitedly, you shove it into your wristlet, “thank you.” With a wide grin, he then spins on his heel to join Jeongin shouting at Jisung about something you don’t quite catch.

Smiling to Maddie across the room as Minho chats her up, you look beside you and realize with much joy you are right next to the chip bowls. Bingo. Fueled by munchies, you hop up onto the counter and dig your hand into the potato chips, listening in on Chaeryeong and Seungmin discuss what law schools they are looking into. Kudos to them for having their shit together.

“One beverage for m’lady,” Hyunjin appears next to you, proudly holding a red cup out to you. Laughing, you happily take it and take a careful sip. Definitely not as strong as his, but he can probably tell you already have a buzz. “Thank you,” you smile, finally eyeing him to see what attire he chose for the night. As discreetly and not-sexually-attracted as you can, of course.

Black button-up with a cute peach pattern tucked into black jeans and black Vans, he looks nothing short of incredible. It’s so easy for him, though; he could wear a trash bag and still look good and that really makes you angry. With soft brown hair messily parted to the side, he actually has you salivating. He’s crazy.

You definitely are not as slick with your checking-out as you thought you were, and he easily catches on. He’s tipsy, but not that tipsy. Hands coming to grip your thighs, Hyunjin pries them open just enough so he can slot in between, keeping his hands where they are. Suddenly you wish you didn’t wear jeans tonight.

“So,” he hums like he hasn’t just sent your blood pressure skyrocketing, “what did you do today?”

“I – well,” you stammer, brain actually rendered to mush as he rubs up and down your thighs, sometimes drawing way to close to the inside, sometimes brushing up to the curve of your hip. Drunk Hyunjin is always touchy, drunk Hyunjin is always touchy, you try to convince yourself. “Uh, I went shopping with Maddie and then we, um, we got milkshakes.”

“Yeah?” Hyunjin hums, completely invested in your short recall. He’s dangerous. Like, actually a danger to your life; no man should ever be equally cute as he is hot as he is sweet. Jail! “What flavor did you get?”

“Cookies and cream,” you whisper, beginning to panic now that he most certainly is leaning in closer and your brain is screaming to wrap your arms around him, “Maddie got strawberry and I got Jisung a, uh—”

“Is YN here?” Someone shouts in the middle of your sentence. Hyunjin frowns, mere inches from your face and moves his arm to slide possessively around your waist. “She’s right here,” he answers for you, turning and finding with much surprise Bang Chan twisting back around. Dear Lord. You grab your drink and guzzle half of it just to get some feeling back.

“You.” Chan beans, full dimples. He points directly at you.

“Me?”

“You.” “That would be me.”

Chan laughs heartily at this, stepping closer and Hyunjin’s fingers twitch against your side. “I need you,” Chan admits. You practically choke. “Yugyeom and Woojin think they’re the best beer pong players and I laughed in their face, so now I’ve been challenged to play vodka pong and I know with you, we can win.”

Geez, how dramatic. You wrinkle your nose at the whole vodka part, but you promised Maddie a game, so what better game to play than with the one and only Bang Chan.

“Sure,” you agree much to Hyunjin’s disappointment, “since you made it sound like such an honor. I’d be happy to.”

Grinning ear to ear, Chan waits for you to hop off the counter. “You gonna come?” You ask Hyunjin, finding his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Yeah,” he hums, seemingly annoyed and it makes you wince, “just need to get another drink and I’ll try to get everyone to come with.”

“Okay,” you smile, hoping to get one in return. And you do—except it lacks every aspect of a whole-hearted Hyunjin smile and an annoying thought bubble pops up to say that he’s jealous. Christ, if that’s the case… You can’t help but smile at the thought before releasing his hand and approaching Chan.

“I don’t think we’ve ever formally met,” he chuckles softly, hand on your back as he leads you toward the back door. “I don’t think so either,” you laugh, grateful that the mix of marijuana and alcohol in your body has left the anxiety that comes with talking to cute boys on the low, “only through Jisung and Changbin. And beer pong, I guess.”

“Definitely,” Chan laughs, nodding to Yugyeom and Woojin at the far end of the yard, “I think they were shocked when I said I was going to get you.”

“Oh, doubtful, are they?” Clinging closer to Chan, your brows raise as you near the senior and unfairly tall junior. “All bark and no bite.”

“What was that, YLN?” Yugyeom yaps, rounding up on you as if you would ever actually feel intimidated by him. “You wouldn’t switch up on your Olympics partner like that, would you?”

“Actually,��� clicking your tongue, you poke him in the middle of his chest, “my Olympics partner is the whole reason we lost in the final four. So yes, I am switching up on you, unless you beat us.” Behind you, Woojin whistles, offering Chan an impressed nod. “And for you, I’ll pay double for my next order.”

“Deal,” Woojin beams, giving your hand a solid shake when you make your way over, “you win, next order is my treat.”

“Damn,” Chan frowns playfully when you return to his side, this time at your end of the table, “I guess nothing is in it for me besides my ego.” Laying your hand on his arm and giving it a comforting pat, you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry,” you reassure, “we’ll figure something out when the time comes.” What you mean by that, you’re not sure.

Maddie goes absolutely berserk when you and Chan both make your shots and get balls back. Felix, on the other hand, seems torn. While Woojin is his friend and weed plug, he realizes that you winning means not having to spend money for a good while. Which also means a disgruntled Woojin. When you miss your shot, you turn back to your friends who have crowded around the table, returning a thumbs-up to Jisung and Seungmin before frantically searching for Hyunjin.

You realize you are way more intoxicated than you thought when a troublesome idea pops in your head. It’s a close game, after all; two cups on your side and two on theirs. And right now, you don’t care about winning when the only thing you’re after is but a few feet away. When he manages a soft smile, just a shy quirk of his lips that has your heart doing somersaults, you really, truly think you may just confess. It’s now or never. The alcohol in your veins tells your heart and your head that you will just march right on over and kiss him, kiss him hard and kiss him long enough for him to know how you feel, and fuck, if he doesn’t understand you’ll tell him. Tell him how long you have wanted to do that and how badly you wish to do it again. How much he means to you and how you truly—

“Yes! Woojin, yes!” Yugyeom shrieks, loud enough to break you from your trance. Vodka pong. Winning. Bang Chan. He must have missed, as well as Yugyeom. But now Woojin made a cup and its one to two.

“Shit,” Chan sighs next to you, hand slipping away from your hip. It’s found its way there awhile now, you realize. “You got this,” you tell him, wincing as he downs the shot, “I’ll close my eyes. No pressure.” Covering your eyes with your hand for extra measure, it feels like an eternity goes by before something happens. And then, “Yes! Shit, YN, we got this!” Ah, shit. Now the pressure is on you. Of course, Mr. Perfect made the shot.

“Aw, man,” you huff, giving him a pained smile and rolling the cheap pong ball between your fingers. Your mind is a little fuzzy to focus on the singular cup and that alone, and your muscle coordination is certainly not at its best shape. But you think you have a good shot. You think. Sucking in a deep breath, you let the ball fly and bite your lip hard as it arches over the table, nearing the cup, hits the rim, bounces back up vertically, and… plops back into the cup.

“YN, you crazy son of a bitch!” Chan hollers, and you are momentarily blinded by joy as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you in a tight hug, spinning in a circle and ever so gently lifting you from the ground. “You did it!”

“I – bruh,” steadying yourself against him once he sets you back down, you glance between his bright smile and a sulking Woojin as he drinks from the last cup, “we won!” Laughing, you squeeze him into a second hug because fuck yeah, winning feels nice.

“Man, good game,” Woojin sighs, making his way over to you, “I think you two are the crowned champions.”

“You had us sweating though,” Chan confesses, wiping said sweaty hands on his thighs, “that was really fun.”

“Stressful, but fun,” you agree, offering Woojin a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to give me free weed, by the way. It was just fun setting the stakes high.”

“No! A deal is a deal,” he beams, “just text me whenever, yeah?”

“Alright,” you laugh, “whatever you say.” Finding Felix in the crowd, you grin proudly at him. Free weed for all! “You’re going to use this against me forever, aren’t you?” Yugyeom pouts, appearing in front of you. “Well,” you pause, pursing your lips at him, “as long as you don’t give me a reason to, no, I won’t. You were my pong partner at some point, right?”

“Hell yeah!” Satisfied with this, Yugyeom pats your head before wandering off, probably to go drink all his worries away.

“Well,” beside you, Chan reappears with two bottles of water, “that was pretty amazing.”

“Truly,” with an appreciative smile, you take one and down half of it, “did you hear what Woojin said? ‘Crowned champions!’ We’re a great team. Truly unstoppable.”

Chuckling, he nods in agreement, leaning against the table next to you. “You’re stuck with me now, though. Anytime I’m playing, you’re playing too. That’s just how it is now.” Laughing, you nod and hum in agreement, glancing at him briefly. “You know your paparazzi aren’t going to be happy about that.”

“My what?” Chan sputters and you quickly take another sip of water to hide your smirk.

“You know,” gesturing vaguely to the boys and girls gathered in the yard you’ve noticed send envious glares your way, “your fans. I’m sure someone out there is a gold star beer pong player waiting to play with you.” Chan scoffs, pressing closer and you would be lying if you said your heart rate didn’t pick up. “But I don’t want to play with anyone else.”

“Woah,” scrambling to get your cool, you turn to him and are shocked to find just how closer he has gotten, “how many girls have you used that line on?”

“None,” Chan admits, chuckling and you desperately want to press your finger in his dimple, “but I figured since we still have to figure out my prize for winning, I would try my luck.”

“Oh,” you hum, understanding. You turn to face him fully, heat working its way up and down your body as he reciprocates the movement, stepping closer and anchoring his hand to your hip. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“A few things,” Chan whispers, other hand coming to hold your jaw, tilting your head to meet his eyes. This is when you come to your senses.

Not even ten minutes ago were you convinced you were going to confess to Hyunjin, and here you are now, with not Hyunjin. You cannot help but pull back, frantically searching for the taller boy. Beside Yugyeom, Hyunjin is definitely one of the easier people to find. Could just be your Hyunjin tunnel vision, though. But as you look all around, to the left and to the right, behind Chan and behind yourself, you cannot find him. He’s not here to remind you where your heart truly belongs.

But yet again—why would he? Why should he stick around and watch as you are mere centimeters and seconds away from kissing someone else? Perhaps a part of you thought he would fight for you. Perhaps you were wrong for ever thinking that was a possibility.

