#so what awful luck that the two weekends he booked got rained out

[kirstielol]

It's supposed to thunderstorm on Saturday so our camping trip got cancelled a-fucking-gain. I'm so bummed out.

New weekend plans I guess 🍹🥴

[pastelitey]

Solidaritek: Rain Check

Rainy days are perfect for staying inside and catching up on some much needed housework, at least in Jimmy’s book. So despite the gloomy weather, things are looking sunny side-up for them—that is, until Tango winds up sick, and is officially down and out for the count. But Jimmy can still clean, run errands and take care of his sick boyfriend all at the same time, right? Right? word count: 3753 paring: Jimmy/Tango tags: Sickfic, Domestic Fluff, Rainy Days, Sleepy Cuddles [ao3 link]

Jimmy, ever the optimist, has lots of plans for the weekend. The gloomy forecast has done nothing to damper his mood, seeing as most of his plans actively involve staying indoors. Despite having officially moved in with Tango nearly two months ago, the apartment is still a mess with all of their things that have yet to be organized. And it doesn’t help that they’ve seriously neglected chores because of their respectively busy schedules, so there is some much needed housekeeping Jimmy is decidedly finally cracking down on.

Suffice it to say, Jimmy’s got a lot on his plate for this weekend, and he’s not going to let anything stop him from getting some work done.

That is until Tango gets sick out of nowhere and the equivalent of twenty toolboxes’ worth of wrenches are thrown into Jimmy’s plans.

Jimmy swears that he’s never seen anyone get as sick so spontaneously as Tango manages to. Sure, he’s used to the occasional allergy spell or stomach bug knocking him or a friend out for a day or two, but when Tango gets sick—even if it’s the mildest little cough—it always ends up spiraling into him having to be on bedrest for a week. Maybe the guy’s just got an awful immune system, but Jimmy’s not sure that even Tango knows why he gets sick so easily.

With the shift in seasons approaching as March slowly droned by, they were both preparing for Tango to come down with something eventually. Knowing Jimmy’s luck, he should have expected that it would happen just as he was planning on actually being productive.

Saturday morning goes a little like this: waking up to both his alarm going off and the sound of rain falling outside the window. He shuts it off as quickly as possible in lieu of not waking Tango, who is currently swaddled under pretty much every single blanket that they own. Jimmy wipes the sleep from his eyes as he warily watches the blob on the other side of the bed, and though the blankets do shift a little, it appears as if Jimmy was successful in not waking his sleeping boyfriend.

He slips out of bed and stretches out his aching joints before shuffling over to the window to peek through the blinds. The fluffy clouds hide the rising sun from view and the rain patters gently and rhythmically on the concrete a few floors below, kicking up a mist that shrouds the view. It’s pretty peaceful watching the rain from the window, but he’s acutely aware of how he very much would like to not get caught outside in this weather if he can help it.

After he’s shucked off his pajamas in favor of some more appropriate clothes for the day, he finally sets about getting some stuff done. Even if Tango’s unable to help, Jimmy’s still determined to be productive around the apartment as best he can.

He begins by taking out the trash by Tango’s bedside and replacing the liner, making sure to work as quietly as possible. He replaces the trash liner in the kitchen as well and leaves the bags by the front door for later disposal. The kitchen itself definitely needs some TLC, so before he can start on breakfast he works on tidying up. He wipes down the countertops and puts all the left out boxes and jars back in their respective homes, and even does a little bit of organizing in the cupboards and fridge while he’s at it. Jimmy cringes when he sees all the dishes he’s let pile up in the sink and wonders how they haven’t started smelling yet. So he loads the dishwasher next and puts away what clean dishes have been left out, and by the time he’s done with that it’s only been thirty minutes since his alarm went off, which feels like a success, if you ask him.

After cleaning off the table and sweeping the tile Jimmy decides it’s sufficiently clean enough for him to shift his focus to the matter of breakfast without feeling guilty. After surveying the meager contents of the fridge—all the while mentally adding grocery shopping to his ever-growing to-do list—he begins scrounging together the ingredients for omelets. As much as Tango loves pancakes, Jimmy just made some for him last night, and he can only have so many of the fluffy cakes before it starts getting repetitive.

As he’s letting the stovetop warm up while mixing together all the ingredients, the bedroom door creaks open—which quickly adds oil the door hinges to his list. Craning his neck, he gets a good look at Tango, swaddled up in blankets and looking for all the world like a bear reluctant to come out of hibernation, as the man waddles into the kitchen. He’d never say it aloud as it would surely only agitate him further, but Jimmy does find it kinda cute when Tango’s nose and cheeks are red like they are now.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jimmy asks, ensuring to keep his tone down. He pours the first round of eggs into the skillet, one eye on the stovetop and the other on his sleep-hazy boyfriend.

Tango shakes his head, agitating his sleep-mussed hair even further. “Nah,” he says groggily, his words rough around the edges thanks to the sickness. Jimmy gives him a little sympathetic smile before turning back to the task at hand.

Wandering up behind him, Tango wraps his arms around Jimmy’s midsection and leans up against him. Jimmy huffs affectionately as Tango nuzzles into him, slowing his movements reflexively. “Have you taken your temperature this morning?” he asks while he carefully folds the omelet in the skillet.

“Don’ wanna,” comes Tango’s muffled reply. Jimmy rolls his eyes, leaning awkwardly in Tango’s grip to grab a plate to put the omelet on.

“Might wanna get on that.” He presents Tango with the omelet, who eyes it hungrily. The arms slip away from Jimmy’s sides to support the plate and Tango toddles off to the island, the length of the blanket suspended around his shoulders flapping the whole way. Once Tango is successfully situated at the newly cleaned island, Jimmy begins to work on his own omelet.

“Will you pass me the hot sauce?” Tango asks after Jimmy’s poured his eggs into the skillet, making grabby motions towards the countertop that the condiments are situated on.

Jimmy narrows his gaze incredulously at Tango. “The spice isn’t good for your throat, Tango.”

Tango grumbles in response, making puppy-dog eyes at Jimmy. “But I want to actually taste it, Jim!”

“Not today, sorry.” He steps over to the island and slides the salt and pepper shakers closer to Tango with a grin. Tango makes a big show of sighing loftily before accepting the salt and pepper shakers, much to his own chagrin.

While the majority of his to-do list for the day involves tidying up, the very first item on the agenda is to take care of Tango, because who doesn’t appreciate being looked after while they’re sick?

When Jimmy’s omelet is done he slides it across the island to the other stool and then makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he rummages around in the drawers for the thermometer. He emerges triumphant and sets the thermometer down in front of the perturbed Tango, before planting an affectionate kiss on top of the man’s head.

“We need to work on keeping your fever down,” Jimmy says as he sits beside Tango, equipping his utensils to dig into his own breakfast. “Which means a lot more fluids and a lot less blankets.”

Tango huffs out a little whine as he removes the protective covering of the thermometer. “But it’s so cold…”

Before Tango can protest, Jimmy reaches over and plants his palm over Tango’s forehead. Tango makes a noise of discordance, but does not try to evade Jimmy’s touch. He’s not as warm as he was yesterday when the sickness began to ramp up, but the unnatural warmth is still definitely there.

“Still warm.” He pats the thermometer a couple times encouragingly, meeting Tango’s unimpressed look with a zany smile.

When breakfast is had and Tango’s temperature has finally been taken—lower from yesterday, but still higher than Jimmy would prefer—Jimmy is able to get back to tidying up the apartment. The dishes are minimal from breakfast, and Tango even volunteers to put the silverware away. He instructs Tango to drink some water before he runs the trash down the hall to the chute, and when he returns Tango has situated himself on the couch.

“We should watch a movie,” Tango says, remote in hand as he scrubs through the available channels.

“You can turn one on.” Jimmy cringes as he steps across the threshold into the living room, just now noticing how dirty the coffee table is and how he can’t seem to escape doing the dishes this morning. He uses one arm to scoop up the left-out cups and the other to pull one of Tango’s blankets off of him, much to the man’s protest. 

It’s a juggle of sorting through their yet-to-be organized boxes of things and checking up on Tango—who is more than content to lay on the couch watching his favorite 80s movies, repeating his favorite lines that he has memorized by heart, all the while poking little jabs at Jimmy when he can. It’s endearing in a way that Jimmy doesn’t shy away from.

By the time Jimmy feels like he’s done enough to be able to vacuum, Tango has paused his movie so he doesn’t miss anything important; the irony of ‘missing something’ in a movie he’s seen countless times does not go unmissed by Jimmy.

As he works his way around the living room, attempting to be both quick and thorough at the same time, he makes sure to voice his apologies to Tango. “Sorry,” he says when he vacuums right behind the couch, leaning over it and using one arm to move Tango’s wrist upwards so that he can kiss his palm. “Sorry,” he says right before pecking Tango on the forehead as he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table. “Sorry,” he says when he finally turns the vacuum off, stepping over and leaning down to press a kiss against the corner of Tango’s mouth.

But before he can, Tango makes a noise of protest and gently pushes him on his chest. “I’m going to get you sick,” he half-laughs out, but the smile on his face gives him away. 

“Hm,” Jimmy says contemplatively, unable to deny himself the pleasure of mirroring Tango’s own smile, “Don’t really care.” He settles for a kiss against Tango’s cheek instead, which thankfully comes with less protest from his boyfriend.

“Well you’re gonna care when you end up on the other side of this couch sick with me.” Tango looks up at Jimmy with this indescribable sparkle in his eyes, one that makes Jimmy feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

Jimmy stands up tall and pretends to flex, getting a kick out of the way Tango rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a strong immune system!” He says, even as Tango’s wacking him in the side with one of the throw pillows, the both of them giggling the whole way.

Ten or so minutes later Tango’s phone rings, alerting them that his prescription is ready. So Jimmy’s plans for the day are once more offset as he realizes he is going to have to go out in the rain after all, which still hasn’t let up from this morning.

Shucking on his rain coat and the pair of sneakers he’s least attached to, Jimmy decides to brave the downpour. The raindrops are heavy and cold, so he zips up his coat as tight as possible. The pharmacy is at the corner store just a few blocks down, so there’s no use driving. Considering his luck, he’s not surprised that he has to wait at every single crosswalk, but he’s still dry-ish when he finally makes it into the corner store.

He quickly gets sidetracked, though, when he passes down the canned foods aisle and gets an idea.

“Gem!” he greets when his friend’s face appears on his phone screen, only the top portion of her face visible from this angle. “Quick, what’s the best type of soup for someone who’s ill?”

“Hello to you, too, Jimmy,” says Gem with a little tired laugh. “Are you ill? You don’t look ill.” She squints into the camera lens, which only makes her look sillier given the way her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her glasses.

Jimmy lets out a small laugh, squatting down to survey all his options. “No, not me, Tango.”

Gem backs away from her phone screen, wincing. “Yeesh. Good luck with that.”

“I’m working on it. Now, soup?”

“Ah, yes!” Almost immediately her expression sours. “Wait, why are you asking me this? Pearl is the soup expert!” Before Jimmy can stop her, Gem tilts her head over what looks to be the top of her couch, and shouts, “Pearl! Can you come here?”

Seconds later Pearl appears in frame, the screen now divided between the both of them. “What’s up, Jimmy?” Pearl says in greeting as she spots him on the other side of the facetime call.

“He needs soup advice,” Gem explains to her roommate, all the while adjusting the positioning of the glasses on her face.

The gasp that erupts from Pearl is nothing short of overjoyed. “You need soup advice? I got soup advice! So much soup advice!”

What was supposed to be a quick facetime turns into a soup hunt extravaganza as the three of them work out which soup has the best flavor to medicinal value ratio, while still keeping in mind cost and size of the soup can. They end up settling for a creamy chicken noodle soup, which is probably what Jimmy would have gone with from the get-go, but he doesn’t mind using the excuse to talk to his friends on a gloomy day when bad weather and long-neglected chores keeps them apart.

Gem and Pearl accompany him to the pharmacy counter and wait with him while he gets Tango’s meds, and they say their goodbyes when Jimmy’s suiting up to brave the rain once more. Luckily the weather has let up a little bit to the point of a drizzle, but that doesn’t stop the cars on the street from whizzing by and attempting to drench him with dirty street water.

When he finally makes it back to the apartment with the prescriptions and soup in hand, the movie has ended and Tango is snoring softly on the couch. He stirs as Jimmy moves around the apartment, so when Jimmy walks over with the prescription in hand the man is awake enough to register that the pills are for him.

“Here you go!” Jimmy says, waving the prescription bag in front of him. Tango takes it from him and begins rummaging through it as Jimmy stands at the ready with a glass of ice water. “Drink up! Or, would swallow up work better in this context?”

Tango barks out a startled laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Jimmy feels his face warm as he realizes the dirty connotations in his own words, but it seems like Tango’s getting a kick out of it, at the very least.

“Please never say that again,” Tango laughs out, sitting up so he can take the glass of water from Jimmy. He plops down beside Tango on the couch and uses the opportunity to remove his sneakers while Tango takes his meds.

“I got some soup while I was out,” Jimmy says after a moment. “I was thinking, I could draw you a bath and warm up some soup for lunch while you’re at it.” He gently nudges his shoulder against Tango’s, craving any semblance of closeness to him despite his illness.

Leaning into Jimmy, Tango buries his head in the crook of Jimmy’s neck. He gives a small dreamy sigh that Jimmy’s pretty certain is overdramatized as he slips his hand into Jimmy’s. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You deserve all this and more, Jimmy thinks. If I could snap my fingers and make you better I would, but for now I will settle for fighting your fever and making you tea.