And here you are, leaving someone waiting who has succeeded in making you forget about Hyunjin for the time being. Leaving someone waiting who is hot, and not in the sex appeal, six-pack all muscles type of hot. (Well, maybe a little of that, because you have been to enough swim meets to know what Bang Chan looks like underneath all his clothes.) But hot not just physically—he’s the whole package. Sweet, humble, and nothing like most of the guys who look the way he does.

“YN?” Chan asks, brows furrowed and concern clear in his voice at your prolonged hesitance. “Sorry,” shaking your head and making a final decision, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in closer, “I was just thinking of where else we could go.”

Chan surprises you with the force he uses to kiss you, tongue skillfully wrapping around yours and hands hurrying to press you closer. Whimpering against his mouth, you slowly but surely lose yourself in the feeling, clawing at the fabric of his shirt and aching to have him closer. It isn’t until he has you bumping against the edge of the table you were just playing pong at do you realize where you are, certainly drawing attention in the middle of the yard with Chan’s hips rolling into yours and your hands tugging at his hair.

“Chan,” you shakily pull away, taking a necessary breath and cupping his face in your palms. This close, you realize just how beautiful he is. This close, you pray this could be the start of something new. “Somewhere else?”

Chan swallows heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing as he brushes blonde hair away from his forehead. “Yes,” soft smile greatly juxtaposing to the lust that leaves his eyes heavy-lidded, he takes your hand in his and leads you back inside, “not out here.”

Wordlessly following after him, you keep close, holding onto his hand for dear life as the desire pooling in your abdomen grows the farther he takes you into the house and finally up the stairs. “Sorry,” he mutters, maneuvering around the few people waiting to get into the bathroom, “seniors typically get the best rooms.” Opening one of the last doors further down the left corridor, Chan finally releases your hand once you have entered a very tiny, very cramped bedroom.

“I mean,” you pause, scanning the room with just a full-sized bed, black desk littered with music equipment, and dresser just barely squeezed next to a small closet. “At least you have your own room.” Humming in agreement, Chan regards his room too, wincing at his unmade bed and wires tangled in a heaping mess over his desk and onto the floor. “I wasn’t expecting to have someone over, everything’s a mess, I’m—”

“Hey,” you reach for his arm, stopping him from fixing the comforter that hangs halfway off the bed, “stop worrying. This is fine, you’re fine.” Smiling softly, Chan allows you to pull him back, stopping before you and caging you between himself and the door. “Are you sure?” He whispers, tilting your head up with a finger under your chin. “Yes,” unable to fight your smile at just how sweet he is, you finally lean up and press a quick kiss to his reddened lips. “Now please, do something.”

Chan does not hesitate, hurriedly returning to your previous business; this time, not holding back. His hands skirt down your body, one curling to cup your neck as the other slides down your spine before giving your ass a good squeeze. “Shit,” you hiss, head thudding against his door when he journeys down your neck, plump lips pressing random kisses against the soft skin before sucking a dark mark above your collarbone. When his fingers fumble against the buttons of your jeans, you offer him a hand, hurriedly popping the four open and sighing happily when he gently touches your clothed core.

“Are you sure?” Chan checks one last time, forehead pressing into yours and you nearly scream. Half because what a gentleman he is but half because every nerve is begging to be sated. “Yes,” your voice comes out more as a croak, quickly kicking your shoes off by the soles and tugging your jeans down to your knees to give him extra room.

Chan wastes no time, fingers quickly disappearing beneath the waistband of your underwear and drawing a teasing line up your slit. “Chan,” you groan, squeezing his arms at the subtle touch, “please.” Chuckling at your expense, he softly circles your clit with his thumb, reveling in the way you tremble and whimper before him.

“I’ve never been so turned on playing beer pong,” Chan admits, middle finger moving to prod against your entrance, “I kept missing my shots ‘cause all I could focus on was you.”

“Fuck,” you sigh blissfully, rolling to meet the gentle sway of his finger as it reaches deep within you, “you’re going to make be blush.” Chuckling, Chan quickly adds a second finger and makes sure to grind his palm against your clit until you are a whimpering mess. “I’m so glad we won. This would not be as enjoyable if we were doing this to make up for losing.”

“For sure,” nodding frantically, a high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he moves his fingers in a come-hither motion, brushing deliciously at that sacred bundle of nerves, “this is better than winning.” Sensing your impending orgasm with the way your walls begin to flutter around him, Chan suddenly pulls his fingers from your heat and takes the overwhelming pleasure with him.

“What are you doing?” You gasp, breathless and confused as he plops down on his bed, leaning against the wall and quickly tugging you to join him. “Want you to come on my thigh,” he grins, totally not fitting for your given circumstances, but the thought is tantalizing enough to convince you. Fully stepping from your jeans and shakily sitting over one thigh, you glance back up to him and feel a fresh wave of arousal simply from how godly he looks; cheeks flushed and eyes dark. Pressing down, it isn’t until his hands find your hips and guide a subtle back-and-forth movement do you find just how amazing it feels.

“Oh, god,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as you rock desperately over his thigh, relishing in the way the fabric of his jeans rubs against your clothed core and directly to your clit. In the midst of such a frenzy, you make out the shape of his cock tented painfully within his pants and release your grip on his shoulder to pop open the button and slide the zipper down. “Shit, YN,” Chan sighs shakily, finally receiving the same treatment as your hand tugs the waistband of his boxers down just enough to wrap your hand around him.

“God, sorry, I’m gonna come,” biting onto your lip, you try to keep the momentum stroking his cock but with one final rut against his thigh, the pressure against your clit causes the knot within you to snap. High on the intensity of your climax, it takes a few seconds for you to come back to reality, mind swimming and limbs shaking with the aftershocks of such ecstasy.

Looking up to meet his eyes, you realize your hand has gone limp by his thigh and offer a shy smile. “Sorry,” wincing, you lean forward and press a grateful kiss to his lips, “that was like, insanely amazing.”

“I’m glad,” Chan purrs, cradling your jaw and finding himself content with just kissing you for now. Until your hand finds his still very much hard cock and brushes against the tip.

“Wait,” he stops you no matter how hard it hurts him to do so, breathing shakily as he reaches for your wrist. “I hope this isn’t going to make things complicated for you.”

“What?” You laugh in disbelief, pulling back with brows raised in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Chan frowns, helping you settle comfortably on his lap like his dick isn’t standing tall and proud between you. “You were looking for someone earlier,” he says, eyes soft with sympathy, “I hope you being here with me doesn’t mess things up.”

You scoff, truly amazed at his words. Here we go again. “I – no, it doesn’t. Well, things are already complicated. Actually,” the haze of alcohol and post-orgasm bliss suddenly clearing from your mind, you move to stand up, “never mind. This was a mistake. I should go.”

“Wait,” Chan stops you, hand softly reaching yours and tugging you back. Just the sadness in his expression alone is enough to soften your resolve. “I know we’re not best friends or anything, but you just came on my thigh. You can tell me what’s wrong. I think I deserve to know.” Well… he has a point. Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you contemplate turning away and leaving. But even if it’s not his business, he has given you something special tonight. Maybe telling someone like him will help.

“You’re right,” you sigh, quietly returning to sit beside him, “I was looking for someone. I was hoping he would be there to remind me who I’m really after, but he wasn’t. And then I realized I was wasting time. And now I’m here with you.”

Chan’s hand finds yours, thumb swiping softly against your skin. “Why didn’t you go find them?”

“Well – I… it’s not like we’re dating. It’s just a stupid crush, and I was hoping maybe he somehow feels the same, and when he saw me with you, he would get jealous… I’m sorry, this makes it look like I used you,” frantic, you struggle to find the right words, “I promise I’m not. I like you, you made me forget everything and I—”

“Hey, stop,” Chan interrupts, cupping your face so you look him in the eyes, “I didn’t think that at all. I really like you and thought maybe something could happen between us, and even after I realized you were looking for someone else, I was selfish and wanted you for myself.”

“No! Stop, please,” laughing to hide your disbelief, you squeeze his hand to assure him. “I was hopeful because you made me forget about him. But I don’t think I ever will fully forget.”

“You need to tell him, then,” Chan says, “or else you’ll never be able to move on.”

“It’s not that easy. Confessing just how much you like someone is a big deal,” you point out.

“No, it’s not,” he argues, brows furrowed, “you just told me you like me. Just do that again but to the one you really feel that way for.” Sulking, you look away, focusing on his desk’s clutter. “I guess you’re right,” sighing, you rest your head against his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut, “but for right now, I’m with you. And you still didn’t get a prize for winning.”

Bellowing out a laugh, Chan snuggly wraps his arms around you. “Well, if I can help take your mind off things without ruining any relationships, I’d be happy to do so.” Smiling against your hair, his palm lays flat against your bare thigh and gives it a firm squeeze, bringing your attention to his slowly softening dick.

“That sounds like a great plan,” you agree, littering kisses over his neck before resituating yourself over his lap, “I’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

⇢ part 3

[keanureevesisbae]

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 19

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 3.1k

A/N: Oh my God, everyone. This story has reached 70k and I have to write another chapter. This is a full on novel that I wrote in about a month... 🤯🤯🤯

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Olivia is thirty weeks pregnant and since a week she is on maternity leave. Henry doesn’t want to be the kind of man that is really possessive about his girlfriend, wanting her around every single second, but he is happy that she is at home now. Working the hours that she did, became too much for her, though she didn’t want to admit it. He even suggested to buy her some extra maternity leave, but she insisted that she was going to work up until twenty nine weeks.

But now she is at home and God, does he love every minute that she’s here with him. This pregnancy has been a dream for Henry. His family is growing and that was what he wanted. He started with Kal and then he met Olivia. Because he met Olivia, he gained not only a beautiful girlfriend, but a marvelous young daughter like Vanessa and now they are expecting a baby girl.

His brothers asked him if he didn’t mind that he’d only have women at home, but to be entirely fair: he doesn’t care one single bit. Vanessa already said that when her baby sister is born, they are going to put make-up on him, he should lift both of them up at the same time and he should participate in fashion shows.

And that is a future he so desperately wants.

Tonight Vanessa will go to his parents place, since his mom really wants to have her over. His dad is on a camping trip with some of his friends and mom can use some company. But for now she joins Olivia and him on a little trip to a tattoo shop.

According to Olivia, it had been quite some time since she last went there, probably for the tattoo of Vanessa’s name after Vanessa was a year old. Olivia places her hand on his. ‘You sure you still want to do this?’ she asks.

‘I do.’

‘And remember, only Vanessa’s name,’ she tells him, when he parked the car. ‘I don’t want you to regret it.’

‘I could never regret you, sweetheart.’ Henry opens the door of his own side and walks around the car, to open her door and the back door, so Vanessa can get out as well.

The three of them stand on the curb, as he hears Olivia and Vanessa have a discussion. ‘Because the tattoo is permanent,’ Olivia says, holding Vanessa’s hand. ‘And I know that daddy is not going to regret you, but he and I could break up.’

Vanessa frowns. ‘But I don’t want you two to break up.’

‘We will not break up,’ Henry says to Vanessa, but he also looks at Olivia with a stern look, causing her to roll her eyes. ‘Come on, ladies. Let’s go.

The three of them walk inside the shop and he opens the door for them. ‘Remember,’ she says, ‘only Vanessa’s.’

The man behind the counter looks tough, but when he sees Olivia, his entire face lights up. ‘No way, is that you? Olivia Tran?’

‘The one and only,’ she chuckles.

‘Look at you, all glowing.’ He walks over to them, to give her a hug. ‘I’m so happy to see you.’ The man looks at Vanessa, giving her a big hug as well. ‘And you are so tall already, little V.’

‘I know, Frankie,’ Vanessa smiles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. ‘And I’m going to be a big sister.’

‘That’s lovely, little V.’ He places her on the floor again and he looks over at Henry. ‘Isn’t this the actor?’ He wipes his hands clean on his pants.

Olivia chuckles. ‘This is my boyfriend Henry, the actor indeed. Henry, this is my favorite tattoo artist, Frankie. He did all of my tattoos.’

‘Mister Henry it’s a pleasure to meet you. I loved you in the Witcher.’

‘Oh thank you,’ Henry says, blushing a bit, as he shakes Frankie’s hand.

‘You want a tattoo, sir?’

Henry nods. ‘I wanted the same one as Olivia has. The one with Vanessa’s name.’

Franke tries to process it, but when it’s becoming obvious that he has trouble understanding, Olivia helps him out by saying: ‘Henry officially adopted Vanessa and with the new one on the way, he wanted to start off with a tattoo of Vanessa’s name.’

‘Oh, you found yourself a good man!’ Frankie says.

‘He is my new daddy,’ Vanessa says, jumping in Henry’s arms.

‘I’m so happy for you, Olivia,’ he says. ‘You and Vanessa deserve it. When is your new baby due? Is it a he or a she?’’

‘She is due at the end of November.’

‘Wonderful, wonderful. I know for a fact that she is, just like her older sister, going to be a heartbreaker.’ Frankie playfully pinches Vanessa in her cheek. ‘Mister Henry, please come with me, so you can lay down on the chair and get ready.’

Henry answers all the questions. Where he wants the tattoo, if he wants it in the same thin cursive font as Olivia has and if he had eaten well.

Vanessa and Olivia sit next to him on a stool, as he takes place in the chair. Frankie designs the tattoo, so Henry can look at his girlfriend and daughter again. ‘You sure you don’t want your name on here as well?’

‘I’m sure, Henry. I don’t want you to regret it. If we break up, you are going to have my name on you forever.’

Henry simply shrugs. ‘Vanessa, don’t listen to this, okay. You never tattoo someone else’s name on your body, you hear me?’

She nods. ‘Okay, daddy.’

‘But, Olivia, my love, you are the mother of our children. I would cherish you forever. If you really don’t want it, I understand, but I honestly wouldn’t mind. And by the way, how dare you think we are going to break up?’

She chuckles, as she rolls her eyes. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘it’s your body and if you want to, please do it. Just make a wise decision. Wesley has my name tattooed on his body and I bet he isn’t too happy with that.’

‘Seriously?’ he asks. She never told him that, but when would this ever come up in a conversation? He’d rather not talk about that lowlife.

‘On his chest.’

The idea of her name tattooed on Wesley’s chest, makes him want to hurl, but he holds it in. ‘Love, I’m going to be forever grateful that you are the mom of our kids and that is the most important thing for me. Even if we broke up—knock on wood—I would still treat you with the upmost respect, so Vanessa, baby girl and maybe our other kids can see how the most important woman in their lives should be treated like.’

‘Daddy, look what you did,’ Vanessa says, smacking his arm. ‘Mommy is crying.’ She wraps her arms around her mom’s neck and gives her a kiss. ‘Don’t cry, mommy.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ He holds her hand to press a kiss on it.

Olivia wipes away the tears, gives Vanessa a peck on her temple and whispers that she is all good now, thanks to how good Vanessa is comforting her.

‘Okay, what about this?’ Frankie asks, as he shows them the design.

‘This looks exactly like mommy’s,’ Vanessa says.

‘It does,’ Henry says, as he nods in approval. ‘Can you write Olivia’s name in the same font?’

Frankie smiles. ‘Sure thing, sir. You are really serious about her, aren’t you?’

‘I sure am and please just say Henry.’

‘Well, Henry, you are a lucky man. Had I not been married to my wonderful wife, I’d stole Olivia right away.’

‘Shut up,’ she chuckles. ‘Henry, are you sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ he says with a smile. ‘I want this.’

Frankie says he’ll be right back and Vanessa walks over to the big tattooed up man, so she can look at how he is designing the tattoo.

Olivia smiles at him. ‘What do you want to do after we dropped of Vanessa at your mom’s?’ Kal is already there, since he has been keeping his mother company since dad left for camping.

‘I think you know,’ he laughs.

‘You horny piece of shit. My hormones should rage, not yours.’

He can’t help but laugh a bit louder. ‘See it as sympathy lust. Why are you complaining? You don’t her my whining every time you want me: five times a day?’

‘You are impossible, mister Cavill.’ She stands up and massages her lower back. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she whispers. ‘It’s nothing serious, honey. Comes with being pregnant, so please calm your tits.’

He looks around, only to see that Frankie pulled Vanessa on his lap and explains some tattoo technicalities. He pulls her closer to the chair and presses a kiss on her bump. She looks absolutely adorable pregnant and he still can’t believe that she is his girlfriend. What did he do in life to deserve her.

‘Still hundred percent sure about the tattoo?’ Olivia asks. ‘I don’t want you to regret it.’

‘I am, baby.’

‘And you know they use needles when setting tattoos?’

He nods. ‘I know. Just stay here with me, okay?’

‘We don’t want a Kal has to get his shots two point o, do we?’

‘Shut up,’ he laughs.

Frankie walks back to the chair, Vanessa plops on the stool and after all the preparations (taking off his shirt), he feels the first sting of the needle in his skin. He doesn’t want to look like a baby, but this hurts. He breaths in slowly as he focuses on Olivia. He could’ve known that it would hurt like shit, because he looked it up, but this spot was the only one he wanted. He feels Olivia’s fingers run through his hair and he closes his eyes, leaning against her touch as he lets out a breath.

‘You’re doing great, sweetheart,’ she whispers. She checks the progress and nods in approval. ‘As usual, Frankie, you are doing an amazing job.’

‘Have to make it perfect for my favorite customers baby daddy.’

‘I want to hit you, but you’re lucky that I love my boyfriend very much and don’t want to screw up his tattoo.’

‘Does it hurt, daddy?’ Vanessa asks with a smile.

‘No.’

‘Don’t lie to your daughter,’ Olivia says.

He closes his eyes. ‘A bit, sunshine.’

Olivia keeps on massaging her lower back and finally says: ‘I’m going out for a bit, to walk around, okay?’

Henry nods. ‘Call me if you need me, love.’

‘Will do. Vanessa, you want to stay here or go with me?’

‘I’m coming with you, mommy.’ The two of them give him a kiss and together they walk out of the shop.

‘Lucky man,’ Frankie says, wiping over the tattoo. ‘Not that Olivia is unlikeable or unlovable, but I never thought she’d find someone again after that prick Wesley, who I, by the way, banned out of my shop. Fucking idiot.’

Henry can’t stop his chuckle. ‘I’m indeed such a lucky man. I’m just happy that she allowed me to be her boyfriend, to be honest. She is way out of my league.’

Frankie looks him right in the eye and says: ‘She is out of your league. You better not walk away, otherwise I have to gather some friends and kick your ass. Though your size is intimidating, we care too much about Olivia. When Wesley left her, we threw him out of the shop, even threatened him.’

‘What for?’

‘If he ever showed his ass in the neighborhood again, we’d kill him.’

‘Well,’ Henry says, ‘he is a fucking idiot, so if you see him in the neighborhood, hold him hostage, so I can punch him in the face.’ He quickly tells Frankie about their meeting with Wesley back in February. ‘I had to fight the urge not to break his neck right there and then,  but Vanessa was watching, so I contained myself. I just don’t think I have ever hated someone with that amount of passion.’

Frankie finishes up the tattoo and while Henry admires it in the mirror, Olivia and Vanessa come back. ‘Oh it’s done. Let me see, let me see.’

He turns around and shows them the finished tattoo. He loves it, the cursive font, both of their names and enough space for the name of their future daughter, as well as other kids. She smiles as she places her hand on his waist. Vanessa nods in approval, holding his hand tightly in hers.

‘It’s beautiful, honey,’ Olivia says.

‘And I don’t regret it at all, sweetheart.’

≫≫≪≪

After the three of them came back from Frankie, they dropped Vanessa off at his mothers, because he had other plans for him and Olivia. The earth shattering sex they’ve been having, it’s absolutely mind blowing, but he isn’t complaining at all. He walks back into the bedroom, after he got a bath ready for Olivia. He sees her beautiful naked body on top of the blankets, a faint blush on her cheeks and the after glow of her two orgasms still apparent.

She looks up with a smile. ‘Such a shame you can’t join me in bath,’ she admits.

He smiles, as he holds out his hand for her to take. ‘It sure is, love. Careful now.’ He pulls her up and together they walk to the bathroom. He helps her step into the tub, making sure she doesn’t slip. When she is nicely seated, he tells her he will be right back. He puts on a shirt, so he isn’t just in his boxers.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to get us something to drink, my love,’ he says with a smile. ‘You need to stay hydrated.’

‘No,’ she pouts, ‘don’t leave.’

Sometimes she does this because she is just being in a whiney mood, but today he senses that she means it. He even notices the tears in her eyes. ‘Oh no, honey, don’t cry.’

‘Don’t leave me, Henry,’ she whines.

Henry can’t help but chuckle. ‘Sweetheart, I’ll be right back.’ He presses a kiss on her temple and leaves her in the tub, though she is a sulking mess. He quickly walks downstairs and making both of them a cup of tea. He clears his throat and can’t help but think about their new baby.