He gets the bath going and sets out clean clothes for Tango in the meantime, and performs a quick tidy of their closet, which really only involves throwing the clothes from on the floor into the hamper. There is a half-filled basket of clean clothes from the other day that Tango has yet to fold, so he gets that done speedily and then begins heating up the soup for lunch. They’ve got a loaf of bread that is on the edge of its expiration date that he butters and adds some garlic salt to to compliment their soup, which is about when Tango finishes with his bath and emerges from the bathroom. His hair is damp and sticks to his face, but he looks a little more lively than before.

Tango hums along to the music Jimmy turned on for background noise while he cooked, and he begins gathering bowls and utensils for their lunch. Jimmy can’t help but watch from the sidelines as Tango pads around the kitchen gracefully, even as he turns away every so often to cough or sneeze into his elbow. But the sickness never really deters Jimmy, who has, in truth, always been captivated by Tango.

Wordlessly the two of them work in tandem to prepare their lunch, a well oiled machine that they’ve perfected after so many afternoons and nights spent in one another’s company. It’s at moments like these that Jimmy questions why he was ever worried about asking Tango to move in with him, when the truth of the matter is that they go perfectly together.

When their meal is ready, Tango compliments Jimmy’s choice of soup and they sit down to enjoy it. Jimmy tells Tango all about his adventure to the corner store and how Pearl and Gem assisted in his soup quest, and Tango eagerly listens the whole way. Jimmy’s noticed that when Tango is very focused on him or something he’s saying, he makes a certain facial expression, one that Jimmy just so happens to find very cute. Unfortunately for him, he’s not allowed to kiss Tango until he’s perfectly healthy to prevent Jimmy from getting sick as well, so he settles for simply relishing in the way Tango looks at him.

Halfway through their meal when conversation has lulled, Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s ankle underneath the table to get his attention and grins mischievously at him. “So I was thinking…” He begins, looking positively pleased with himself.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows playfully as he lifts a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Mm. Dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Tango squawks, kicking Jimmy’s ankle more forcefully this time. Jimmy laughs, both at himself and Tango’s overdramatic reactions, which in turn gets Tango giggling too. He gains his composure after a few seconds and continues, “Okay, hear me out. You take a break from cleaning and running errands and just generally being amazing and watch a movie with me.” He grins at Jimmy with that insanely bright smile of his, the one that makes Jimmy want to just melt into him.

But the temptation of relaxing alongside his boyfriend brings with it an immense amount of guilt at not getting around to everything he wanted to today—there’s still groceries to be bought and door hinges to be oiled and plants to be watered and probably countless other things he hasn’t noticed that need his attention.

 He worries at his bottom lip, setting down his utensils to be able to focus more. “I dunno, Tango. It feels like there’s still so much to be done.”

Tango rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair. “Oh, come on. You deserve some rest too!” He makes a big show of looking around the apartment and waving his arms around. “And, plus, you’ve already done so much! What’s the harm in a little movie-watch-ification?”

He does make a good point, Jimmy realizes: he’s gotten a lot done already, and it’s only noon. It couldn’t hurt to unwind for an hour or two, right?

Really, it was a losing battle for Jimmy from the very beginning, because A) Tango’s ideas are nine out of ten times good ones, and B) Jimmy’s always had a hard time saying no to Tango, especially when he smiles so radiantly at him.

So, with a big show of huffing and shaking his head, Jimmy effectively throws in the towel. “Fine,” he says, which immediately makes Tango’s eyes light up, “but only one movie!”

“Can I pick the movie?” Tango asks, standing up from his seat while collecting his dirty dishes. When Jimmy nods, Tango whoops as he makes a beeline for the sink, already going off about all the classics that Jimmy has embarrassingly never seen before their relationship.

Tango is in charge of setting up the movie as Jimmy washes up—for what is now the fourth time he’s washed the dishes this morning—so when he makes it to the living room with two water glasses in hand, the movie is ready and Tango is eager waiting for him with arms outstretched. Jimmy lowers himself onto the couch beside Tango and they slot into place as Tango starts up the movie. He manages to sneak in a quick kiss against Tango’s cheek as the opening credits begin to roll and then he’s finally able to settle, lulled by the sense of safety and security that comes with being close to Tango. Even though he feels like there’s still much to be done, he reminds himself that he’s done enough for now and should be allowed to enjoy some time with his sick boyfriend during their time off.

And even if Jimmy himself winds up sick at the end of it all from not being careful around Tango illness, he won’t regret having been there for his boyfriend when he needed him; Tango will be there to take care of him in return, Jimmy is sure.

They’re perfect for each other, in that way.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What’s yours is mine 1

Warnings: nonconsent and rape, allusions to abuse, stalking, possessiveness, pregnancy, and more tags to be added.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: dark!Ransom Drysdale x pregnant!Reader

Summary: After five years, your past is far behind you but just as you think you can live your happily ever after, your ex shows up at the worst moment.

Note: I couldn’t sleep and ended up writing this and it will not be a long ongoing series but it will be a few parts. But Roo you say that all the time. Yes, well, I’m trying and I’m sorry but I’m gonna try to not be the worst.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“Oh my god, is that really you?” the voice made you stand stalk straight.

You took a breath and forced a smile before you turned to the indomitable woman. You never expected to see Linda again, not after you broke up with her son almost five years ago. And there she was, as rigid and righteous as ever, her thin lips curved in a mocking grin.

“Linda,” you greeted her in a singsong and looked around the grocery store. You never went to the overpriced organic market but your local shop didn’t have dragonfruit and you had a painful craving, “how are you?”

“Darling, I’m just great,” she held an empty basket on her arm, an odd sight as you never expected her to do her own shopping, “oh, and look at you!” Before you knew it, her hand was on your stomach and you struggled not shy away, “how far are you?”

“Um,” you looked down at the large ring on her finger and resisted the urge to step away as you often did in this situation, “almost five months.”

“And married?” she grabbed your left hand and pretended to admire the small teardrop diamond, “gorgeous.”

“Mhmm,” you waited for you to release you and swayed in place, “you barely look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“You’re well? You look well,” she primped her short hair at the compliment, “oh, a baby.” She reached out again and you sighed as she rubbed your stomach, “for luck.”

You tried not to frown and ended up laughing at the tension, “well, it was nice running into you.”

“Oh, you know, I barely come down here but we’re headed up to my father’s place, you remember, such a cozy house, and Joni is in charge of food and well, I wouldn’t trust her with a plastic spoon so of course, I have a back up plan.”

You nodded along with her awkwardly, frozen in the spot as the dragon fruit barely seemed worth the torture. Linda was hard to please and alway derisive, but for as long as you were with Ransom, she had taken a keen shine to you. That alone came with an edge but it was rarely used to cut you.

You forced another laugh, “that sounds fun, getting away from the city.”

“Ugh, just another family gathering,” she waved it off with her free hand, “I’ll have to tell Ransom I ran into you, if he even shows up.”

“Well, I don’t think--”

“He’s grown up so much,” she interrupted, “you wouldn’t believe it. He got his own imprint in my father’s company publishing true crime. He’s really making a place for himself now.”

“That’s great,” you tried not to falter at the mention of her son. You hadn’t ended on the greatest terms and your relationship had been tumultuous and regrettable.

“I hope you have a great weekend, Linda,” you said, “but I got to--”

“Oh, not at all, I’m keeping you,” she squeezed your arm, “God, he was such an idiot to let you go.”

You nodded and swallowed through your tight throat, “I’m glad he’s doing better for himself.”

“You too,” she trilled, “oh, before I let you go, darling, is it a boy?”

You blinked and your smile wavered, “how did you know?”

“I could always tell,” she said, “so precious.”

She gave your stomach one last pat and disappeared into the produce section. You blinked as you looked down at the scaled fruit in your right hand. Chocolate, you needed chocolate.

You were rattled as you waited in the express line and put your things on the belt. You hadn’t thought of Ransom in a very long time. Not much. His shadow followed you around in those moments when your heart raced and your head spun, but you had learned to work through those fits. No one else knew what happened behind closed doors, they only knew Ransom, not Hugh.

You paid and shoved your fruit and candy into a paper bag. You headed out into the misty spring air. The rain had finally stopped and left the streets slick and shining. The sun was hazy as it clung to the last of the clouds and you inhaled the wet scent of grass and gravel.

You let your key hang from the ignition as you took a moment to gather yourself. You stared at the modest ring on your finger and held your stomach and you swore you could still feel Linda’s bony hand there. 

You had a loving husband, Dez, and a son on the way. Ransom wasn’t a part of any of that and this was just a blip on radar, the aftershock of the storm that ended years before. You sniffed and turned the engine. You wouldn’t go back to that store, it was far too expensive and the clientele were certainly not of your ilk.

🍼

Dez was in the kitchen when you got home, the smell of steak and peppers rose from the frying pan. You kissed his cheek as he kept one hand on the spatula and you dropped your bag on the counter beside the stove. You went to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of water. You turned and leaned against the marble and drank deeply.

“So, hon, how was your day?” he asked as he put the spatula down and peeked in the bag, “hmm, odd pairing but I don’t hate it.”

“I had a craving,” you shrugged, “it was… okay,” you heaved, “what’s for dinner?”

“Steak fajitas,” he said, “I trimmed the fat for you and,” he turned and reached out to you, “and I got you some champagne… non-alcoholic, obviously.”

“You know it doesn’t have the same effects,” you kidded as you put your glass down and settled into his arms, “and well,” you looked down at your stomach, “we already got one drunken night growing.”

He laughed and bent to kiss you on the lips. He rocked you as the pan sizzled behind him. You closed your eyes and tensed as suddenly your head flashed with the memory of Ransom, of the way he’d kiss you, harder than Dez, and the way it always turned to more whether you wanted it or not.

“Hey,” Dez pulled back, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, “hormones.”

“Aw, hon, well I have the perfect dessert planned,” he purred.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm, strawberry massage oil,” he framed your face with his hand, “a nice long back rub…”

“Perfect,” you giggled, “why are you spoiling me?”

“Don’t I always?” he smirked.

“Hmm, rarely without reason,” you said.

“Well…” he voice trailed off and slowly he dropped his arms. He turned his back to you and grabbed the pan, stirring the contents with a shake, “I didn’t want you to miss me too bad.”

“Miss you?” you came forward and bent your arms over the counter, “where are you going?”

“Chicago, there’s some evidence down there we need to look at and they refuse to transfer it to our office so… bullshit confidentiality clause, but we need it.”

“How long?” your heart dropped.

“Well, I gotta leave in the morning but I told Gary I won’t stay longer than Monday.”

“And what did he say?”

“He laughed,” Dez shook his head, “I promise, I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I can--”

“No, I understand,” you said gloomily, “it’s just…” you cupped your chin and tapped your lips with your fingertips, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said as he turned the burner off, “and this little guy,” he touched your stomach and you shivered as you remembered how Linda had done the same with her cold palm, “so, you choose a name yet?”

“Still not naming him Superman, babe,” you chided, “but no, I can’t make up my mind. God, it’s like my mind is in shambles, I can’t remember why I go in a room or even focus on one thing for more than two minutes before I’m distracted by what colour I want to paint the nursery and I can’t even decide on that because then I’m thinking about what kind of wood the crib should be--”

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” he assured as he opened the bag of tortillas, “you’re still there, you’re just… sharing a brain right now.”

“Wasn’t enough to go around in the first place,” you scoffed.

“Shh,” he arranged the plates carefully, like a five star restaurant, tortillas stacked, steak and veg together, a little dish of cheese, some sour cream, lettuce, salsa, all divvied out in a spectacular salsa you would only make a mess of.

“I thought the pregnancy would give me a chance to finish my book, but--”

“Well, you got maternity leave after that,” he said.

“From what? Sitting at my keyboard and crying? I’ll just be holding a baby and crying,” you sighed, “you said you’d take some time off.”

“I did say that and I will,” he grabbed the plates and nodded you out of the kitchen. He set the plates on the table and you sat as he went to grab two glasses and as many bottles. He poured you your spineless champagne and had a beer for himself, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You can’t take forever off,” you muttered, “we both know that. I could go back to copywriting and maybe--”

“Babe, that job made you miserable and you will finish your book,” he handed you a napkin, “I’ve read your stuff, it’s… you said your ex was in publishing?”

“Did I?”

“I thought you did, you never really… talk about the exes, which I love but, I think you said something about it. You don’t think he would--”

“No,” you snapped, “no,” you said softer, “he wouldn’t.”

“Sorry,” he said startled by your reaction, “I didn’t--”

“It’s nothing, I just-- exes, right?”

“It was a stupid suggestion,” he said, “I’m sorry, but… I have a client, he might have some contacts.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“I don’t have to, I want to because the world deserves to hear your voice,” he insisted, “I hate to share you but I’d be selfish to keep you to myself.”

You smiled and unfolded a tortilla. Still, your heart raced as the second mention of Ransom that day had you on edge. Dez watched you build your fajita and you looked up at him.

“Well, since you’ll be in Chicago, maybe I’ll get a few pages done.”

🍼

The call came on Monday, Dez wouldn’t be home that night. You contented yourself to stay in with your laptop and sugar cookies. Still, you barely got a sentence done before you snapped your computer closed and gave up with a frustrated grunt. You slept, not well, and got up with some trouble as your hips ached.

A good morning text from Dez made you smile but there was still no promise of an impending return. You felt pent up in the apartment and lonely as its emptiness reminded you of your absent husband. Too tense to sit down and type, you opted to go for a walk, hoping it would calm your nerves.