The nursery is all set and done. Though they could move into a bigger place—he has the money—the both of them figured that they aren’t in a hurry. Since they want to wait at least a few years before they want an eventual third kid, they’ll manage in this place. He has yet to put up his home on the market, but he figures he should do that soon. In less than ten weeks their daughter will be here and he don’t think he has time or energy to do it then.

He walks up the stairs and sees she is now relaxing in the bath tub. Since he can’t join her, he sits on a tiny stool next to the tub. ‘I was thinking about some names,’ he says. ‘I know I told you before that I liked Heather, but I feel like you and I should think about some more names. Just like you did with Vanessa. I’m just scared that if we look at our daughter when she’s born and the name doesn’t fit her.’

She nods. ‘I still like Chloe. So if you like that name, we have two to choose from. I think it’s just hard to think of more names. Every name seems to be connected to stupid people.’

He smiles. ‘That is true.’ He never thought he could love her more, but with every passing second, his love for her grows even more. He can’t believe himself. He fell in love over the course of his lifetime, but never felt he like this. Sometimes he fears that one day she’ll get enough of him, but seeing her pregnant with their kid… It’s evident that she’ll probably not get sick of him. He is so head over heels with her, it scares him sometimes.

‘Henry, why are you staring at me?’

‘Nothing, just love you.’

She frowns. ‘No, it’s not just that. Be honest with me, Henry, you like me being pregnant, because I’m helpless, horny and ugly.’

Though he’d agree that he likes to do things for her (not the helpless part, he loves her independence) and he loves the way she initiates tons of make out sessions which on its own leads to sex, he can’t believe she says she’s ugly. ‘Don’t say you’re ugly,’ he says in disbelieve. ‘You are not ugly, everything but ugly for that matter.’

‘Henry,’ she whispers, ‘I’m fat and I have stretch marks. I gained so much weight already, while you still look like perfection.’

‘That’s because you are growing a baby inside of you. Sweetheart, I love you so much and you look beautiful.’ He takes her hand in his. He wondered what she thought when she was pregnant with Vanessa. Was she like this as well? ‘I have to be honest with you: I do love seeing you pregnant, simply because you are glowing so much and you are doing something so amazing. But I can’t wait for you to see you as the mother of a baby. I can’t wait to be an even better partner in crime with you, when we raise two daughters instead of one.’ He presses a long kiss on her fingers. ‘My beautiful girlfriend,’ he whispers, ‘don’t ever call yourself ugly or fat because otherwise I will have to tape your mouth shut.’

She sniffles. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, no, no, don’t feel sorry,’ he says with a smile. ‘I love you.’

After about half an hour, he helps her out of the tub and with a big shirt of him and some shorts, she lays on her side on the couch. She is fast asleep and Kal curled himself up near her legs, placing his head on her thigh. Henry cleans up a bit, before he walks over to her and sits next to the couch, pushing her shirt up.

While Vanessa spoke to her bump without a problem from the moment she found out Olivia was pregnant, he found it hard to talk to the baby. He’d smile when he watched his oldest daughter talk to her sibling, already thinking about sneaky plans they are going to do together. At first he couldn’t seem to do it, but eventually he would do it in the early mornings, when Olivia was still asleep. He was scared that she’d notice or hear him, thinking it was weird. However he felt this desperate need to do it and when the entirety of London was asleep, he kneeled beside the bed and started whispering little stories to her bump.

But one morning she caught him and though he felt like such an idiot, she thought it was adorable. ‘You can always do this,’ she told him that day. ‘This baby is also your kid. He or she should get to know your voice.’

And now he loves doing it. Sometimes he and Vanessa sit on both sides of Olivia and talk to the little baby girl, about all the things they are going to do as a family.

‘Hi baby girl,’ he says, ‘you’re almost here. We can’t wait for you to show up, but you stay in there until you are all grown and ready to face this world. I wonder what you will look like, whether or not you’ll be a Heather, a Chloe or something completely different.’ He places his heavy hand on Olivia’s belly, his fingers tracing her stretch marks. ‘Today I got the names of your mom and your older sister tattooed on my ribcage,’ he says, but it only ears him a kick against the palm of his hand. ‘No, no, no, don’t you worry about a thing now. There is a spot left for you. You mean so much to me, my love and I can’t wait for us to meet. Now be nice to your mommy, okay?’

‘She is being nice to me now,’ Olivia whispers. ‘I love you, Henry.’

‘I love you too, my love.’

[thecrownrp]

THE KINGDOM OF SPADES PRESENTS . . .

one of the FIRST TIER PRINCE candidates, NOH YURYE: a 25 YEAR OLD born on NOVEMBER 25TH, 1995. some may know them as THE TRIAL but with a face like that, it’s hard not to admit they look a little like BYUN BAEKHYUN. curious to know more? apparently, these are words they live by: “rise with loss.” intriguing, aren’t they? only time will tell if they’re suited for the crown or not.

LOOK A LITTLE CLOSER . . .

tw: death

yurye's life begins on the late night of november 25, 1995, a year after his mother met his father. during his infant years, the only constant in his young life is his mother - nurturing, caring and loving him with everything in her. pouring all that she has left in herself to fill him to the very brim and make sure that he's receiving just as much love as any child with two parents.

there's no shame in being a single parent for yurye's mother, of course that didn't mean she wasn't shamed but the fact that yurye was a reminder of the most beautiful and sincere love his mother had ever had the chance to experience... it was enough for her. after all, what else could you ask for after receiving such a passionate and genuine experience during your lifetime?

it's a soft and content thought that feels like a fire keeping the house warm when you're away. it's supposed to heal and patch up the solemn feelings that unexpectedly crack through to the surface every now and then. but... soft and content could only last for so long. what started as a way to keep yurye's mother above water had turned around and began to sink her.

some would settle knowing it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. well. yurye's mother was neither of those two types of people. why love and lose when you could love and find? after telling herself that she was content for the first four years of yurye's life, she couldn't take it anymore. she wasn't going to let herself become a tragic love story of having had love and being left behind with a child and waiting for the one she loved to come back years later. no. she had the right to a happy ending just as much as any other person.

so they set off to the country his father had told her he was from the very first time they met. a foreign land where the only thing they knew was the name of his father. whether it was a stroke of luck or not, it seemed everyone knew who yurye's father was. some giving his mother looks of surprise for stating she had his child, others giving her looks of uncertainty and disdain.

at that point, it would have been a lie to say heir worries concerns and sneers had no effect on her. her original intentions were to find yurye's father in hopes that maybe, they would be able to live out a life together. the life that the two had shared their wants and desires about. but after discovering that yurye's father was the king of the country of spades... there was no longer a possibility to get what she had come for in the first place. yet, at this point, it would have been a waste to leave without trying to see him at all. so she braced herself, pushing to see him at least for yurye's sake. so that his father would know who he was.

just like the first time the king had met yurye's mother, it takes one look for him to know who yurye is. there's no question that he's the king of spades child. it didn't matter if yurye was an illegitimate and the queen was already with child, yurye had royal blood in him and that was all that was needed for him and his mother to earn a place within the palace.

the next year is pure bliss for both yurye and his mother. she's reunited with the love of her life and yurye? he has more than a young four year old could even begin to fathom or understand. he has endless wealth, attention and status. but the only thing he really pays attention to is how happy his mother is.

however, this newfound happiness doesn't last long. not long after the queen gives birth, things go awry. it comes sudden and unexpected - the death of yurye's mother. he's too young to understand why or how. but yurye understands that he's sad and confused. it's one of the first things of the real world that yurye learns to understand - loss.

but with the birth of his younger half brother (noh kijung), yurye finds that, even with loss there is still happiness. and although he notices the different ways that the king and queen look at him, one with sorrow and one with scorn, he learns to simply be. and without his mother no longer by his side, everything becomes that much more daunting. but as time goes by and yurye grows, he finds that as long as he remains true to himself and fights for what is right for not only him but the people around him and the people of the country he now calls home - he finds that there will always be a way to make things work. and it's that mindset that prepares yurye for the rest of his royal life in the palace.

[another-snape-story]

More in Common Than You Thought

Chapter XX

Nothing remarkable has occurred since that strange incident during the game of Quidditch in the first days of November. Discussion of what had happened died down after a week or so without any constructive conclusion. No one seemed to recall the day when Dark Magic intruded measured life of the Wizarding school ever again. You heartily believed it was just a seeming, and Hogwarts authorities put a careful thought into solving this mystery. The only person who didn’t turn a deaf ear to your concern, the only person who was willing to hear you out, who – same as you – found disregard inappropriate, was Severus. Who in Merlin’s name it might be? Highly responsible and down-to-earth, he kept a watchful eye on one of your colleagues who – you both agreed – behaved oddly. Professor Quirrell.

On top of that, you still couldn’t get over the news you received from your previous employer, and despite of all Snape’s persuasions and convincing arguments that it wasn’t your fault, the thought you might be responsible for the accident popped up in your head every now and then. Snape knew what was weighing over you. He also knew firsthand what it was like being left alone, one on one with nothing but guilt and self-loathing. By no means was he going to let you fall into this destructive abyss of despair. Ready to give you a shoulder every time you were at your lowest, Snape assured you there was nothing worth your nerves and tears.

The two of you were getting closer. You both realized there was no need to know every single detail from your past to understand each other – the essential surfaced in form of little things spoken in relaxed conversations, grain after grain, matching the missing pieces and building a picture of who you actually were.

Snape enjoyed every minute beside you. You filled him with desire to live. Could he ever expect it? Of course, most likely, he was confusing your kindness and friendliness with affection he both craved and feared. For a man who’s never experienced true heartiness, a small gesture of amity might’ve appeared as something bigger than it actually was. Moreover, since causing you pain came across like Snape’s worst nightmare, to keep you unharmed, he convinced himself he had no right to let you too close – he only could destroy lives, and Potter’s son was the living reminder. He got used to sacrificing his life and hope for happiness anyway. Cherishing no pipedreams this cloud-world would last forever, Snape, however, gave in to temptation, too weak to deprive himself of a pleasure to cure his soul by your side even though it was destined to be broken again.

Sullen Potions Professor liked it in your office. Spacious, with high ceilings and nice furnishing, it differed greatly from his own. Variety of plants harmoniously complementing wooden paneling of its walls and numerous bookshelves added vital spirit to the exterior. But it hardly was the setting which made this place so special – the main reason that kept him coming here were certainly you.

The room seemed empty once he stepped inside, but a quick look around sufficed to spot some movement behind the shelving where your place for ‘dirty work’, as you called it, was hidden. Standing with your back turned to the visitor, you surely couldn’t notice him. Headphones on, you smoothly swayed along with the tune, a scalpel in your hand waving jauntily to the rhythm. You easily sank the blade into the carcass of a dissected creature which was now hard to identify and extracted a slimy part of its insides which joined a plenty of a kind in a half-full jar with the same amazingly hideous substance.

Snape leaned against the cupboard – a pawky smirk on his face – marveling the picture. What a wonderful being you were!

“Ahem,” he coughed slightly to catch your attention, but of course, absorbed into the process, you didn’t and couldn’t hear him.

Snape slowly approached you not to scare you too much, although he knew you’d startle either way. The scalpel jolted out of your grip as you flinched, taken aback.

“Never! Never do it again!” with an eye roll, you ripped headphones off.

“How do I do it if you don’t hear me?” he justified himself.

“I don’t know!” you waved your hand. “You’re a wizard after all!” Embarrassed, you felt blood rushing to your face. “Ugh! May I obliviate it from your memory?”

Snape chuckled as he made another step towards you.

“I have so few good moments to recall. Don’t take this one from me,” he smiled softly. “Don’t you mind if I –?” he pointed at the headphones.

You didn’t mind. You knew he wouldn’t report you for using muggle devices, but what happened next struck you dumb. Snape raised the thing to his ear heeding to the sound. The corner of his mouth twitched into his cheek.

“This band helped me through my school years,” he admitted. “The legend of nowadays… That’s a shame we reject everything muggle related – they know how to make really good music.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Never expected you –”

“I’m a half-blood! Of course I do know muggle stuff,” Snape snickered.

Another surprise in a couple of seconds! “I thought you were pure…” you muttered embracing the fact. His life in this House, the House of ‘Elite’, must’ve been a raw deal. Oh, you could tell! You’ve gone through this hell as well.

“Having muggle blood is an advantage,” you stated resolutely. “Those, feeling superior in terms of origin, look so pathetic trying to perceive the purpose of a toaster!”

A laughter rumbled out of Snape’s throat. He couldn’t disagree.

“Tea?” you carelessly shoot your dirty gloves on the working surface and strode past Severus inviting him to make himself comfortable in one of your armchairs.

“Yes, please,” he leisurely followed suit.

“Muggles are cleverer than us, we must admit it,” you served two cups. “They’ve invented so many devices to satisfy their needs of all sorts which we perform with just a wave of a wand. They should be given a credit.”

“Indeed,” Snape watched you with admiration.

“There’s a whole Department in the Ministry that makes monkey work!” you continued vigorously. “Isn’t it better to have an understanding about the world which is so closely intertwined with ours than to ignore it? We could use it for our profit someday!”

“Why wouldn’t you write an article for the Daily Prophet?” Snape reached out for his cup. “I mean it. Many keep this opinion on a tip of a tongue, but have no guts to speak it out.”

“Not sure,” you sighed. “At least not now…”

The way your fingers fidgeted restlessly set the man alert. “What happened?” his face tensed as he fixed his eyes on you.

Denial was pointless. Moreover, you were going to tell him sooner or later – his question just saved you from searching for the right moment. “I’m invited for interrogation.”

The news unsettled him. “When?” Snape frowned.

“Next Saturday.” You lowered your head, regretting one of your biggest mistakes.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I mean… yes! Yes, I really do want you to come!” you gave him a weak smile, “but you shouldn’t. Don’t want to drag you into this shit…”

“As you wish,” a little disappointed, Snape agreed with your decision. In situation like this he himself would definitely not want someone to pity him. You had your right for privacy. If you’d feel more comfortable on your own, he wouldn’t insist.

“Thank you, Severus,” you whispered. “Thank you for offering.”

“Everything will be all right,” Snape cheered you up. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he smiled and you nodded. Grateful for his concern, you looked Severus in the eyes. There was something so comforting about his glance, you couldn’t help believing him.

Thin drizzle which damped school grounds since dawn was now growing thicker splattering haphazardly against your windows. Soon the downpour lashed, and through the rain drenches came first long low rumbles of thunder.

“Ah, the storm,” you joyfully shrank into the backrest, while chaos raged outside. As long as Severus was here, you didn’t mind staying in your little shelter like forever.

“I guess, now I’m trapped here,” Snape assumed showing no discontent. He was happy to stick with you until it all ended, now that he had a good excuse.

“More tea?” you chuckled and Snape tossed his cup towards you.

A dim light flickered through the drops lazily sliding down your office windowpane deep in the night. Passing by, one could discern two relaxed silhouettes sitting across each other talking... or maybe sleeping? It made no difference since no one passed by and didn’t see a thing.

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[gauloiseblue]

The Man Who Stood By The Ocean

[Chapter 1] 

April, 1990

The summer in Italy almost reaches its peak as the street in Naples is buzzing with tourists, and it wouldn't be the street of Italy if there's not a single shout from eager businessman selling their is goods—ranging from a delicious Panini, to the cheap souvenirs.

Turning your head to the right, you'd see the magnificent sea peeking from behind the beige walls, glistening as if it was made from a million diamonds. The turquoise water reflects the unforgiving sun beautifully, turning themselves into the sole reason people came to here. When their eyes fall to the ocean, every thought, every doubt, and exhaustion vanishes from their mind. All they could feel is just calm, serene as the gentle wave.

The sea has its way to capture people's heart, it could appear as the salty breeze, the cool water, the soft voice of rolling waves, or in the form of a fisherman's son.

Climbing down to the port, your smile grows wider as you spot a raven haired boy sitting on the dock. He leans comfortably with one hand planted besides him, while looking down to the deep water below his feet. His sun-kissed skin contrasts with the cool tone of his white shirt, the fabric ripples as the gentle breeze greets the two of you.

And you'd call his name.

His name rolls from your tongue like honey, Bru. no.

Your eyes would twinkle when you saw him turning his attention to you, a sweet smile slowly spreads on his lips. Your name would fall from his lips like a spell, which would make you unable to resist from getting closer to him. Your feet will drag you to him until you take a sit besides him, and you'd slip your hair behind your ear out of habit. The sun is still unforgiving, but the water under your feet feels pleasantly cool.

"Buon pomeriggio, (Y/N)." He'd greet you with a smile, "How was school today?"

"It was fine." You replied, "But something happened during the class, I bet you wouldn't believe me!"

He chuckled, seemingly curious about the story, "Try me."

And with that, you'd begin to tell your day to him, from the boring math class, to the brawl you saw in the class. He'd listen to you attentively, and throws some question about the subject you were studying that day. Sometimes you could answer them, but you often find yourself unable to answer some of his questions, mainly because you didn't pay enough attention. He'd laugh and tell you to stay focus in your class, but how are you able to concentrate while your mind always drifted to the boy by the ocean?

Sometimes he'd ask you about your friends, or your teachers, but it wasn't as often as the lesson you received in a day, especially when you have history class that day.

-

It was a cry for help, and it took you almost a year before you were finally stitching up the pieces. Him asking about your day was a subtle way for him to get the same knowledge you learned in elementary school, he didn't want to be left behind. He wanted to go to school with you, he wanted to learn with you, but he was too shy to ask you to teach him, because he can't even read.

One day, in a particularly sunny day, you brought him a children's book. The alphabet book you had been staring at over and over again before you could read. As you handed the book over with a promise you'd teach him how to read, you couldn't help but giggle when he becomes a blushing and a stuttering mess. Of course he's happy, but he's embarrassed at the same time. In his mind, he was just a mere fisherman's son with the smell of the ocean stubbornly clings to him, while you're always in a fresh uniform. He wasn't even sure if he could repay your kindness someday, but you just shook it off and say 'I want to read so many books with you.

Thus it begins every afternoon after school, you'd run from your class, down to the gate, and to the coast where Bruno would wait for you under the tree. You always find him sitting on the limestone sea wall, under the lone tree. His gaze would be faraway to the horizon before he tilted his head to see you waving to him. An adoring smile will shows on his face as he watches you jogged towards him, a thought would float in his mind, telling how lucky he's to have you as a friend.

The lesson will lasts for hours, and Bruno is an every teacher's dream come true. He's an eager learner, and also a fast one, it took him less than a month before he could write his own name, 'Bruno Bucciarati'—although it's more like a scribble than a proper handwriting but you praise him anyway.

When he's no longer illiterate, you'd drag him to the bookstore near the heart of the city. The place is crowded with books, which is stacked high enough to cast a shadow on you. The books you usually read is far in the back of the store, and the two of you had no problem slipping between the narrow stacks of books before reaching to that point. From there on, the two of you would read so many books, where you'd throw the uninteresting one away and keep the favorite books hidden so no one would purchase them.

The bookshop soon becomes a haven for the two of you, whenever you're bored you could always visit that place, and you'd find him there most of the time. He'd sit in the nook of the store, with plenty of book in his sides, today is no different. Your eyes trail to the hard cover, Storia D'Italia, L'enciclopedia Degli Animali, Grande Enciclopedia Illustrata Dei Pesci, but one particular book quirks your interest, as it is rather feminine for a young boy like him—La Bella Addormentata, The Sleeping Beauty.

When it's starting to get stuffy in there, you interrupted his reading and drag him out to the nearest store, buying blue popsicles for two. You still remember that day, when you walked down the street, into the familiar route to the beach. The popsicle in your hand has begun to melt, and the first drop fell to the earth as you try to finish it quickly. He watched you in amusement as you grumbled when the melting popsicle smeared on your hand, making your palm feel wet and sticky.

Arriving at the entrance to the beach, you threw your ice pop stick to the garbage bin before making a beeline to the small faucet to wash your hand. With your now-clean hand, you could grab Bruno's hand and take him to the usual hanging out spot under the tree.

Although it's not as hot as the afternoon, the sun is still burning your cheek, and his cheek as well. His face is now adorned with blushes from being exposed for too long under the sun, his hair also sticks on his face because of the sweat, but that just enhance his charm as a pretty boy.

You lay down under the shade to escape the heat, the breeze feels pleasant on your skin as the wind of November begins to blow. Closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of crashing wave, you find your mind drifting to the deep ocean. The vivid corals, the shy angelfish, and million coral reef fishes swimming carelessly, as their scaly skin grazes your shin. You could picture it clearly from the Encyclopedia your just read back in the bookstore, and those images are still fresh in the back of your mind.

Then something sweet touches your lips, as sweet as the sugary treats in the summer. Your eyes snapped open and you gasped when you see the very ocean you were dreaming of is taking shape of a pool of aquamarine orbs. The ocean is staring back at you with fondness and admiration, so deeply that you forget to breath. His lips still lingers on your face before he pulls away, with an innocent smile.