You walked past the shop windows and stopped to peek in at used books and handmade candles. You had no destination in mind, only a restless step. There was a little store at the corner with locally made quilts and knitted sweaters. The smell of potpourri wafted out from beneath the painted door and made your throat tickle. Even so, your curiosity drew you inside.

A small woman greeted you from behind the desk. She held two needles as she crocheted some indistinguishable craft. You smiled and said hello as you headed down the centre aisle. You looked along the racks of quilts, floral, striped, plaid, and polka dot. You stopped at a bright yellow piece with honey bees along the border. You hadn’t thought of yellow for the nursery.

You felt the soft fabric and checked the tag. You lifted the quilt from the bar, content that it was worth it and a great motivator. You stopped before you could turn back, a familiar voice chilled your blood.

“It’s cute,” Ransom said as he stepped up next to you, “kinda girly for a boy though.”

You glanced over at him and folded the blanket over your arm. You backed up but as you turned he did too. He blocked your bath as he stretched his arm across the aisle.

“My mother told me you were expecting,” he said, “and she was right, you look good.”

“What do you want?” you whispered as you clutched the quilt.

“Nothing, just saying hello,” his mouth slanted.

“Hugh, I’m not stupid,” you hissed, “it’s been five years.”

“Hugh,” he repeated dully, “you remember your manners.”

“Leave me alone and let me past,” you tried to duck under his arm but he shifted his body over and backed you up to the end of the aisle.

“And married,” he taunted.

“He’s outside,” you lied, “if I stay too long--”

“I didn’t see him when you walked up,” he intoned, “he must be easy to miss.”

“Have you been following me?” you uttered.

“Only from the cafe,” he shrugged, “short walk.”

“Please, get away from me,” you quivered.

“I’m not doing anything--”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hissed, “now I will scream so move.”

“Mama Bear,” he crooned, “I love it, you’re so protective.”

“Hugh,” you warned.

“Sweetie,” he hummed.

You shoved his shoulder but he didn’t move. You hit him harder and he winced. He chuckled and stood straight. He waved his arm down the aisle and stepped aside.

“Don’t make a scene,” he said, “you always did like to be dramatic.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, “don’t come near me again.”

“Don’t act like you don’t miss me,” he called after you as you dropped the quilt on the counter, “we were so good together.”

You left without buying, a shrill apology to the lady at the counter as you went as fast as you could out the door. The bell tinkled after you and the door clamored shut. You felt nauseous and dizzy. The last thing you wanted or needed was to ever see that man again.

[natromanxoff]

22 - Cars & Queenie Days

Hi there Queenie people.

What a strange little weekend this one turned out to be. Let me start by saying that most of my stories seem to have something to do with alcohol, but we were all a hell of a lot younger then, and I for one cannot do that anymore, well not all the time. Although a few days ago an old friend made a guest appearance, the Kurgen was let loose on the streets of Bondi which seemed to start a string of Queen type events. It all started about midday on Saturday when a friend of mine phoned and suggested lunch, what a fantastic idea as it was a lovely hot sunny day, so we met in a nice place with a garden and ordered the first bottle of wine, and it was the Linda Lovelace of vino, it went down very quickly and easily. During the course of the afternoon I phoned my mate Steve and said he should join us, which he did at about 8pm, and we finally moved indoors to have dinner, after sitting in the sun and guzzling wine for the last six hours, and needless to say I'm pissed so we ordered some more food and what turned out to be the last bottle of plonk for the evening.

Half way through dinner Rebecca decided she was to out of it to continue, and wisely went home, leaving the Kurgen and his mate, who has decided he's gonna catch up with me, what a good friend eh, but him getting drunk means me becoming a complete gibbering idiot. After dining we moved next door to the bar where the whisky was flowing very rapidly and the idiot telling one barmaid she looked like a cheap hooker, while swearing his undying love to another. Oh, get me another drink Steve, I think I need one. It finally gets to 1am and time to head home, it's been a long day, and while trying to negotiate the 10min walk I was complaining that my right leg wouldn't work, usual drunken crap.

What has this got to do with Queen I hear you ask, well, apart from the fact that a million years ago I worked for them for a while, not very much. Steve and myself eventually got back to my place and I got phoneitis and I had the need to speak with everyone from my dodgey past, so, phone book out and lets go. Pride of place went to Mr Deacon who was lucky to be speaking on the phone so the Kurgen, after two tries, couldn't get through. Time up for you pal, next. Broughie. He always calls me when he's legless, now it's his turn to try and decipher what I'm on about. When I got through to Trip I can remember saying, "Where the f*** are you?" And do you know what, I have no idea what the answer was, though he did say they cancelled a couple of shows, and everyone was having a great time. This is fun, lets spend some more money. The next call started with, "Mr Taylor, it's Mr Taylor here." Sorry Rog, but you did pick up the phone. I did tell him I'd listened to his new stuff on his website and it's the best stuff he'd done in years, and I have an awful feeling I said that I didn't like 'Happiness,' but he did say that he reads my memoirs, so if you get to see this Mr T. I'll try and be a bit more sober next time I call.

Jacky followed, phone was busy (No it wasn't, we were out, you left a message!!) , gotta move on, I'm on a roll now. A new game, lets try and track down my ex in LA, no luck, thank god, and with that my new accountant Steve took the phone away from me, thanks dear boy. He clears off around 3 and I hit the sack and descend into a coma. Ring ring.....ring ring. Its 9am, who the f*** is phoning in the middle of the night, so, with head pounding I track the phone down and had to raise a bit of a giggle, it's Broughie and now he's pissed and he told me that in nearly twenty years of knowing me, that is the worst he's ever heard me try and talk, to which I reply that this is the worst I've ever felt.

Spandau's Tony Hadley was the next person I speak to, what a diamond geezer, always nice to chat with him. Sunday was a non-existent day with a phone that had no sympathy for me and kept ringing, amazingly it's still in one piece. A wet Monday and I'm still feeling a bit iffy, but come afternoon I receive a package in the post, I like little surprises, so when I walk in and turn the radio on Bo Rap is playing, and when I open my pressie it's from the ever gorgeous Jacky who has very kindly sent me RT's Electric Fire. You know what I mean, his new CD not the electric fire out of his bedroom. I'm glad I told him it was great, cause it is, in my humble opinion, possibly the best thing he's done. That was a hell of a lot of words just to say " go and buy Electric fire and put it in the charts, you won't be disappointed".

I was chatting with Greg Fryer, the fireplace restorer, and we're both looking forward to the Australian convention in a few weeks, although I might be drinking lemonade as I made the idiot promise that "I'm never drinking again". Some time ago somebody asked me a question which went something like, "When you were in the studio with just Roger or the Cross, was it a bit of an anti climax after working with Queen as they were such brilliant musicians." I don't know if I'm missing something here, but as Roger was a solo artist, a member of the Cross and also in Queen, surely that must make him brilliant. Well, whatever your name was, no it wasn't boring it was mostly fun. When he was producing other acts I must admit that I did a lot of sitting around doing bugger all, and I every act were ok as people, though once Jimmy Nail had a hit he did get a rather large ego and changed into a real prat.

Virginia Wolf had two old buddies of mine in the band, Joe Burt and Jason Bonham, so when we went to Ibiza to record it was party time from start to finish, though Jason did go overboard a bit, so to protect us more than him we sent him back to England. I was only involved in one Cross album, Shove It, and that was just going to be another RT solo album so he played all the instruments himself.

I think I've mentioned before that we drove the Bentley to Montreux, well this was the time. The plan was to spend three or four days in Montreux recording then go to Gstaad to write some more songs. That was the excuse because we had a huge chalet there and the idea was to do a lot of skiing and a bit of writing, which is exactly what we did. It was in Gstaad that Roger came up with the idea of forming a band, and after a hard day on the slopes we would sit around at night working out a plan on putting a band together. On the subject of Bentleys and Gstaad I feel obliged to tell you just how much bad luck RT has with his cars.

When he bought his first Range Rover he claimed "You can park them on a sixpence." We had to tow him out of a ditch. His Ferrari burst into flames on his way to the south of France, and his Aston Martin also burst into flames. He hardly ever drove the Bentley, it was my baby and I loved it and never had any problems. Dominique decided she was going to join our little ski trip and was coming to Gstaad, now don't get me wrong, I love Dom, a fine lady, still is, it's just that I didn't fancy the hour drive down the mountain and then the hour along the motorway to the airport. On the day of her arrival RT surprised me by saying he was going to pick her up, that'll do me, drop me off at the chair lift and have a nice drive. A very pleasant afternoon was spent on the piste so when I get back to the house I'm ready for some mindless computer games, and while in the middle of shooting some aliens the phone rings and it's Dominique asking where Roger was as he's not at the airport to pick her up.

The only thing I can say is for her to hang on because he left in plenty of time so he should be there, and I'm back to saving the world. Hours later the door flies open with Roger ranting and raving and saying something about F-in-cars. What's his problem? I look out the window and in the driveway is a VW Golf, so the obvious question is, "Where's the Bentley?" When his lordship finally calmed down he explained that when he got to the motorway there was a blizzard, so he had to have the windscreen wipers on full, but the one on the drivers side came off, so he stopped the car and was groping around in the snow looking for it, and he found it and put it back on. So far so good, except a couple of miles further on it came off again, and this time it was nowhere to be seen. Now try and picture the situation. Swiss motorway, lots of snow falling, very expensive black Bentley and a very famous pop star hanging out the window while driving so he can wipe the snow off the screen so he can see. Not a very good look at all.

On arrival at Geneva he took the car to the Rolls Royce dealer to get fixed, and it wasn't long after this that I said my final goodbye to a trusty friend. Roger on the other hand said Good F***ing Riddance. I have an equally pathetic driving story when we were in Rio, this time it was the two of us, a convertible and one hell of a lot of rain. Next time might be right to tell you how we put the Cross together from the first ad. onwards. Before I go I have a question for Jacky. Do you remember all those bacon sandwiches we had at the auditions? That's it for now Bye

Crystal

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For [12/?]

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7 / ch 8 / ch 9 / ch 10 / ch 11 [Chapter 12/?]

The three weeks between that and Killian’s fight flew at lightspeed. Between training (together), press conferences (together), and general life (also, together), Emma found herself spending almost every moment with Killian without really knowing what hit her.

He wove himself into her life with an ease she would’ve found scary if she wasn’t so damn happy.

After meeting, Killian and Henry begged to be together daily. It started with short bursts– lunch here, a trip to the park there– and eventually it became week long movie nights with the three of them cuddled up on the couch. Any thought she had of slowing things down was abruptly erased by Henry’s overall excitement just to be with Killian.

The night the two of them fell asleep together in Henry’s bed mid-bedtime story was the proverbial nail in the coffin.

That’s how she finds herself sitting outside the locker room killing time before Killian has to prep for weigh-ins. Henry was already in their seats, Ruby keeping an eye on him while he oogles at the stage being constructed. Emma has been able to mostly ignore the reality of tonight– and tomorrow night– by managing Killian’s social accounts and keeping Regina off her back. (Let’s just say her boss doesn’t know the full extent of their relationship and Emma would like to keep it that way at least until this weekend is over and not just because even she doesn’t know the full extent.)

Emma hears the announcer call for fighters to the locker rooms and it snaps her out of her own thoughts. 

Killian has to go. They– mostly Emma– have been dreading this night since the moment they found out it was Neal. It was only three weeks ago, but somehow everything has changed and it feels like a different lifetime. Killian must have resigned to his fate as well, “Duty calls, love.” He kisses her on the forehead and she leans into the contact. Emma nods but is reluctant to remove her arms from their comfortable spot on his hips. She’s about to wish him luck when he pulls a long silver chain from his pocket. Dangling from the end is a beautiful ring– rubies set with diamonds across a twisted silver band.

Oh shit.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, wh–”

He rolls his eyes, “Calm down, Swan. I’m not proposing.”

She nods with a tight smile, ignoring the rush of disappointment that floods her mind. It’s barely been a month, she should not be disappointed. He smirks, probably reading her like a book per usual, but continues anyway, “You know I’m good at surviving the octagon, yeah? Well, this ring is why. I’ve had it for many years, it’s the reason I’m alive. The reason I’m here today.”

“Killian–”

“I want you to have it this weekend. Keep a piece of me with you. Tomorrow may be a bloody awful night for me but I can’t imagine the war raging behind those beautiful eyes of yours, love.” He brushes a small piece of hair off the apple of her cheek before placing the ring carefully in her hand. She clutches it tightly before pressing up on her toes to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, something bright and happy that reaches his eyes but is reserved for her, “Don’t mention it, Swan. I’ve got all the luck I need right here.” He squeezes her waist, eliciting a small giggle as he focuses in on a slight ticklish spot. Killian kisses her temple once more before they finally part.

“Go get him, Jones.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face despite the potential danger Killian is walking into.

He turns back to respond, “Aye, love. Tomorrow night, that’s the plan. It’s only weigh-ins, what could go wrong?” With a wink and a smirk he heads into the locker room and Emma notices the ring still clutched tightly in her fist. Taking it gently, Emma places it over her neck, the weight of the ring heavy atop her chest.

It feels like a lifeline.

Emma takes a deep breath before cracking her neck and slipping into her very real position as Killian’s PR manager. Henry is here tonight, so despite her job, she figures she should check on him first– that is if he hasn’t already tried to come find her. As she walks out from behind the stage she bumps into someone solid. Nausea hits her like a freight train as a familiar scent takes over. The hands on her shoulders seer like fire and she looks up only on instinct.