"Svegliati, bella addormentata." (Wake up, sleeping beauty), he murmurs sweetly, "This is not a place to sleep."

It was a guileless, almost like a kiss from a very naive boy, but your heart thumps like a drum. The girls from your class always talk about the magic of intimate gesture, but everything felt so different when he kissed you. The world didn't stop, the time doesn't freeze around you, but all you could feel, and all you could see is just him and him alone. As you stare to the ingenuous-eyed boy, you're unaware that Bruno Bucciarati—without any doubt, has become the very center of your heart.

[mourntheantagonist]

Steve and Billy going camping with Max n the Party and all Billy wants to do is get in a tent with Steve

Hey I’m here thirty years later!

I had a lot of fun with this one so I hope this is kind of in the realm of what you wanted!!!

read on ao3

How a gaggle of fourteen year olds managed to convince Steve to take them all on a weekend camping trip was beyond him. Okay maybe it wasn’t. All it took was El’s signature pout and Steve was as good as gone. The real shocker however, is how they managed to convince Billy Hargrove of all people to tag along as well.

He’d heard from Max that their relationship had been slowly improving ever since that night at the Byers, and he’d have to agree with Max that Billy had truly become less hostile as the months passed. But this was the first time he’s ever seen Billy acting so brotherly.

Steve had driven the male party members out into the woods, while Billy, Max, and El had driven separately. The three were late, of course. But Steve’s not quite sure he can exactly pin that on Billy. El is definitely poor when it comes to punctuality. 

They couldn’t actually set up shop until the others arrived, seeing as they were supposed to select the chosen spot together. But as he watched the seconds tick by on his watch he grew more and more impatient he was close to saying fuck it and making it a boys only trip. That was until, seemingly on cue, the familiar roar of the Camaro echoed through the trees.

Watching Billy step out from the driver's seat was the first reminder that he hadn’t actually seen Billy in a while. Because so much had changed. His hair was less disheveled and chaotic as he remembered. But way curlier. It was slightly lighter too. The arrival of summer brought out the natural highlights in his hair. But it wasn’t just his appearance that had changed. Instead of exiting the car with the slam of his foot, the flick of a cigarette, and a predatory look… he was laughing. Laughing along with El and Max about something entirely unknown, and when asked, wasn’t revealed.

If Steve hadn’t let himself grow increasingly annoyed over the past fifteen minutes he stood there waiting, he might’ve cared to know. But the sun was beating down, he’d had to listen to Mike and Dustin argue about some Star Trek nonsense for the duration of the drive along with the time spent waiting, and he was starving. 

“You’re late.” Steve said dryly.

“That’s my fault,” Billy replied with some residual laughter from whatever was so funny. “I forgot to counter in Hopper’s 20 minute ‘protect my kid’ speech when I went to pick up El.”

“Well I’m starving. So let’s find a spot, and let’s find it quickly.” Steve probably should’ve tried at least a little to tone down his irritation.

“Someone’s in a mood.” Max says under her breath, causing El to break out into another fit of giggles.

The gang decided not to test their luck against a hungry Steve Harrington. Especially not one wielding a baseball bat coated in rusty nails. So they piled all their camping supplies onto their backs and hauled ass through the woods.

After only ten minutes of searching, they stumbled across a nice clearing just 50 feet off the lake with a picnic table and fire pit already set up for them. Perfect.

The guys started by setting up their tents, while El and Max worked on gathering twigs for the fire. Dustin has meticulously established the sleeping arrangements. Five small tents. Eleven with Max, Dustin with Will, Lucas with Mike, and Billy and Steve alone in their own separate tents. It’s the perfect set up so long as Lucas doesn’t bring up any conversation regarding Empire Strikes Back being anything lower than number one out of the entire trilogy. Because then there would be chaos.

But when is Mike not the problem?

After getting set up, they finally got to break out some delicious ham and swiss sandwiches (courtesy of Claudia Henderson), and Steve was finally entering into a better mood.

He couldn’t entirely credit the sandwich however, because something about this new and improved Billy warmed something inside of him. He was less abrasive and more relaxed. He wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone and instead was allowing himself to have a good time. Teasing his sister rather than tormenting her. Tossing knowing looks towards Lucas rather than threatening ones. Okay scratch that. They were definitely threatening. But more playful. The typical older brother spiel. The ‘you hurt her, I’ll rip your throat out through your ears’ kind of thing. And he was actually trying to make conversation with him. Only slightly poking fun at him every now and then. Not for the purposes of taunting, instead just his typical charm showing through.

“So what you been up to this summer? Haven’t seen you since graduation.”

“I’ve been working at Scoops Ahoy in the new mall. Not much else really.”

Billy took another bite of his sandwich and nodded. “I recently got hired on at the pool. Teaching lessons and life guarding. Saving up for when I go out to college in the fall.” He didn’t swallow the bite before speaking. New and improved Billy didn’t have table manners he guesses.

“Oh really? Where you headed to?”

“Full ride at USC.” Billy let out a hollow laugh. “Dad’s pissed I’m not enlisting.”

Steve picked up on the way Billy’s smile faltered at the mention of his Dad. He’d remembered Max mentioning once or twice about how her step-father was an asshole. For fucks sake Billy got a full ride to a prestigious university and his Dad is upset about that? He couldn’t even get into Tech. 

“I think it’s awesome.” Steve finally said. “I didn’t get accepted anywhere so I’m probably going to end up going to work for my Dad at his company.”

Apparently Steve let his disappointment show in the last statement. 

“Shit that sucks man. Dads are shit.”

Steve lets his mouth twitch upward into a smile. He looks back down at his almost finished sandwich and lets out a slight chuckle.

“Yeah. Dads are shit.”

- : -

After they all finished up their late lunches, the kids decided to move the party away from the table and into the lake. They walked along the lake shore for maybe a quarter of a mile before finding an abandoned rope swing attached to a tree directly next to deep waters. Steve and Billy both notice as Max gets this fire in her eye and neither adult bothers stopping her before pushing an unexpecting Lucas into the water. The whole group bursts into laughter as he makes the splash, well everyone except of course for Lucas.

But quickly the rest of them joined him in the water. All of them swinging in by the rope. Surprisingly the most timid out of all of them was Steve himself, who in a moment of desperation had to have Billy give him a push. 

Billy followed him in with a much larger splash than he had previously achieved. But it wasn’t a competition or anything.

Billy emerged from the water like a fucking mermaid. Graceful. His hair was completely saturated in water yet his curls still managed to pack a punch. He glistened under the rays of the sun and with the reflection of the water beneath him. Steve felt chills up and down his entire body as he watched him float away on his back. Watching as his chiseled chest rose and fell with every breath and the light from the sun reflected off of the water droplets on his sun kissed skin. He would just excuse it for the cool temperature of lake water.

But it wasn’t that cold to be completely honest. It’s June. One of the hottest months of the year and the weather is peaking at nearly 100 degrees. The water feels perfect in actuality. 

Steve swims around for a bit with the boys, plays a couple rounds of Marco Polo, and then excuses himself to lie out on the shore. He watches as they all have a blast. Lucas and Max are basically trying to drown Mike. Will and Dustin are competing to see who can hold their breath underwater the longest. Will has been cheating the entire time and Dustin has absolutely no clue. Billy and El are off in the corner. He’s picking her up and tossing her into the water. They both appear to be having a really good time. Billy is surprisingly really good with El. He’s actually pretty good with all of the kids all things considered. Something must’ve happened when he wasn’t looking because he seemed to be the only one to bat an eye at the mentioning that Billy Hargrove would be joining them on the trip. 

Steve inspected the time and decided to give the kids their 15 minute warning. Sun set was inching closer and they still had other preparations. He watched as Max swam over to where El and Billy were and after watching them exchange a couple sentences, Billy swam away and towards where Steve sat on the shore. 

Billy pushed himself out of the water and dried himself off with a towel. He wrung out his hair and secured the wet mess of curls up with a purple scrunchie. He threw his sweatshirt on, zipper remaining undone showing off his exposed chest, and he plopped down next to Steve. 

Oh boy. Steve hopes Billy didn’t notice the fact that he was staring at him that entire time.

“So what’s the plan for the rest of tonight Stevie?”

Steve feigned annoyance at the nickname (though it secretly made him embarrassingly giddy). “Well we’re going to roast some hot dogs and make some s’mores and hang around the fire before bed.”

“Sounds like a plan Harrington.”

An uncomfortable silence grows from there. The two of them sitting side by side looking out at the lake in front of them. Nothing but the sounds of splashing water and giggling teenagers. Billy is picking at the grass. Thinking. Steve might say he even looks nervous.

“I’m sorry about last November.” Billy doesn’t look up from where it’s pointing towards the overgrown blades of dead grass. 

It’s not the snarky and forced apology he was expecting. To be completely honest he never did expect one. Seven months had passed since it happened and not a single word from Billy. He just left him alone like his sister demanded.

“I’ve wanted to apologize before. But I wasn’t in a great place and didn’t want to screw it up. I probably already did by taking so long.” He took a deep breath and finally looked up. Eyes focused on the lake and avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I needed to make sure I was apologizing for the right reasons. Not just to get my sister off my back or to somehow make myself feel better about what I did to your face. I needed to apologize so that you knew that I was sorry. And I needed to be okay with you not forgiving me for it. So that’s why I’m saying it now.”

 Billy finally looks over at Steve who has been staring at Billy with wide eyes. It’s weird, because when Steve thinks about it, he kind of forgave him a long time ago. Because yeah, what Billy did was shitty, but not completely unfounded. He’s been underneath someone like that, barreling into him without care, more than once. It would have been easy to say Billy and his interaction was nothing like what he had with Jonathan Byers. Billy was actually a bad guy. 

But that’s the thing. He really wasn’t. Not after everything happened. 

He wasn’t outwardly kind. But he didn’t start shit. He minded his own business and moved through high school the same way everyone else did. And after hearing Max and Dustin and El vouch for him to come on this trip, well that sort of just sealed the deal. He forgave him before he even apologized.

But here he was. Apologizing. And for some reason Steve was rethinking ever forgiving him. It made no sense. But somehow actually knowing and believing Billy was actually sorry made forgiveness harder. Like in his mind it was easier because Billy didn’t get to know that he was forgiven. He was scared by telling Billy that he would be justifying what he did. 

So Steve doesn’t respond. And he can tell that Billy’s upset about it. It’s only been ten minutes but he decides to call the kids out of the water anyway.

- : -

The sun was setting and everyone had gathered around the campfire to roast marshmallows. Things had been ever so tense between Steve and Billy ever since their conversation at the lake. No one else seemed to notice though. 