She swears her blood runs cold at the sound of his voice, “Ems?”

Before she can react, another familiar voice cuts through blood rushing in her ears, “Mom?”

Emma can feel the indent of the ring carving itself into the palm of her hand as she realizes what’s about to happen. Maybe lifeline was an understatement? She reached for the ring instinctively as she realized the moment she had hoped would never come was hovering right in front of her.

She closes her eyes and hears Killian’s voice in her head, “ You can do this, Swan.”

Somehow that’s all the push she needs. Turning to Henry, she ignores the close proximity of his father. “Henry! You were supposed to wait by the seats.”

Her eyes never leave her son. “I was going to but Ruby said I could get popcorn and when I heard them call Hook back I figured you’d be coming out soon so I figured I’d wait for you.” He turns to Neal. “Oh my god, you’re The Fire !!!!”

Neal looks like he’s been tased. Emma pleads with him telepathically to ignore the fact that this is his unmistakably his son.

She never was good at telepathy.

“I am! And you must be Henry.” Neal smiles at him and then turns to Emma for confirmation– she nods slightly despite him barely deserving that. Henry’s eyes light up.

“Did Hook tell you about me?! Mom, do you know Neal Cassidy, too?!” Neal’s eyes turn from amusement to confusion before he turns to Emma.

“Hook?” The word sounds like poison as it cuts across the space between him and Emma.

Henry speaks before Emma can form an explanation, “Yeah! Killian is my mom’s client. She helps him run his Twitter and stuff. Does she do that for you too?”

Oh yeah, client, right.  

Neal gives her one more look before turning back to Henry, “Nope, not for me. Your mom and I are just old friends.” Acid. He sounds like he’s spitting acid. Emma has to choke back a scoff.

How did Emma ever fall for this shit?

“Oh, Killian and mom are friends too. He’s over pretty much every night. I think he likes me better though.” Emma can’t stop a smile from breaking out across her face. She grabs Henry and pulls him in for a hug.

“I think you’re right, kid.” Emma’s eyes meet Neal’s and he’s about to speak when a trainer comes up behind him and whisks him away. Something in his gaze tells her that this conversation isn’t over, but he says bye to Henry who waves before completely moving on to the veteran athletes he saw while waiting in the concession lines. Once he’s out of sight Emma takes a moment to focus her breathing— the cool temperature of Killian’s gift against her thumb effectively grounding her.

This ring really is a godsend– or maybe that’s just the man who gave it to her.

. . .

Killian is sitting in the middle of the sparring gym when he hears his moniker called by an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it is sounds angry. It’s weigh-ins so this level of hostility is usually a show for the cameras, but it’s also usually reserved for fighters who actually know each other.

“Killian Jones.” The use of his full name causes Killian to stand, coming face to face with Neal. He’s only seen him in photos and on tape, but he’d recognize him anywhere. Ice fills Killian’s veins before turning to white hot rage. He’s got half a mind to knock him flat on his arse but knows better than to fight outside the ring.

He opts for civility instead, “Ah, you must be Mr. Cassidy.” Killian squares with him, sizing him up. Despite his clearly trained stature, Killian knows Neal is a coward.

No man who gives up a boy like Henry could be anything less.

“Stay away from my son.”

That was not what Killian expected, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Neal is fired up for some reason or another. Killian can’t imagine why, unless– Emma .

Neal must’ve ran into Emma and Henry before coming back. Killian drops the niceties, “ Your son? I believe there’s a hefty packet of legal papers that says quite the opposite, mate.”  

He watches the rage fill up Neal’s face and his arm begin to form a fist. As Killian responds, Neal’s trainer is coming up behind him. “Not here, Cassidy. Save it for the octagon.”

As the trainer pulls Neal away, Killian doesn’t let the wash of relief exit in a sigh, but he feels it all the same. Neal turns to him once more,“We’ll settle this tomorrow, Jones. You don’t get to steal my life.”  He clearly has a compulsory need for having the last word.

Too bad so does Killian.

As Neal approaches the door separating their designated gyms, Killian calls out once more, “It’s not stealing when you give them up in the first place. Finders keepers, mate.” He winks as Neal crosses into the other room, his trainers keeping him pointed in the right direction.

That’s when Robin walks up behind Killian, “What the hell was that about? I thought you two didn’t even know each other.”

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, Robin. It seems Mr. Cassidy is regretting his choice not to fight.” Killian turns to his best friend and finds only understanding in his eyes.

Robin claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder, “Kick his ass, Jones.”

Nodding, Killian straps his gloves on. “My plan precisely, boss.”

...

@mariakov81 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @teamhook @bawley-bug @let-it-raines ​

[modernsocialmediaau]

AVALANCE AU

AU: Sara is lead singer in a band called The Legends. Her band mates are; Charlie: Bass Player, Nate: Lead Guitarist, Zari: Drummer, Ray: Pianist. They call their fans beebos. Ava on the other hand is a famous actress with an entourage; Nora her best friend, and stylist, Gary: Manager, and Mona her publicist.

Surprise Motherfucker.

Nora smiles happily taking Ava’s phone before getting into the car to head to the airport. 

“Let the detox begin.” Nora smiles jumping onto the front seat. Ava is still unsure about this weekend, honestly she’d rather be at her small apartment arranging her life away. So when she comes back from Vancouver it’ll feel more like a home instead of boxes. 

“Hey, it’s going to be a good weekend. I promise—“ Nora pats Ava’s leg smirking “What are you planning Darhk—because if its another music festival through the mud and rain I am out.” Ava rolls her eyes thinking about the time she was dragged through the mud just to see Ed Sheeran. 

“Detox weekend, no phones, no paps, no internet. Just a nice, good—detox.” Nora takes her hands off of Ava and places them both on the steering wheel. She is starting to get a little anxious because she knows that as soon as they are at the airport and Ava see’s Sara there is no turning back. 

“Okay, if its suppose to be relaxing and detoxifying why do you seem so anxious?” Ava chuckles tapping along to the music that was playing in the background. 

The car pulls up to the private jet hanger that Gary has arranged, and Ava sits up to see the very familiar crew of The Legends. She rubs her eyes to make sure that she isn't actually crazy and thats who she thinks it is. 

“You didn’t, I told you Sara and I will never be a thing—we are two different people.” Ava turns to Nora who’s got a stupid smirk on her face. Ava turns around to see her window open with everyone including Sara to hear what she’s said.

“Message received.” Sara protrudes her lips and nods, heading for the passenger seat to grab bags with Ray. 

Ava smacks her head on the dashboard and waits for the passenger doors to close which indicates that the two are gone. Ava then turns to Nora and smacks her like crazy, “WhAt Is WrOnG wItH yOu!” Nora chuckles trying to shield herself from Ava’s fire 

“Detox weekend, c’mon lets go.” Nora cheers taking her the key out of the ignition getting out of the car. Ava is still not ready for her impending social doom and sits in the car for a little while longer. 

Ray walks out of the jet and towards Nora, while everybody else is in the jet. “What happened, is she bailing?” He whispers. 

Nora looks over at the parked car to see Ava let out a scream then get out of the car. She then looks back at Ray, happily taps his chest “See on the plane Rayge.” Nora gets on the plane and greets everyone. 

She gets around to hugging everyone but Sara, she makes a face and Zari nods to the bathroom, and Nora smiles she looks around for an empty seat to find that there are two left, one next to Ray’s things and one next to Sara’s things. Nora being somewhat devilish and selfish herself decides to sit next to Ray’s things. Ava comes stepping onto the plane to see the seats available she was about to sit next to her conniving best friend. Yet, as she gets closer to the seat she see’s somebody things there. 

“Excuse me,” Ray maneuvers from behind her to make his way to get to his seat. Nora looks over at the empty seat next to unbeknownst to Ava, Sara’s things. Ava crinkles her nose mockingly wanting to strangle her so called best friend. Ava fastens her seatbelt and everyone starts to converse about what they are most excited about the upcoming weekend. Sara comes out of the bathroom with one eyebrow cocking up at the sight of Ava sitting next to her.

“Hey Nora--Oh! You know for somebody who is convinced we are polar opposites you sure are clingy.” Sara teases sitting down on her seat and fastening her seatbelt, placing her eye mask on and headphones in. Before Ava can respond Sara’s already put up and impenetrable wall of DO NOT DISTURB. Ava looks over at Nora who is happily flirting with Ray. As for Mona she simply smiles at Ava trying to express her excitement. Ava rolls her eyes and takes her book out to distract herself. 

The flight takes off and it’s about a 2 hour flight to Oregon. As Sara sleep and Ava reads the rest of the gang distracts themselves.

“Alright pets who would like to have a friendly little wager—” John smirks getting Nate, Mona and Gary’s attention 

“Wager for what?” Mona wonders proceeding with caution she’s come to know the Brit quite well to be cautious at these things. John has a knack, to simply put it he has a weird sixth sense like some off brand Raven Symoné. 

“For starters, those two.” He points at Nora and Ray who are currently watching a show on Ray’s iPad sharing headphones with one another. Nate and Mona sit up and turn around to look at them and Mona aw’s catching their attention. The two look up and all four of them wave. “Hey buddy,” Nate offers sliding back down on his seat. 

“I’m all ears,” Gary smiles sneaking a look at the two of them every now and again, “Nate, Mo?” John smirks, the two exchange looks and nods in agreement. 

“Alright I’m going to say, that by tonight those two will kiss.” John starts

“How do you know they haven't kissed already?” Gary wonders 

“Nora’s told me, they haven’t .” Mona chimes in, and thats the truth they haven't shared a kiss. 

“What about you luv?” John turns to Gary grabbing his hand and rubbing circles on his thumb “I’m going to say tomorrow afternoon, I mean we’re going on a hike thats a perfect time to get a kiss.” Gary justifies now he’s the one rubbing circles on Johns hand 

“Alright, Nate? Mona?” 

“I’m going to say tomorrow night, we’ve got the fire going, the stars and nothing else.” Mona confidently answers, having read and represented so many romance novels it basically the perfect recipe. 

“None of you know Ray like I do okay, he’s a rather last minute type of guy when it comes to these things. I’m going to say right before we board the plane—”Nate nods his head

“Alright pets $10 in lets go.” John smirks, all four of them put money in the middle and Gary takes it. Placing it safely in his wallet. 

“Now for the second wager—” John smirks before tilting his head at Sara and Ava who are sitting next to four of them 

“That’s a hard one.” Mona shakes her head unsure 

“And thats what makes it more interesting—So? I propose that Sara kisses Ava tomorrow afternoon during the hike.” John finishes and turns to the other three

“My money is on tonight, Sara closes all too well.” Nate sips on his coffee confidently taking out another $10 from his pocket 

“I say Ava kisses her tomorrow night,” Gary hesitantly says

“I’m going to say Sunday morning.” Mona staring at Ava, she of course notices and puts her book down. 

“What?” Ava sasses looking at the four of them gawking at her, the four chuckle awkwardly before turning back to their discussion

“Alright, love playing with you lots. Best of luck” John smirks taking the money, “Now who wants to play a little D and D?” Gary smiles. 

For the rest of the flight the four play their little game. Nora falls asleep on Ray, Ray sleeps as well. Ava reads most of her book, and Sara’s shut eye lasts the whole flight. 

*Alright folks thank you for flying Star Airlines I hope to see you guys soon.*

Ava gets up from her seat and walks over to the bathroom, and Sara took this time to take her eye mask off. The rest of the crew collect their belongings and off of the plane. Sara stretches and nods of to Nora who is the last one off, and Ava walks out. The two girls are quiet as they collect their items until finally Ava speaks, “Sara about what I said earlier—” Ava pauses but Sara continues to put her things in a bag. When she finishes she looks at Ava, 

“Don’t worry about it, like I said message received.” Sara nods off and heads for the exit. Ava rolls her eyes because that doesn't exactly clarify anything, does that mean that Sara does like her but message is received that Ava doesn't feel the same way. Or message received as in I agree with you Ava we are polar opposites and are better off as friends. 

Ava gets off the plane to be greeted by an old jeep that she presumes only Gary can choose. 

“C’mon Sharpie we’ve got some miles ahead of us before we’re really detoxing within nature.” John smacks the side of the car, unsure of where she’s suppose to seat everybody in the car points to the front passenger seat. 

Ava shakes her head knowing that everyone is really scheming. When she gets in the car, Sara is fixes her mirrors. She see’s Ava buckle up, and they head off to their cabin for the weekend. 

“Alright kids, lets get our green on.” Sara says

“Can I at least get my phone?” Ava turns to Nora and she happily shakes her head. 

——————

“Alright pee break before we enter the woods and say goodbye to the 21st century.” Sara parks the car and turns to everyone in the car. Everybody heads for the small quaint diner/gas station including Ava. As for Sara she paces around the car just thinking, lately she’s had a tune stuck inside her head with an amazing melody and upcoming arrangements but no concept. Every concept that keeps popping into her head doesn't fit how she saw the song becoming. 

“Hey Capn—” Charlie walks over handing her a cup of tea, knowing that they aren't coffee drinkers. 

“Hi Chaz what’s going on?” Sara looks down from the stars to her friend, and happily receives the coffee

“How are you doing?” 

“What do you mean? I’m great we get a music break, no paps, phones, or—”

“I meant about the whole Alex thing, I know you saw her recently—“ Charlie states shocking Sara making her choke on her tea

“What do you mean? How could you possibly—“

“I’ve known you for 10 years Sara behavior doesn’t go unnoticed. Plus when you left for the bathroom your phone rang and it was none other than Alex ringing you up.” Charlie chuckles, Sara sighs. Yes she’s been with Alex recently but that’s too catch up. Before they dated, they were friends. Alex is one of the friends that Sara has outside of the band. She loves her band mates she really does but she loves having friends outside of them too. It broke Sara when Alex broke up with her. For Sara everything was going great, because before she knew it her tour was going to end, and they’ll be together.