It was easy to distract himself from Billy’s saddened state by watching as Dustin set his marshmallow on fire. Every time without fail. Max wasn’t roasting hers, just eating the marshmallows straight out of the bag because she doesn’t like graham crackers. Billy was intently making the most golden brown marshmallow for El because she didn’t know how to properly roast her own. It was really sweet. Billy seemed happy to do it but at the same time he had that lingering gloomy look on his face that would come in and out of existence.

Steve felt a little bad because he did that. Yeah, it’s the guy who nearly killed him, but he didn’t want to make him sad. 

He brightened up a little bit when the bickering began between Dustin and Mike. This was the reason they couldn’t share a tent. Max, El, and Billy moved into their own conversation out of earshot while Steve tried to calm down an overly enthusiastic Dustin.

When the argument ended Billy was looking to be in a much better mood than before. It was a little odd. They noticed the fire starting to dim so Max and El quickly excused themselves to go gather some more twigs from the forest. 

Billy was poking at the fire with a stick, trying to keep it alive (masking a developing smirk on his face).

“Hey Steve!!” Max’s voice echoes. “There’s a gaping hole in your tent!” 

El is stifling a laugh. Steve doesn’t seem to notice.

Steve rushes over to inspect the damage and yeah, it’s a gaping hole alright. His entire body could fit through it. How did he not notice it earlier?

“Goddamnit!” Steve curses the air.

“I’m sure Billy wouldn’t mind sharing!” El says, albeit, a little too excitedly.

Steve looks over to Billy who is still poking at the fire. “Yeah. I got room, I don’t mind.” 

And now Steve can’t just say no. He’d have to give a reason and well… he’s kind of strapped for an alternative so, Billy’s tent it is.

- : -

They stay by the campfire until the sun has completely set and the fire has gone out on its own. They broke out a couple of Beers and after several minutes of constant begging Steve caved and let the party have a small amount of beer each, poured into a red solo cup.

“This tastes like shit.” Dustin made a ridiculous face.

“Still better than New Coke.” Mike chimed in.

Billy helped Steve carry his things over to Billy’s tent. It was extremely awkward. Billy hadn’t really said a word to Steve the entire time and now they were supposed to sleep side by side in a pretty compact space? This should be fun.

An over dramatic yawn released by Max was their signal to head to sleep. The stars were clear above them and they had a pretty eventful day. Steve made sure everything was good while the rest of them piled into their own tents. Once he’s sure the food is secured and everyone is where they’re supposed to be, he sucks in a sharp breath and makes his way over to Billy in his tent.

Billy is already in his sleeping bag. He’s got a book in one hand and a flashlight in his other. Steve quickly discards his shoes and jeans and covers himself in his own sleeping bag. 

They’re both facing away from each other. It isn’t until Steve hears the click of the flashlight and the illumination in the tent disappears that he realizes neither of them have spoken. 

Steve has been thinking about the apology all night. He planned to just leave it be. Maybe thank him for apologizing but leave it at that. But seeing how much he’s changed and seeing how sincere he was being told him maybe Billy deserved to be forgiven. He also looked like he needed to be forgiven, despite what he said before at the lake. 

“I needed to apologize so that you knew that I was sorry. And I needed to be okay with you not forgiving me for it. So that’s why I’m saying it now.”

“I forgive you Billy.”

“Hmm?”

“I said I forgive you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back at the lake.” Steve took in a deep breath and continued. “I wasn’t sure if it would be the right thing. But you’re clearly not the same person you were that night. I just didn’t really see it at first. I’m going to have to get used to this new and improved version of Billy Hargrove.”

Billy smiled to himself. 

“Thanks.”

Steve smiled too. 

The tent grew silent again after that. But it was slightly less tense than it was before.

“Can I say something stupid?” Billy asks.

Steve turns over to face Billy. He laughs. “Yeah. It’d be nice hearing it come from someone else for a change.”

Billy doesn’t turn to face Steve, but he can tell that he’s nervous because it’s quiet enough to hear his breathing quicken.

“I like you. Like… in that way. Sorry if that’s weird.”

Steve is quick to respond.

“Hey, it’s not weird. Don’t apologize for that.” He’s thinking a lot about Will. He and Dustin had talked about it before. How they’d be sure to make sure that Will knew it was okay whenever he chose to tell them. He doesn’t see why that should be any different for anyone else. Including Billy Hargrove.

But he guesses this is kind of different. It’s not just a confession of being into guys. It’s a confession of being into a specific guy. The specific guy in question being Steve.

It would also be pretty hypocritical of Steve to be weirded out. Not two hours ago he was fully objectifying Billy’s shirtless body. He might not like Billy. But dammit he was definitely attracted to him.

“If you’re uncomfortable I can hike back to the Camaro and sleep there. It’s not a problem.”

Billy had already begun unzipping the sleeping bag. Steve instinctively put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. 

“Hey. Billy it’s seriously alright. Look at me.”

Billy hesitated before rolling over. Their eyes met and due to the compact nature of their current sleeping arrangement, their faces lie mere inches away from each other. Steve had planned something to say, but he instantly forgot when he looked into Billy’s eyes. They weren’t the eyes belonging to an egregious asshole. They were the eyes belonging to a scared kid that maybe, given the time, Steve could grow to like. 

He could try blaming it on the beer. But Billy and himself both knew he didn’t even finish the one. But still, Steve inched closer and kissed him. It was soft and gentle. Steve moved a hand up to caress Billy’s cheek. Billy gently grabbed Steve’s wrist and deepened the kiss. 

Steve could feel Billy’s smile on his lips. 

He slithered his other hand underneath Billy and pulled him in closer. Their bodies were completely pressed against each other at every point, save for the thickness of not one but two sleeping bags separating skin from skin. 

Still they could feel each other’s heartbeats increase as their pace did the same. The kiss turned from gentle to one filled with need. 

Billy began working at the zipper of his sleeping bag with his other hand and was able to break free. He rolled Steve over onto his back and situated one leg on either side of Steve’s hips. Their lips didn’t come unattached. Steve moved both hands to the back of Billy’s head and he took fists full of hair and tugged gently, causing Billy to quietly moan into his mouth.

It was complete euphoria.

Billy was in just his boxers. Meanwhile Steve was still beneath the thick material of his sleeping bag. Billy unzipped it quickly for Steve and immediately tossed it off of him. Billy snaked a hand underneath Steve’s shirt. Moving up and down the full length of his chest. Appreciating his minimal chest hair. On the trip back down Billy’s hand palmed Steve’s crotch where he was quickly becoming hard from all of the friction. Steve let out a gasp as he made contact. 

“We can’t. The kids’ll hear us.”

“Then you’ll just have to be quiet pretty-boy.”

Billy waited for Steve to give indication that it was okay to continue. Steve laughed and pulled him back down to meet his lips. Billy hiked up his shirt and they shortly separated to pull it over his head. Billy moved back in to Steve’s neck and sucked harshly on several spots before peppering kisses all along the length of his torso until he reached his navel. Billy stuck his thumbs underneath the waistband of Steve’s briefs and slowly rolled them down.

Billy moves so that he’s in between Steve’s legs and lowers his head into his groin. Steve feels as the tension builds in the pit of his stomach from the delicate touch of Billy’s tongue. Even under the chill from the night air he’s warm all over.

“Feels so good Billy, Fuck!” He quickly puts a hand over his mouth when he realizes he said that a little too loudly.

Steve is just lying there, experiencing the utter bliss that is Billy Hargroves mouth wrapped around his cock making him feel every sensation all at once. 

“I’m close.” He whispers. God he really hopes the kids are asleep.

“Come for me pretty-boy.”

And boy does he. Just the way he said it was enough for Steve. He was a goner at the mere drop of the words ‘pretty boy’.

Billy wiped away at his mouth and crawled back up to lay down next to him. Steve immediately pulls him into another kiss. He’s not quite ready to come down from the high he was currently in. Billy’s mouth on his was a fucking drug. 

It’s weird to thank people after sex right?

Steve settles for something else when they finally part.

“It’s my turn.”

- : -

The two of them wake up in a single sleeping bag. Steve has his arms wrapped around Billy’s wasted and his head tucked into the crook of his neck. Steve is sweating because Billy’s is a goddamn space heater.

He can hear the rustling of the tents outside and quickly wakes up Billy so they can get out of their current suggestive position.

Billy in his sleepy state gives Steve a quick kiss on the lips. He’s quickly woken up by Dustin screaming at everyone to wake up from outside the tent. 

“We’ll talk about this later?” Steve says with a laugh.

Billy nods and gives him another quick kiss before getting up and tossing on a new pair of clothes. 

Once dressed they both exit the tent to see everyone making their way to the picnic table. 

They pull out several boxes of cereal and some milk from the cooler and begin eating their breakfast. Billy is sitting across from Steve, gently kicking at his feet. 

“Hey Steve what happened to your neck?” Dustin asks.

Steve’s eyes go wide and he quickly comes up with a cover.

“Oh uh, there were a lot of mosquitoes last night. Wouldn’t leave me alone.”

They all seem to accept the response and go back to their breakfasts.

Billy smirks at him from across the table and Steve stomps on his foot.

- : -

Max, Billy and El say their goodbyes and head off in the Camaro. 

Once the Engine is running and they’ve started driving away they all burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe you actually took a knife to Steve’s tent.”

“I can’t believe you actually fucked Steve!”

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Fourteen: The One With Her Brother

Warnings: Mention of childbirth

Word Count: 2644

The cool air around the waiting room shrouded a twelve-year-old blonde by the name of Lily Osborne. Wrapped in her cardigan-covered arms was a five-year-old Rose, the younger sister of the eldest Osborne. Just to the right of her sat two conservative grandparents, only moments away from learning if their third grandchild from their daughter would be a girl or boy. So far, the two had only been gifted with granddaughters, two from their other son William, and two from their daughter, Alicia, the mother of the two girls awaiting their newest sibling. Lily had already been through the grief of a new sibling with the little girl that sat in her arms, but it sadly didn't transfer over to the second blonde born from Alicia and Abel Osborne.

The small creek of a door just beside the many uncomfortable chairs stationed behind a small half wall and all four of the family member’s blonde heads popped up. Lo and behold though, it was merely a group of nurses seemingly leaving from their shift. Four collective sighs created harmony throughout the robin egg blue maternity wing waiting room. A heavier head leaned back onto her shoulder and Lily placed a gentle kiss on the bright blonde curls that sat atop of Rose's young head like a mop. Glancing down, Lily saw her little sister’s eyes flutter shut and she let out a gentle sigh, running her fingers up and down the child's thin arms. Just moments later, however, the doors opened once again and a panting Abel Osborne came shooting out with a bright smile plastered on his rugged features.