They flew out to one another every now and again when the opportunity would present itself. And when they finally were in New York the two were going to celebrate being in the same country and state at the same time. Sara came by Alex’s hotel room and broke it off with her. Her main explanation being that even though Sara was there Alex always felt alone. As if her mind is still elsewhere. That truly they weren’t even in a relationship at all.

Sara couldn’t even bother to fight for her because everything she said is true. Anytime Sara would emphasize giving her privacy for a day it was often disregarded. But recently 2 months ago to be precise, Alex sent her a text to grab some coffee just to talk.

Sara doesn’t know what it is about Alex but she’s got a certain soft spot for her and went. Has she been using Ava as an excuse to sneak out from her friends yes, but’s it’s only happened a couple times.

“We’re just talking Charlie, we were friends before we dated.” Sara explains

“Which made it worse when you broke up. You were gutted when she let you go. I’m just looking out for you. You lost a lot when you lost Alex.” Sara nods in agreement stirrring her tea

“You’re telling me, we didn’t even date that long”

“8 years of friendship speaks volumes, you were practically married. Is that why you aren’t so bothered with the whole Ava situation.” Sara chuckles at Charlie’s insinuation

“That and the fact that she is right we are different people. Ava is the type of celebrity who’s private and has mastered the art of being so as well as down to earth. The whole you can take me home to your parents ordeal. As for I—“

“You—“

“Am an artist who can’t be trusted and is often moving. If it hasn’t been clear most of my relationship end due to my unavailability.” Sara finishes her explanation

“That’s just an excuse mate.” Charlie winks getting in the car, Sara looks at the group chuckling and giggling as they make they way back to the car. Sara rolls her eyes getting in the car to start it. Once they are all piled in they start driving the last hour of their trip.

1 Hour Later...

“Alright kiddos four bedroom. Two big rooms, 2 medium rooms and 10 of use which means...” Zari pauses turning to Sara to signifying to take the lead 

“Right Z, Chaz and I take one of the larger rooms,” Sara pauses waiting for anybody else to talk 

“Nora, Mona, and I can take the other big room,” Ava smiles and the others agree. Nate and Ray fist bump “Bunk buddies.” the two say in unison. 

“And the happy rowdy couple get the other room.” Nora jokes 

“Please take the one in the attic, we dont ever ever want to hear you guys.” Zari adds making everyone in the room agree. After that discussion everyone disperses to unpack their things. Mona and Nate have decided to make dinner for the group, which should keep them busy. 

As Sara, Charlie and Zari unpacks Charlie and Zari decide to exchange looks. Charlie only ever trusted Zari about the new Alex information but having confronted Sara with that information she thought it’s the perfect time to bring Zari into the conversation.

“What have you been Alex been doing?” Zari brings up. Sara turns around to face Zari then Charlie then back to Zari. 

“Obviously nothing public because that is something I don't want to spring up on the managers. So we hang out at my place or at her place, recently we took a trip to CO to visit Kara. Her and Monel aren’t doing so hot.” Sara sighs

“When did you have the time to fly to Colorado?” Zari shouts, Charlie throws a pillow at her trying to shush her. Zari puts a fist up at Charlie and she simply winks

“Do you that remember that time I said I was going back to Star City to visit Laurel and Tommy?” Sara sheepishly smiles, Charlie and Zari throw a pillow at Sara in utter disappointment 

“Listen I've known Kara okay, and she asked for me--” 

“Are you sure Alex didn't just tell you that so you’d come?” Charlie wonders finishing unpacking her things 

“What was wrong between Kara and Monel?” Zari asks.

“It wasn’t good and that was last month, Monel wasnt even sleeping in the house. Kara couldn't talk about him without breaking down, but from what Alex has told me as well as Kara. They might’ve gotten married to early and that they shouldn't have rushed into it before getting to know each other. Monel from Alex’s point of view is a bit manipulative and emotional abusive. Before we left this weekend I helped Kara move in with Alex. I believe they are getting a divorce.” Sara explains sadly

“Fuck. That’s shit.” Charlie swears, shaking her head knowing that anybody with eyes can see that Kara was madly and deeply in love with that boy.

“Yeah, now I need a drink.” Sara comments not wanting to think about this situation. “I’m with yeah, lets head down for a bottle then head for the jacuzzi. Z are you down?” Charlie suggests, Sara nods grabbing a suit, starting to walk out of the room. She stop when she notices that Charlie isn't following her and the two are merely having a conversation by exchanging looks. 

“We’ll catch up with you captain.” Z salutes and Charlie shakes her head. Sara oddly nods her head. Sara changes and heads downstairs. In the other large room, Nora, Mona, and Ava are having a heavy discussion about the events of today.

“Ava you have to apologize.” Mona insists 

“I’ve tried and all she said was message received? What the hell does that mean?” 

“Mhmmmmmm you’ve got me there—Mo?” Nora turns to Mona who is slowly pacing the room, she goes for another 3 minutes before slowly turning to Ava.

“Do you like her?” 

Ava scoffs, “Of course I do she’s been one of my closest friends recently.”

“Not like that, do you like her?” Ava scoffs again turning to Nora for some help, she puts her hands up in defeat. Knowing that once you’ve got Mona’s ball rolling it’s best to not block her.

“It’s simples Ava, when you see her call you or text you do you get a weird feeling in your stomach. Do you oddly get excited when you hang out even though you probably saw each other the day before or two days ago? Do you feel like the biggest dick having said what you said and having to know that Sara heard it all.” Mona says in one breath shocking everyone in the room.

Ava is speechless, as well as Nora. Ava then clears her throat “Excuse me. I need some air” Ava ducks out of her room. She hears the two have a small argument but before she knows it she’s downstairs in the back balcony. Unaware that Sara is also out there in a hot tub by herself drinking. 

“Interrogation getting too much?” Sara speaks up scaring the shit out of Ava “Jesus—fuck.” Ava puts her hand on her chest, then turns to Sara who is still not looking at her and continues to sip her beer. 

“How did you know?” Ava questions walking towards the edge of the balcony looking around at the forest 

“Because I was getting same treatment why do you think I’m drinking at three o’clock in the afternoon—” 

“You do like the taste of scotch—”

“True but this is beer. Here.” Sara reaches for another beer and finally looks at Ava to hand her the beer. Ava sighs and happily takes the beer.

“To your weekend.” Sara puts her beer up

“To your dire band trip.” Ava chuckles and the two girls cheers

------

No kiss that night but here are the pics that they can’t share... ;)

Part 12/?

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Thirteen - Like Ants Do

Fall was already making an appearance, painting the trees that lined the road to Terry’s ranch in reds and oranges. I always loved the season and everything it symbolized: the hot beverages, the crafts, and the colder weather that made me put on an extra sweater, but not cold enough to discourage me from leaving the house. The thing I loved the most, though, was the trees. It was like they were preparing to die and chose to go out with a bang, showing us how astonishing they could be, coloring the landscape for us so during the winter we would remember what it was like to have beautiful trees. Fall was the first step of a beautiful end, and, simultaneously, the promise of a magnificent beginning.

Inside the car, however, there was the energy of a painful start that still held the potential energy of an even more painful ending. A week had passed since Owen’s adoption, and we were faced with a very different child than the one we used to visit every weekend. The funny extroverted version of Owen seemed to no longer be available and gave way to a morose child who seemed on edge all the time.

For a week we tried to connect, and although it wasn’t all bad, it was nothing like we had expected. Owen seemed to have no excitement over his new house or his new room, and was yet to touch any of the toys we had bought him, busying himself with the books alone. He mostly kept to himself in his bedroom, and would only come out for activities with us if we insisted on it. The only thing that seemed to have some kind of effect was asking for him to help with chores, like setting the table or preparing dinner, which he would do quietly and cautiously, as if afraid to mess up somehow.

I couldn’t complain though, Victor was having it way worse. Even though it was difficult, I could still interact with the boy, but my husband wasn’t having such luck. Owen looked at him with frightened eyes, and avoided him like the plague, turning to me the rare times he needed something. Hence our trip to Terry’s farm. We hoped that a new activity, an exciting environment, could bring the boy out of his shell. To be honest, this small excursion was our Hail Mary.

Victor turned down the dirt road that led to the iron gate, focused on his driving. He had done his best to look casual and nonthreatening, wearing a gray sweater instead of the usual dress shirt, maintaining a relaxed look on his face. I obviously could see through it, noticing the clench in his jaw and the tension on his shoulders. And Owen apparently did too, as he almost curled in on himself in his seat, training his eyes on the scenery outside, and had yet to make a single peep.

Susan and Terry were waiting for us in the garden when we parked our car.

“Hey! How are you all?” Terry greeted us with a hug. “And who is this gorgeous young man?” She grinned at Owen.

“Owen, this is Terry, my aunt, and her girlfriend, Susan.” Victor held Owen’s shoulder fatherly. “Terry, this is Owen.”

“Nice to meet you!” Terry extended her hand for Owen to shake, which he politely took. “Your father tells me you like animals.”

“My father?” Owen made a confused expression, looking at Victor. “Yes…”

“Fantastic! I will show you the horses later.” Terry took Owen’s hand and motioned us to follow her. “Mina made iced tea, come have some.”

We followed her to the patio where a set table was already waiting for us. I sat down, saving a seat for Owen between me and Victor, my eyes on Owen, trying to assess his mood. The boy sat next to me quietly, his eyes on the ground. I took the iced tea pitcher, while Victor went inside to call Mina.

“Would you like to try some? It’s delicious.” I asked softly.

“Yes, please.” He took the glass from my hands, taking a sip. “Yum, it’s great!” He whispered, his eyes shining.

“See? I told you.” My heart jumped to see him relax, even if just a little. “You’ll love it here, you’ll get to meet Naia and Onyx.”

“You think I can ride them?” Owen’s eyes widened.

“Maybe not today, but we can definitely feed them.” I grinned.

“Andrea!” Mina greeted me, Victor following her. “How are you, dear? And this beautiful child… You are Owen, right?”

Mina crouched to his height, a sweet look in her eyes.

“Do you want to know what I’m making back in the kitchen? Victor’s favorite delicacy, saltwater taffy. Do you want to help me stretch it?”

Owen looked at her with wide eyes, excited to have that new experience. Until Victor spoke sternly.

“It’s alright Mina, he can stay with us, you don’t need to take him to the kitchen.” He spoke somewhat bitterly. “I’m not my father.”

Ouch . Bringing his son here was unfortunately making Victor relive some of his childhood memories, and for a second, everybody stared at him like he had said a dirty word. I cleared my throat.

“Unless you want to stretch the taffy with Mina.” I spoke. “You can go if you want to, Owen.”

The red-haired boy looked at Victor for a sign of disapproval, but Victor was too busy shooting a confused look at me. As Owen finally decided, following Mina to the kitchen, I tried to placate my husband.

“It’s ok, let him go.” I whispered. “If he wants to go with Mina, let him.”

Victor pursed his lips, but remained silent.

“So, how is the first week going?” Terry tried to break the tension.

Awful. Terrible. A nightmare. We have no idea of what we are doing.

“Good.” Victor quipped, helping himself with some ice tea. “We were visiting schools this week, Owen is starting next week at Crestview.”

Another touchy subject. Victor and I couldn’t agree on the school. He wanted a more traditional one, like the ones he attended, with bratty rich kids and boastful parents, while I was leaning towards a public school, with trees and a playground where Owen could go play in the rain and the mud. Eventually, Victor twisted my arm. The school was known for having excellent teachers, and it was close to home. I had no reason to say no.

“That is a very reputable school, wonderful choice.” Terry nodded in approval. “Owen will thrive there.”

“Andrea is not entirely convinced yet.” My husband commented, smiling smugly at me.

This had not been a good week, especially for Victor. So I let the comment slide.

“Look what we got here!” Mina emerged from the kitchen once again, a proud Owen behind her, holding a bowl full of taffy pieces.

“Try one!” Owen placed the bowl on the table. “They are very good.”

We all took a piece, and I realized once again why this was Victor’s favorite. Mina’s taffy was a perfect balance of salty and sweet, and it melted in one’s mouth as soon as it touched it, turning into this velvety sweetness.

“Can I explore the garden?” Owen asked me, excited.

I was loving seeing him this happy; it turned out our idea had been quite a good one. But the garden was immense. My heart shrunk at the thought.

“Will you be careful? Please stay near.” I cautioned.

“I’m four, I’m not a baby. I won’t get lost.” Owen assured me.

“There are a lot of secrets hiding in this garden.” Victor spoke to Owen, who shrunk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Go explore, have fun.”

Happy with Victor’s answer, the boy ran to the garden, lost in his own imagination.

“He’ll be ok, he’s a smart child.” I felt Vic’s hand on mine, reassuring me. “I was seven when I took my first transatlantic flight. This is just a garden.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.

“Your parents were with you all the time, there’s hardly any comparison.”

“I went by myself.” Victor replied nonchalantly. “My mother was in France at the time, and my father was busy, so I went on my own.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Well, I knew what to say. I just didn’t know if I should say it. It turned out, like most times in my life, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Your parents let you fly across the ocean, to a foreign country, all by yourself?” My voice sounded shocked, but I couldn’t help it. I was astonished.

“I was being taken care of by the flight attendants, I had a car waiting for me at the airport to take me to my mother’s house. It was perfectly safe.”

I could see by Mina and Terry’s expression that I was dealing with yet another sensitive subject, Terry shaking her head behind Victor, telling me to leave it alone. That was a Lee thing, pretending that bad things don’t exist, or that they are normal, appearances mattering most of all. I decided there and then that, although I was a Lee, I wasn’t born one, so I would speak my mind. Gently.

“So what you’re saying is that, if my mother were to invite Owen to Portugal and both of us were busy, you would have no problem putting him on a plane by himself and sending him there?”

“Without one of us? Of course not!” Victor was about to say something else but paused, lost in thought, his answer dawning on him.

There was a moment of silence at that moment, as we witnessed many emotions go through the eyes of the man I loved. And for a moment, I felt guilty for pointing out an ugly truth. It was the truth, and in a way, Victor needed to realize the gravity of it, but it still hurt him. And I hated to see him hurt.

“What do you say we go show Owen the horses? Onyx and Naia will love to see you.” Terry broke the silence.

“I’ll go get some carrots and sugar cubes for Owen to feed them.” Mina walked into the kitchen.

As he saw me waving at him, the boy ran back to us, his face almost as red as his curls.

“I found an anthill!” He declared, excited. “Can I take some taffy to feed the ants?”

“Maybe later.” I laughed. “Come on, finish your tea, we’re going to see the horses.”

“Do you know ants don't have lungs or ears?” Owen started talking excitedly, just like before. “They sense vibrations and they communicate with chemicals they produce. And they have two stomachs!”

“Two stomachs?” I played along. “That’s a lot of food for such a tiny ant. They should be really fat!”

“They don’t eat all of it!” Owen giggled. “It’s one for them and the other for storage. They need to feed the ants that stay behind!”

“They don’t get fat, they exercise, carrying all that food.” Victor joked, pleased to see Owen as vibrant again.

“They can carry up to fifty times their weight! And that means things that are way bigger than them!” Owen gesticulated excitingly, forgetting the glass of ice tea he was holding. As he lifted his hands to illustrate his point, the glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the ground. Owen’s face, flushed and happy before, turned pale.

“Be careful, don’t step on the glass, honey.” I bowed to the floor with a napkin, picking the bigger shards from the floor.

“I’m sorry I made a mess.” He panicked, looking at the broken glass on the floor. “I’ll clean it up, don’t be mad!” He crouched next to me, his tiny hands ready to touch the sharp shards. Before I could say anything, Victor's voice echoed through the garden.

“Owen, NO! Don’t touch that!”

Owen let out a frightened scream, jumping into my arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me! I didn’t mean it!” He burst into tears, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Owen, I’m not mad.” Victor tried. “I was just-”

“I want Miss Dillon, I want to go back!” Owen interrupted him, tightening his grip on me. “Please take me back.”

And the crushed look spreading over my husband’s face broke my heart.

“Owen, it’s ok, nothing wrong happened, it was just a glass.” I caressed his curls. “Victor was just afraid you would cut yourself on the glass, he didn’t mean to scare you. He is not mad at you, I promise.”

“I’m sorry I made a mess…” The boy sobbed in my arms, and I watched Victor silently walk into the house, completely disheartened. Mina and Terry followed him.

“Owen, I need you to calm down and pay close attention to me, can you do that?” I whispered to him.

After a moment, the sobbing ceased, and Owen turned his eyes to me.

“When we make a mess, we simply clean it up. Or, in this case, because it’s dangerous, we ask for help to clean it up. And next time, we pay attention. That’s it. No one needs to cry. No one will ever get mad at you because of one silly accident.”

The boy kept staring at me, still deciding if he should believe me.

“Besides, when one ant drops a piece of bread, the other ants don’t get mad, do they? They help their mate. In this family, we do the same. We are just like the ants, working together as a family.”

“But…” Owen trailed off, his eyes turning to the door Victor walked through.

“He wasn’t mad, he just didn’t want you to get hurt. But he has that thunder voice that can scare the ants.” I joked, making Owen chuckle. “Come on, help me get a broom so we can clean this.”

“Andy…” He interrupted me before I could get up, his face somber again. “I’m sorry I said I want to go back to Miss Dillon. I didn't mean it.”

“I know.” I smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, ok?”

It was exhilarating to see Owen smile back at me.

For the first time that week, despite the drama, I felt that I got through to him. We walked into the kitchen, Owen in a much better mood, holding my hand.

“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll clean it up.” Mina took the broom from Owen’s hands.

“Hey, I would love to see that anthill you found.” Terry called Owen. “Will you show it to me?”

“Can I?” He turned to me.

“Of course, my little ant.” I ruffled his hair, making him giggle. “Go have fun.”

I stayed behind with Mina in the kitchen, watching an enthused Owen tell Terry all the fun facts he knew about ants.

“He’s in the study.” Mina informed me with a knowing smile, following them outside with the broom.

I carefully knocked on the study’s door, hearing an annoyed Yes from inside. Victor was sitting on a chair, fingers rubbing his temples, staring at the carpet.

“How is Owen?” Victor looked up when he saw me.

“He’s fine, he’s in a good mood. Terry took him outside.” I downplayed it.

“Didn’t you see how frightened he was? He was shaking. He’s scared of me.” Victor stated blandly, a deep dark pit of sorrow in his grey eyes.

Based on our previous conversation, it wasn’t hard to get to the root of what was troubling my husband. I kneeled before him, placing my hands on his shoulders.

“You are not your father. You and your father are completely different people.”

“Maybe I am though.” He turned his eyes away in shame. “Maybe one day Owen will look back and see what a terrible father I was. I yelled at him. What kind of person yells at a little child, let alone his own son?”

“Why did you yell at him?”

“I didn’t want him to cut himself in the glass. But I-”

“Exactly.” I held his face in my hands. “You weren’t scolding him, you were protecting him. Just what a good father would do. I would’ve done exactly the same, you just beat me to it.”

I felt my husband’s tension slacken slightly, as he let out a deep breath.

“Look, I don't want you to second guess yourself like this.” I looked deep into his eyes. “It’s normal to have questions, it’s ok not to know everything, but if there is a person I know is absolutely competent and experienced in raising a child, it’s the man I love.”

“Experienced?” He frowned at me. “I‘ve never raised a child before in my life, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Yes, you have.” I answered firmly. “You raised yourself.”

He scoffed, looking away, like I had said something ridiculous. My gentle hands guided his face towards mine again.

“It’s true. Victor, you were neglected in so many ways, and even as a child, all by yourself, you guided yourself towards the best choices in life, and you became the wonderful man you are today. You are nothing like your father, because you chose not to be. Despite everything you could have learned from him, despite his negative influence, you chose differently.”

Victor looked at me with wide eyes. Hopefully, my words were sinking into him. I continued my heartfelt speech.

“And you did this as a child, with zero life experience. Now that you are an adult, you can help Owen in the way he needs, help him overcome all he’s been through. All you need to do is guide him the same way you did to yourself, this is nothing new to you. You did this before. And while things may seem hard now, they won’t be like this forever. You just have to be patient. Time and love will make all the pieces fit together. To be honest, I think Owen is really lucky to have you as a father.”

The corner of my husband’s mouth lifted, his gaze soft and loving, all the worry magically gone.

“Come here.” Victor pulled me to his lap, his lips touching mine, making me melt in his arms, like I always did. “I’m the lucky one.” He hushed, as he broke the kiss.

A few moments after, childish laughter sounded through the house. Owen had returned from the garden with Terry, and he looked positively delighted.

“Hey!” I greeted them. “Did you have fun, Owen?”

Owen said nothing, his gaze locked on Victor. He was still uneasy, not knowing what to expect.

“We still have to visit the stables.” Victor chimed in. “Owen, do you want to meet our horses?”

The boy nodded.

“Come on, then.” Victor motioned for him to follow. “Do you know the names of our horses?”

“Naia and Onyx. Naia is a mare and Onyx is a stallion.” Owen replied.

“Very good. Onyx is the horse I ride, Naia is Andrea’s. When you learn how to ride properly, you will have your own horse.” Victor promised as he walked beside Owen.

“I’m going to learn how to ride a horse?” Owen asked, exhilarated.

“Yes, I will teach you. What do you say?”

“Yes, please, Sir.”

I walked a few steps behind, trying to give them the space they needed to bond. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that Owen would see Victor for the wonderful man that he was, and that a beautiful relationship was in the making. It would take some time, but we would finally have the family we all dreamed of.

[magsdomino]

@minadeku

Izumina week has come and gone, but I wanted to do one more thing for it. So here is a late entry for day 5: Second chances.

It is based off of an idea I had for the sequel to Walk. Might not use it as I am unsure how well it gels with the rest of my plans, but here had a look at a possible timeline, I guess. (P.S. I will try to get the first chapter of You Say Run out soon. If not this week, then early next week.)

Title: Hold Me Closer

It hurt. Burned even. Izuku had faced villains that could turn him to dust or freeze him in place. He had been beaten and bruised, and even broken his own bones. A lot. He had a reputation for that nowadays.

And yet this hurt more. Mina had been one of his first friends in years. She had been a light in his life that he desperately needed and had opened the door for him in several ways. He had hoped to repay that kindness to her every day, as he had felt blessed to know her. All those memories with her and his friends kept him going.

And yet at the end of the day, he had hurt her. Scared her. They had broken up because she couldn't handle it. Her words echoed in his mind.

"I can't do this. I can't.deal with you jeopardizing your life and body."

That voice was like honey to him and now it was like the very acid she produced. He had really messed up. It was a good thing It was a weekend. He felt like just laying in bed and sleeping, especially after how awkward things had been and how horrifying the ordeal before it was. 

Izuku had been through the ringer and just needed sleep. A knock on the door had other plans for the boy though.

Izuku just rolled over and pretended to be asleep. He wished he were at least.

"Izuku? Can we talk?" It was her voice. Mina's voice.

Dammit. He couldn't say no.

"Um...sure…" Izuku opened the door and ushered her in. He sat on his bed and sat awkwardly. He normally would have patted the bed, offering her a spot. He had picked that habit up from her. The air was more tense, however, so he decided to let her stand. "W-what's up."

"Nothing...just wanted to…" Mina sighed. She wanted to be her own cheery self, act like things were normal. They weren't though. Or maybe They were. Maybe this was the new normal. She wasn't a fan of it. She liked to be flexible about life, but this was not fun at all.

She started again. "Look. We both messed up… You definitely did. I want to be honest.You could have gotten killed. Or expelled. Maybe both if that works somehow. Sometimes, I feel Sensei would find a way… and you went to save someone who hurt you…"

"There is no amount of sorry that will fix this, huh?" Izuku chuckled sadly, Looking up at his ex. She was the kindest, prettiest soul he knew, smiling no matter what. It honestly inspired him just as much as All Might did now. Close enough, at least. And yet knowing he was responsible for causing her worry and duress was the final knife in his chest. He felt ready to collapse. He felt her warm hand lift his chin and their eyes met.

"Easy there, green bean...I...it was hypocritical...I got scared of losing you and yet I pushed you away. You messed up and put yourself in danger for someone who likely wouldn't risk the same for you...but …"

"Yeah. You think I would learn. I just… " Izuku paused, Looking for the right words. He couldn't even muster a mutter. It was that bad.

"It's what heroes do though, right?" Mina smiled softly. Once again, she took the words out of his mouth.

Izuku nodded. An uncomfortable silence took hold for several minutes. The One-for-All inheritor choked up. "I hate this, Mina… I didn't want to scare you. I should have just let him go. Heck, he has his own classmates that could risk it all for him...but I knew him longer...I felt responsible in some messed up way. I couldn't let them go into it and say "not my problem anymore". They are my schoolmates and I couldn't risk it…"

"I guess we both are bent up about this, huh?" Mina admitted.

"I guess so…" Izuku replied.

Mina took a seat next to Izuku and fiddled with her thumbs. It was all starting to come out. It was more of a sputter than a steady stream but it was coming along regardless."You are too forgiving..."

"Yeah. I know. Bakugou hasn't been my friend for some time…" Izuku frowned. He thought it would get easier, but there was still that complicated feeling in the back of his mind.

Mina looked at the ground. "Not him, no. Not this time. You forgave me too easily. I mean I went to Aizawa! Aizawa! I dumped you and narced on you. Glad he didn't expel you. God I am such an awful girlfriend. I betrayed you...I just...I didn't want to lose you and I got scared and acted all weird and..." Tears fell from the pink girl's eyes, emotion pouring like a faucet now. Her eyes opened as Izuku brushed her cheek. His scarred hands felt so gentle despite their roughness. She had to resist the urge to nuzzle them. It was too soon.

"It's different with you. You gave me more love and concern than I ever felt deserving of. I mean, forgiveness is in my nature, I guess. Might be tied to my self worth. But how could I not?" Izuku held her hands. Both their hearts still ached. They were raw from the events that just unfolded and the regret of how things turned out.

What had happened had happened, but it hadn't changed the love the two still had. Despite the heartache and complications, those feelings lingered

Mina wiped her tears away and smiled weakly. Soon after, something occurred to her as her face produced an mp3 player from her purse, complete with wireless speakers. Izuku learned not to question how she fit them in there.

"It's not breakdancing or roller disco, but please...dance with me...I don't want this weirdness between us...just please don't do this sort of thing again. Not without me...I know you're smarter...get better grades...but my concerns matter too. My insight matters too. I know you know that… just...don't forget, ok?"

Izuku obliged. "Ok… looks like my muttering rubbed off on you a bit," Izuku joked.