"Do you guys want to come to meet your new baby brother?"

-----

For as long as Lily could remember, being Cedar's older sister was one of her most sacred pride of joys. Or just being an older sister in general. Especially being so much older than the younger two. Her parents were amazing, sure, and they always did their best with raising the three children. But when it came down to more personal issues and handling things like bullying, friends, or middle school, Lily was their go-to. And she cherished that fact. It was like having her own child, but without a majority of the responsibilities, the mother faced. It helped scratch that maternal itch Lily had since a baby.

Whenever her parents weren't able to, Lily walked Rose and Cedar to school. She was even his emergency contact for high school after their parents, same with Rose. when Cedar began high school, Lily was in her last year of university before beginning med school and handling a one-year-old baby boy and an unhelpful husband, she travelled down to Long Island with Hunter, and joined Cedar for his orientation day when their parents were on a business trip. Everyone thought she was his mother, and the two made a bit of a joke out of it.

Just below a year before that, when Lily and Scott were scrambling together a wedding, it was Cedar who had helped her choose a wedding dress that made her feel beautiful, even while she was four months along in her pregnancy. She was tempted to try and convince Scott to elope, feeling as though she wouldn't find a dress that gave her that moment that made her face light up when she saw herself in the mirror. Luckily, Cedar helped her achieve it.

-----

She didn't want to go, really. It was the last place on earth that Lily wanted to be. Every morning when she looked in the mirror she felt huge. She thought her thighs were getting too big. That her cheeks were getting larger and she felt puffy. All because of the beautiful life growing inside of her. It wasn't her fault. She was four months along in the pregnancy she was handling at the age of 22, all while planning a fairly rushed and impromptu wedding to the father of her unborn child. Even though, if she would admit it to herself, she knew deep down this wouldn't work, and that he wasn't good for her. But she'd never say it out loud.

But today, well, today she just felt awful.

Today was the day that she would be picking a wedding dress. After a whole week of yelling at Lily, her fiancé, Scott, managed to get her to drop the idea of eloping, and instead, funnelling money into a wedding. On top of handling pregnancy and her last year of university. Lily had originally planned to handle this feat alone, feeling self-conscious about having anyone else there. But with her parents and brother now living in her basement, with her brother staying with them over the summer before he would go back to Long Island and stay with his grandparents until Lily gave birth, and their parents would move back home, well...her brother was the only one she couldn't get to stay at her home when she went out.

The boy had just turned 11 and was a pretty stereotypical pubescent boy. But with a much closer relationship with his sister than most kids with the age gap that the two had. Lily depended a great deal on her relationships with her siblings, for she never really talked or even spent time with girls or boys her age outside of school when she was younger. Of course, moving to New York City and over the past few years, she had expanded her bubble.

As the youngest and oldest Osborne sibling arrived at the quaint wedding dress shop in Soho, Lily wished to turn around and avoid any sort of questions about the growing bump that was prevalent on her stomach. Being at this store was the last place Lily wanted to be spending her Saturday afternoon. But alas, the tug of a boy’s hand on her sleeve persuaded the blonde to enter the shop alongside him.

After answering dreadful pregnancy questions from the shop owner, Lily had found the dress. But her hands cupped the growing belly of hers, and those green eyes grew sad as she looked in the mirror. The dress was a spaghetti strap, heart-shaped neckline, lace flower decals dancing across the organza type material, and sliding from her waist in an a-line style. it was loose, flowing, and hid any real evidence of a pregnancy. But Lily knew. She knew what was growing inside of her. What she would look like within two months when the wedding would be taking place. Her stomach even more swollen.

Cedar slowly stood from the couch and walked towards his older sister, taking her hand and looking up at her with the eyes that made Lily realize just how lucky she was. And with a shy nod towards the owner, Lily had found her dress. All thanks to the young blonde boy she called a brother. And those soft eyes.

-----

Ten years later, the two were still as close as ever. Or so she believed. He stood at her wedding party at her and Scott’s wedding when she was twenty-two. He was there when she gave birth to Hunter. God, she remembered the day she went into labour so vividly. And the boy who had informed her distracted parents, and who pushed through the labour alongside his sister, before the actual birth began. She remembered that day so vividly.

-----

Her hand gripped onto the pen she was using to take notes from her online lecture. Being the top student so far in her first year at Medical School had its perks. The professor's offered her online lectures and videos, while she handled the pregnancy. Her brother and parents had taken over the basement, as they came down from Long Island to take care of their daughter, who was very obviously in a neglectful marriage. The cool winds of November whispered secret thoughts to Lily, the window of her office allowing them in.

As Lily went to finish off a note about the fetus in a woman growing, her own decision to take a different approach. A popping deep within her set off a relay of gasps as water trickled down her leg, staining the loose dress she wore over top of her swollen stomach. her hand smacked itself across her lips as a small squeak escaped from her throat. A pair of footsteps ran themselves into the office, catching Lily's eyes as he spotted the water dripping down onto the floor.

"Mom! Dad! Start the car! Lily's water broke!" Cedar exclaimed, holding onto his sister’s hand. The same hand he'd be holding for the next few hours.

—————

Maybe it was the feelings of betrayal that hit Lily the hardest. Before her then sat one of the most important people in her life, handcuffed to a table, waiting to be interrogated by police officers for attempting to break into her ex-husband’s apartment where her child sat, scared to death of the somewhat familiar tone of voice. Or it may have been the disgust that churned deep within her stomach as she came to the realization this was not the same sweet and innocent boy she had last seen a mere few weeks ago when visiting her parents. A boisterous and somewhat playful smile far gone from his face that was now carved full of deep stress lines, with bruises evident on the thin skin below his eyes. This wasn't Cedar Osborne. This was a mere shell of him.

"Sir there must be some sort of mistake," Lily laughed softly, gesturing towards the glass, "That's my brother he would...he would never hurt my son or try to. He's a nice kid how would he—"

"Ms. Osborne, I know this is a shock but this is the man that was caught trying to break into your ex-husband’s apartment." The detective said in a calm tone, "He confessed to it. We just can't get any evidence as to why he may have done it out of him...which is why we called you."

Lily stared at the man in front of her. Her crossed arms dropped to her sides as a look of pure shock took over her previous exasperated and confused face. He wanted her to interrogate her own brother? Try and get him to confess information about a crime he tried to commit against her son. Why Lily wanted nothing more than to smack the living daylights out of the police officer. But then again nowadays she has had this happen often.

"You did not just ask me that!?" Lily exclaimed, "He is my brother, and I know my brother, officer. There has to be a mistake. There has to be! And until you figure out what that is I will not be questioning the same boy that sat by my side at my son’s birth when my husband wouldn't. He is not capable of this. My son is the most important thing to that man and you dare think that he would scare him?" Lily exclaimed, chest heaving.

The officer fell silent. The look in his eyes said it all: he knew this woman wouldn't be interrogating this man. With a curt nod, the police officer spread his arm to guide Lily from the room. Her shoulders moved up and down at a rapid pace as she stormed from the building, her heart racing inside of her chest and pounding in her ears so loudly she couldn't even hear the loud noises from the New York streets. Typically, Lily would wait for an opportunity to cross the sidewalk to her car, but today, she bulldozed through the group of people, fumbling for her keys. The moment the ignition turned on, the tears fell.

The tears ran down her face non-stop as she drove through the streets of New York. Sobs wracked her body as she continued to shake. Lily had no way of comprehending the fact that her own brother was the culprit arrested for attempting to break into her ex-husbands home. Sure it was known that the entire family had a distaste towards Scott Harvey, but the Osborne's were a far from violent family. Docile and subservient almost. It was only when Lily pulled into her driveway when a memory fell on her like a ton of bricks.

-----

'Here Comes Santa Clause' played over the speakers as the Osborne family bustled around the cozy home of Lily's parents’ home. Children played and adults laughed over wine as the previously mentioned woman and her brother slaved away in front of the stove as they prepared Christmas dinner. The two quietly chatted while working on their respective side dish, patiently waiting for the turkey in the oven to finish so they can begin to eat.

"Hey, how's work been going for you?" Lily hummed, working her arm as she continued to mash potatoes.

"Oh yeah," Cedar responded in a gentle tone, "I actually just left the company." he continued, failing to elaborate to Lily as to why on earth he would have left the job as an electrician at a power company that supplied most of Long Island's power.

"Really?" the eldest Osborne huffed, halting her movements and turning to her younger brother, "What happened to your dream of being an electrician?" she wondered, head tilting to the side a bit.

"Offered a different job, better pay," he stated abruptly, turning his back to Lily as he finished mashing the yams that he had been working on.

"I see...where are you now?"

"Dinner's ready!" Cedar yelled, ignoring his sister’s question and pulling the freshly finished turkey from the oven.

-----

Lily felt her heart sink as she recounted the events of the Christmas that had just passed close to a year ago. Her hand slapped itself over her mouth as she came to the realization that her sweet and innocent brother may have very well found himself in a sticky situation. Her mind ran to the worst place she could think of...what if he was working for a hitman agency? No that couldn't be right. HE may be sneaky but Cedar wouldn't be capable of murder.

Shaking her head, Lily pulled her hair back from her face and allowed her breathing to regulate itself once more. God, she felt like everything she knew to be normal was crumbling around her. Everything that she had become accustomed to was falling to pieces and there was nothing she could even do about it. If Cedar was getting invested in solicit and illegal activities, Lily knew she would be the last person he would admit it to. The two had a relationship based on kindness and loyalty...and it broke the blonde's heart, the idea of her baby brother falling into the traps of something horrible.

Stepping from the car, the cool and brisk air of the season chilled the raging heat the flared in Lily's face. Locking her car, the young mother unlocked her front door to hear music playing and the dog going wild. Furrowing her eyebrows and stepping out of her shoes, the blonde made her way down the hall towards the living room where the loud noises were coming from. When she rounded the corner, the sight made all of the pain and sorrow she was just wallowing in mere moments ago fade into distant memories.

Hunter was stationed on Bucky's back as they flailed around to an outdated Justin Bieber song that the blonde boy sang at the top of his lungs, igniting the howls of Joey. With a giggle, Lily dropped her coat and bag and made her way towards the pair, joining in on the singing and dancing. For once, Lily allowed herself to step away from the burden of anxiety and enjoy the moment in front of her.

Her eyes locked with Bucky and she knew, that maybe, just maybe, things could work out.