"Shut up and hold me, dork," Mina huffed, leaning into him gingerly.

The two joined hands and danced slowly together in Izuku's room, cheek to cheek. A soft chiptune song played, something from an old video game. Regardless, it carried all the weight the two teens could no longer bear to handle alone.  Was it too soon to reconcile? Was there any reason not to? Those concerns could wait until later. Right now, they needed this.

"I'm sorry, Mina...I keep causing you worry…"

"Yeah you do...you're my boyfriend…" Mina murdered into Izuku's shoulder

"Was your boyfriend...you dumped me...I would dump me too probably." Izuku gently pulled away but was pulled back in.

"Yeah...well...I like having you around...I could say let's just be friends...take it slow."

"That...might be for the best" Izuku's heart sank a little but he expected it. He was even ready to make peace with it.

Mina looked up in confusion. "What? No! I mean...that is probably how we should do things. We're young and stupid and emotions are still raw...but I always wanted to fall in love, Izuku. I knew there was a whole life in front of me but I wanted a live story. It appealed to me. And yet I didn't really...get those feelings, you know? Until you...I don't want to lose that...or you...just please...if I say stay, stay. Ok?"

"I promise. I stake my future as a hero on it." Izuku did a mild All Might impersonation. Mina ruffled his fluffy green hair in response.

"Dude, that is a bit overboard...don't put your dreams on hold because of me. Besides, I would miss you. I would want to rain blows upon you for being reckless and almost dying, but I don't want to lose you."

"Yeah...I don't want to lose you either. I-I just want to show you how much you matter. I don't think I would be here without your support? Not to discount everyone else. I feel so blessed. All Might, mom, Tsu, Kirishima, Uraraka, Iida...everyone… but above all...you...I'm sorry. That sounds cheesy. I just wanted to be honest and also sound cool but I might be going too fast again and..."

"Pretty sure you would. You're that good… And don't worry. I'm going the same speed as you" Mina laughed more genuinely now.

"I...maybe...But it feels empty to think about that." Izuku's tone became somber again.

The two cradled each other, tears staining their clothes as they refused to let go for the rest of the night.

"We should probably rest. If we just got back together...I don't want to push my luck." Izuku broke off slowly, allowing Mina the space she needed.

"Yeah...I'm going to sleep in my own bed. You're still riding the couch, buster." The pink girl gently booked her green-haired nerd's nose.

"I have a bed though." Izuku cocked his head inquisitively.

"No. Beds are for good boys who don't scare their girlfriends." Mina huffed teasingly. Her face relaxed. "Maybe in a day or two though, we can go back to normal...what passes for normalcy I mean."

"Y-yeah...that's fair. We can't just jump right back into things."

"Which sucks, because now we can cuddle...like...any time we want. Unless Iida comes in and physically puts a stack of textbooks between us. I feel he will want the glasses back that I stole from him as well."

"He could be listening. He might get ideas...but yeah. I respect that. Honestly, if we stayed broken up, I would have had to change my hero name. Calling myself Green Rush without the person who inspired it would seem weird."

"What would you pick though? Don't say Deku. I liked the reasoning Ochako gave for it but it still carries that Bakugou stink. It would be like you calling yourself "Stupid asshole, the traumatized hero"."

"I mean." Izuku rubbed the back of his head but was pulled into a quick kiss by Mina. It was just a short peck but it still sent lightning through his body and straight to his heart in a way full Dowling couldn't match. Soon after, a flurry of gentle blows found their way into his shoulders.

"No. No self deprecation. Not tonight. Just hold me please, ok?"

"Deal." Izuku rested his head against her shoulder, hesitating afterwards. "Sorry. I am rushing things. I need to slow down and…"

Izuku was cut off by a hand to his scalp. "Sssshhh. Stay. You're warm." Mina nuzzled him.

"Didn't you want to slow down? Stay in your own bed for a night or two? N-Not that I am complaining. I just...I don't know," Izuku stammered. 

Mina pulled Izuku onto the bed as they fell backwards. "I changed my mind. Don't make me change it again, you beefy otaku." She muttered in a sleepy tone, voice slightly hoarse from crying. 

"Yes ma'am" Izuku smiled softly as he fell on top of Mina. 

"I love you, Izuku." Mina yawned as she buried her head into the crook of Izuku's neck.

"Love you too, Mina." He adjusted his head to avoid being poked by her horns. It wasn't long before the two passed out in each other's arms. Between the room competition, the move in, and everything else, the young couple had been exhausted. They needed this rest. Together.

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes watched through a creak in the door. The figure croaked silently and headed back to her room, unsure of how to word what she wanted to say. Sleep would help. Besides, her friends needed this and she didn't want to ruin it.

[myinconnelly1]

A Life Unlived Ch. 3: Life Goes On Pt. 2

Masterlist / Previous

Word Count: 1,618

A/N: Season 4 still good luck don't murder me

Warnings: non-graphic smut, themes of cheating, canon gore

September 2008

Dean watched as the Demon chained to the chair choked on the black smoke that it was made of.  He hadn’t heard much from outside, but he had heard enough.

“Slutting around with that demon bitch.  What were you doing all those months?”

Dean couldn’t stand there anymore.  He burst into the warehouse.

“Dean,”  Sam said genuinely shocked.  “I can-”

“If you say you can explain…”  Dean said heavily.  “Why don’t you start with who she is?”

“It’s good to see you again, Dean.”  Ruby faked a smile at the older Winchester.

“Ruby?  Is that Ruby?”  Dean asked looking at Sam.  He hurled himself at her, pinning her against a grate and pulled the demon knife intent on stabbing her.  Sam intervened, telling Ruby to leave.

“Dean?”  Dean!”  Sam called after his brother as Dean walked out of the warehouse and got in the Impala.  He had no idea where he was driving to but he needed to get somewhere.

The motel he arrived at was not the one that he and Sam were staying at.  It also wasn’t the bar that he had planned on going to.  He saw Myin’s Camry parked there and realized he had gone to her.  Maybe she would understand.  She had refused to stay around Sam since Dean had returned from hell.

“Dean?”  Myin asked surprised when he knocked on the door.  “Are you okay, what are you doing here?”  She let him into the room, locking the door behind him.  The sat next to him on the bed.  She caressed her thumb and knuckles down his cheek in a well-practiced motion of care.  Dean turned to face her and leaned his forehead against hers.  Myin had always been generous with her physical contact, a fact about her that made her seem warmer and inviting.

She lifted his chin with her index finger so that his eyes met hers and his nose bumped against hers.  Dean’s attention was brought to her lips as she licked them, concern etched on her face.  He went for it.

He pressed his lips against hers.  The pain he carried from hell, the anger at Sam for his betrayal, the expectations of Castiel and the angels and God all crashing down on him and out in a cathartic release as he kissed the short brunette.  His hands slid around her waist, her body was so warm and comforting, and he didn’t want to let go.  Much to his surprise, she kissed him back after a moment of surprise.

He pulled her body close as her hands curled into his short hair.  He kissed her again, and again, letting his hands feel her not wanting to break contact.

“Dean,”  She gasped against his lips.  He kissed her again, getting his hands under her legs to pull her onto his lap.  “Dean!”  her cry was muffled against his mouth.  He flipped her onto her back his erection hard as he was nestled in the cradle of her legs.

“Dean, stop.”  Her words finally cut through his haze and he pulled himself away from Myin as if he had been burned.

“Myin, I’m sorry, shit I’m sorry.”  He babbled his apology even as he looked at her, lips kiss chapped and hair fanned on the bed below her.

“It’s okay,”  She said as she sat up and licked her lips.  “What happened?”

“I, uh, followed Sam and saw him with someone that made me really unhappy,”  Dean chuckled as he explained without trying to sell Sam out in a bad light even after everything.

“So you met Ruby I take it?”  Myin mumbled as she bit her lip.

“Yeah, how did you know?”  Dean was taken by surprise at how quickly she had come upon the name.

“When you died Sam came to live with me and the girls.  It was good for a while.  We were happy I thought.  But I guess I wasn’t enough.  He wanted me to cast a spell to save you.”  Myin stood from the bed and crossed her arms.  “I told him the cost was going to be too high, magic always comes with a cost.”

“He left because you wouldn’t cast a spell to save me?”  Dean asked looking at her bewildered.

“I guess Ruby is a better witch than me.  At least in bed.”  Myin looked down at the floor bitterly.

“He’s sleeping with her?!”  Dean nearly shouted as all the anger flooded his system again.

“What did you think they were doing together?”  Myin asked looking at him as if he had two heads.

“She’s a demon,”  Dean said as if it were obvious.  “Didn’t you know?”

“No?!  Why would I know that?”  Myin threw her hands out in exasperation.  

“You could see the angel, I figured it was all of them.”

“I have no idea why that happened,”  Myin said looking away.  She was a good liar, in Dean’s opinion, but it takes one to know one, he thought ruefully.

“So he wanted you to cast the spell and you wouldn’t so he left you for ruby?”  Dean clarified.

“Yeah after about a month of them doing whatever it is they do together.” She rolled her eyes as if saying the next thing couldn’t make anything worse.  “It’s funny cause I found out right before I was going to tell him I would cast the spell anyway.”  Myin shook her head again, but when she turned to look for Dean she realized he had walked out the door.

“No, that’s okay, Dean.  I can hold a conversation by myself for the both of us.  It’s not like I sent up a red flag to the Angels or anything.”  She muttered as she closed the door to her motel and went about fixing the blankets on her mattress before calling her kids.

June 2008

“This one requires a witch,”  Myin said hesitantly.  “You don’t have a witch.”

“Well,”  Sam gestured to her.  “Maybe your dad let something that could be helpful, and you just don’t know it?”

“I don’t know, Sam.  Magic always has a price.  Even if you don’t know what it is.  It’s not safe.”

“We have to try,”  Sam said desperately.

“I’ll look.  But no promises.”  She brushed his hair out of his face, then kissed his lips.  

“Hey, Sam?”  Myin called as she unlocked the front door to her house.  The Dani and Penny were away with Myin’s mother in law, and Myin was hoping for a long weekend with Sam.  It would be nice to have some time together that wasn’t quickies once the girls had gone to bed.  Not that she minded the quickies, but she liked the sore feeling that she got after having Sam inside her for longer than twenty minutes.  “I was thinking about cooking tonight, I got chicken and pork, any pref-”  

Myin cut off mid-question as she dropped her groceries and nearly threw up in her mouth.  Sam was in the living room with a skinny brunette, licking blood from her wrist.  They were both partially naked and Sam was fucking her senseless.  The glass of a jar shattering was enough to get their attention, and Sam nearly dropped the girl as they moved to cover themselves.  Myin turned her back to the two of them shock and disgust evident on her face.

“I’m gonna leave now,”  The brunette muttered as she scrambled to get past Myin.  Myin grabbed her shoulder and punched her in the face.

“Ow,”  The slut groaned but broke free of Myin’s grip and rushed out.

“Myin, I’m sorry I can explain.  Ruby… Ruby and I were trying to find a way to save Dean…”  Sam was starting to trail off as he realized how bad the entire situation looked.

“I think you should leave,”  Myin said numbly.  “I’m going to go out, please get your things and leave.”  Myin grabbed her keys and walked back out the front door.

She found herself in a church parking lot, a place she hadn’t been since before Jay died.  She walked in, soaking wet from the rain and had a seat in one of the pews.

“Can I help you?”  The priest walked over to her and placed a hand on her forehead.  “You look like you are in so much pain.”

“Father, I- I feel like God has deserted me,” she sniffed pathetically as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

“God always looks after us, even when we think He has left us, that is really Him helping us the most.”

“I have a favor to ask Him, but after everything, I’m not sure I am very high in His books.  I don’t think He likes me very much.”  Myin giggled a little manically at her awful joke.

“He has time for favors from those of us that are farthest from Him.”  The Priest said.  “If you need help asking Him for a favor let me know.  We’re on good terms.”  Myin smile for real this time, but the priest walked away to give her space.

“If You’re listening, I need help.  Someone very special has been misplaced.  He is a good man, and he is in hell,”  Myin whispered her prayer as she stood and walked to the baptismal font.  “I offer you my sight, in hopes that you will see how important he is.”

She reached her right hand into the water then let the droplets hit her eyes like eye drops from her fingers.  Her tears intensified for a moment before stopping and her vision cleared.

“I will help you,”  A voice carried on the wind caressed her ear.  “I hear your call.  Dean Winchester will be saved.”

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[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

Goldilocks and the Three Hales

Explicit | 10,036 words | Werewolves in Heat/Bottom!Stiles | archive of our own

Summary: During a thunderstorm, Stiles' jeep runs out of gas on the empty interstate. Desperate to find somebody to help, he wanders into the woods towards the sight of chimney smoke billowing up from the dense woods. Instead of finding help, Stiles finds Derek, Peter, and Markoff Hale--the last surviving family members of the Hale pack, who just want to have some fun with their new virgin pack pet.

In retrospect, Stiles should have stopped for gas when he last had the chance to do so. He knew that. However, his eagerness to get back to the city had snuffed out rationality on account of exhaustion. Having been on the road for a good thirteen hours, Stiles had wanted nothing more than to get back home and slink into the comfort of his own bed. But of course, the failure to stop and fill up the tank had decided to come back and bite him in the ass—much to Stiles’ aggravation.

The engine to Stiles’ jeep spontaneously cut out, forcing Stiles to pull over into the shoulder lane of the stormy highway that he was travelling along. Once the vehicle completely drew to a finishing clunky halt, Stiles sucked in a heavy breath—slamming his fist down onto the steering wheel with the exhale. He technically only had himself to blame for not stopping to get gas, but it wasn’t fair. He just wanted to get back home. He just wanted to get some sleep. Did the gods above really have to curse him?

Stiles took a moment to collect his temper and took the key out of the jeep’s ignition, leaving the headlights on to illuminate the darkened road ahead. He stepped outside of his jeep into the windy rain of the lonely night, rubbing at his upper arms to help warm himself. He was fucked—so fucking fucked. Stiles kicked at the loose gravel of the shoulder lane and looked down both directions of the empty highway, but nobody was coming. There were no passing cars, no distant aura from city lights, and no road-signs to detail how many miles away Stiles was from his hometown. It was just bare, dark emptiness.

It was already two-thirty in the morning and Stiles knew that he was at least forty miles away from Beacon Hills. He kept looking down both directions of the highway, hoping that he’d be able to flag down somebody for help, but the luck continued to run dry. Stiles fished his phone out of his back pocket, but of course—two bars, then one bar, then no service at all. He couldn’t get out any calls, couldn’t get out any texts, and most definitely couldn’t get himself onto the internet.

Stiles was just about to slide back into his jeep, but saw a stack of chimney smoke billowing up from somewhere inside of the dense woodlands that lined the side of the highway. As the son of Beacon Hills’ sheriff, Stiles knew what an awful idea it was to run into the woods in the middle of the night, during a thunderstorm, with no cellular service, with the hopes of finding people to ask for help. Hell, people didn’t even need to have a family member in law enforcement to know that it was probably a bad idea.  Anybody who watched any horror movie ever probably knew better.

But the rain was pouring down in thick sheets, challenging the preexisting leak in the jeep’s old roof. Stiles couldn’t just stick around on the side of the highway for the rest of the night, especially with no cell reception. His father would worry his head off. Stiles needed help. He needed gas to get back on track. And by the smoke in the distance, there was at least one house nearby. A house meant people and people meant help. Unless they were murderers, but Stiles figured that he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Stiles switched off the headlights of his jeep to conserve the battery life and then shuffled down the muddy embankment off the side of the hallway that leveled into a grassy field. By then, his clothes were already soaked and the rain didn’t appear as though it was going to let up anytime soon. But there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. Stiles trekked through the grassy field, occasionally sliding around on muddy patches, until he made his way into the dense woodlands.

Maybe the strangers in the woods would be sweet and welcoming. Stiles wondered. Maybe the chimney smoke wasn’t coming from a house at all. Maybe it was a hotel or lodge or something with a room to rent for the night. Stiles didn’t have signal, but he had a wallet full of cash. He could pay if need be. And as Stiles made his way through the trees, stepping over branches, dodging slippery slopes, and chasing the smell of fireplace smoke, he fantasized about a warm wooded hotel with fireplaces and room service, warm soup, fresh blankets, and a hot shower waiting for him.

Stiles eventually came to a patchy clearing amongst the surrounding woods with a rickety old house situated in the middle. It looked otherwise abandoned except for the chimney smoke that piped up into the rainy sky. It was an old wooden house, somewhat charred looking. Some of the windows had been shattered, the front porch awning was splintered and half collapsed, and what had probably once been a very nice front lawn was overgrown with dead brush and leafless trees.

The decrepit condition of the house should have been a sign to turn back and just sleep in the leaky jeep, but Stiles tried his best to keep things in a positive light. He was so exhausted and soaked wet with rain, he couldn’t let himself slip down into worrying about things. The fact that nobody seemed to live in the house was irksome—but only because it meant that there was nobody to help and certainly no working phone. But on the positive end of the spectrum, the house looked to have a solid looking roof, which provided shelter from the rain. And of course, the fireplace…Stiles felt his knees tremble with excitement.

Stiles cautiously stepped up onto the front porch and knocked on the door. He waited for a moment, knocked again, and waited some more—but still to no answer. The chimney was still most definitely working, but it didn’t appear as though anybody was actually home. Stiles went to knock for the third time, but a huge gust of wind blew through the area, knocking him slightly off balance, rattling the shoddy awning above, and blowing open the front door.

“Well, if the wind did it.” Stiles thought to himself, poking his head into the darkened house. He was half-scared that some killer would pull him into the house and string his body up onto some rusty hooks, but the reality of the situation was thankfully nothing close to that. He stepped inside, wading around in the dark. There were no lights, but tons of old looking furniture. Most of it was torn and tattered, and some of it looked slightly charred as though there had previously been a house fire.

Stiles crept his way into the house. He tried to keep his footsteps as quiet as he could make them, but couldn’t do much about the squelch of rainwater that squeezed out of his shoes with every step. He called out to the dead air, asking if anybody was home, but received no answers. So he kept walking around, until he made his way into what seemed to be the living room. It was filled with books and had some fluffy old couches with only a moderate amount of rips. But the best part was the flickering fireplace, which had been the cause for the smoke that drew Stiles to the house in the first place.

Eager to get warm, Stiles settled down on the floor directly in front of the fireplace. He kicked off his soaked shoes and took off his jacket, rolling up the sleeves to his flannel. He pulled his knees up to rest against his chest, holding them in place whilst he stared into the fire—letting his body absorb the fire’s warmth and letting his mind do its best to forget about his rainy predicament. Meanwhile, Stiles let his mind run through what he planned to say to the homeowners of the house he had technically broken into…that was, if anybody actually owned the house.

It didn’t take long until Stiles could barely even keep his eyes open. They burned with exhaustion and felt heavy, fluttering closed for long periods of time until a loud gust of wind outside shocked Stiles back to consciousness. Stiles remained in front of the fireplace, but swayed around—unable to keep his balance due to the waning alertness. And then suddenly, Stiles fell over and crashed down onto the floorboards, groaning out with discomfort and shock, finally deciding that it wasn’t safe to fall asleep sitting upright with no support.

Stiles stood up and stretched, curling his toes against the wooden floorboards. He was completely dry, thanks to the fireplace. The uncomfortable hell of having squishy wet socks was no longer an issue. As for his phone, there was still no signal. Although, that didn’t come as a surprise, nor could Stiles really bring himself to care. He was way too tired to worry about being lost in the middle of the woods with no reception. The only thing that Stiles legitimately cared about was the fact that it was almost four o’clock in the morning.

He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. Stiles toppled back onto one of the available couches. It was late—and therefore early. Stiles wanted nothing more to drift off into safe slumber, despite the fact that he couldn’t guarantee his safety. Though, the fact that it was nearly four-in-the-morning helped Stiles push himself to the conclusion that the owners of the house were probably non-existent or gone for the weekend. He figured that he could get a couple hours of sleep and just book it back to where his jeep was parked on the highway before getting caught for trespassing.

+

Stiles was jolted out of his sleep about an hour later to the sound of heavy footsteps creaking along the wooden floor. By the time his eyes fluttered open, he was met with three large figures looming over where he remained curled up on the couch. At first, it was hard to see what the three figures actually looked like, due to the fact that it was still dark outside and the figures were heavily backlit by the roaring fireplace. And for a moment, briefly disillusioned by sleep-blurred vision, Stiles swore he saw the eyes of the three figures glow.

“Well, would you look at that, boys?” The middle figure cooed with an enthusiastic, fatherly tone. “Our little intruder roused out of his slumber.”

“He still looks tired.” The third man with the piercing blue eyes and smarmy demeanor noted. “And he smells like stale rainwater.”

Stiles cautiously fixed his positioning, sitting up from where he had been previously laid out. He pressed his back tightly against the backing of the couch—staring inquisitively at the three strangers, trying his best to see if he could recognize anybody. Maybe his father had tracked his phone location and sent a few deputies into the woods to rescue him. But eventually, it became abundantly clear that Stiles didn’t recognize any of the strangers.

He didn’t necessarily feel scared, nor did he feel threatened. If anything, Stiles felt moderately unnerved by how clean and modelesque the three strangers looked. None of them looked as though they lived in some rundown, fire-damaged house in the middle of the woods. Maybe he just had poor, somewhat insulting preconceived ideas about what woodsy folks looked like. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe his jeep had slid off the road during the thunderstorm and he was actually lying unconscious in some fiery wreck.

But if he was dreaming, was it actually that bad? Stiles couldn’t exactly convince himself otherwise. So as long as the hot strangers didn’t murder him, the whole experience was bordering on a fantasy he used to frequent in high school when he started questioning his sexuality and diving into the wonderful world of pornography. Stiles liked to think that most humbly bisexual men liked to fantasize sometimes about waking up to three hot men hovering over them.

The first stranger, the one to the far left, seemed to be the youngest of the three—probably somewhere in his mid-twenties. And if anything, he seemed to be the one most annoyed about having a complete stranger in his house. He had shadow black hair and dark stubble which really made the man’s jaw and cheekbones pop, as well as it made his perpetual scowl that much more menacing. But luckily for him, the man’s bright green eyes and broad chest seemed to soften his outward ruggedness

The middle man seemed to be the eldest, in his late-forties, with rousing hot-dad vibes radiating off of his muscular physique. Wrinkles stretched at the corners of his blue eyes and on his forehead. He also had black hair, but it was perfectly quaffed, slightly graying at the sides, and a tad bit longer. Stiles noticed that the middle stranger looked significantly less pouty and broody than the first man, but despite that, the middle one definitely commanded the surrounding space with a naturally authoritative presence.

And the last one, the man standing to the right of the other two, was actually close in age to the man in the middle. Age lines settled in particular places on his otherwise unblemished face. He had a colder and more formal demeanor than the others—detailed by the man’s wrinkle-free clothes, well shaped goatee, and combed back hair. His shifty blue eyes and unmoving smirk looked dangerous, but Stiles wasn’t necessarily scared. He was only somewhat wary, because the man stared at him like he was a juicy steak at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“What’s your name, boy?” The middle one questioned, crossing his arms. As his biceps involuntarily flexed, Stiles involuntarily gulped.

“S—Stiles.” Stiles muttered slowly, trading his gaze between each of the three, before settling his glance back to the one who asked the question. “It’s Stiles.”

“What the hell kind of name is that?” The left man sneered, squinting his eyes inquisitively.

The middle man whipped his hand around and slapped the broody one on the back of the head with a barked growl. “Derek—! Don’t insult our guest. I raised you with better manners than that.”

Derek sunk his head down into his shoulders with a growl, obviously embarrassed. He rubbed at his head and took a seat down on the couch beside where Stiles remained. Stiles wanted to laugh, but he tried his best to stop himself. There was just something so hilarious about a big, strong bearded man getting reprimanded by his father for not having good manners.

“Sorry—” Derek grumbled, eyeing up his father.

“Please forgive Derek’s poor manners. My son ought to know better than to insult humans.” The middle man explained, somewhat still disgruntled. “My name is Markoff, but you can call me ‘Mark’. And this—is my younger brother, Peter.” Mark gestured over to the other man with the shifty blue eyes.

Stiles eased into the cushion of the couch. He still didn’t know exactly what these three strangers wanted or why they were being so nice to him, considering the fact that he broken into their house. Although, Stiles had good arguments queued up inside of his head about how the wind was the one who opened the door in the first place and how dangerous it is to leave fireplaces unattended. Nonetheless, Stiles was ready for whatever happened—or, at least that’s what he told himself.

“So—do you guys all live here?” Stiles broke the awkward silence, glancing over to where Derek refused to stop looking at him. “How is it living all the way out here in the woods? Is it all—y’know, woodsy and stuff?”

Peter rolled his eyes, unimpressed with Stiles’ conversational skills. “Tell me, Stiles—what exactly did you hope to accomplish breaking into the house of werewolves?”

“Uh—werewolves?” Stiles chuckled nervously, studying the faces of the three to pick up on social cues, but none of them seemed to be laughing. They seemed dead serious. As if werewolves legitimately existed in the realm of reality. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

Derek thumbed at the corner of Stiles’ lips, dipping into the warmth of the boy’s mouth, but Stiles quickly bat the man’s hand away from his face—blushing slightly at the unexpected touch. Stiles didn’t really know if he was supposed to be upset, or embarrassed, or freaked out, or turned on. After all, Derek, Mark, and Peter were all strangers, and very weird in their own special kind of mysterious beefcake woodsmen way. But Stiles felt heat stir inside of his stomach at Derek’s touch, despite how miniscule it was.

“Derek has a thing for humans, we all do.” Mark commented, shifting his stance. “You have to understand—we rarely cross our paths with humans way out here in the woods. So, when we have one drop into our laps so willingly, we find it hard to maintain our composure.”

“And to have one actually break into our house and soak his scent into our furniture, our floorboards, our territory—” Peter went on.

“—during the Autumn Mating Market.” Derek continued.

“Exactly.” Peter finished.

Stiles scoffed in confusion. “What are you guys talking about? What is the ‘Autumn Mating Market’?”

Peter huffed out, clearly exasperated by the whole situation. Stiles’ limited knowledge when it came to the world of wolves was irksome, at best. He took a seat on the couch to Stiles’ direct right, officially taking up the rest of available room on the piece of furniture. Stiles just sat there in the middle, sandwiched in-between two werewolves, with Mark refusing to budge from where he was standing in front of the human. Stiles was essentially boxed in.

“Are you sure you want this one, Mark? He doesn’t seem to be the most intelligent of humans.” Peter said, clicking his tongue disappointedly.

“Actually—I’m really fucking smart, jerk-off.” Stiles bit back, turning his body towards Peter’s. “It’s not my fault that you three weirdos are talking all vague and cryptic and using terms that I’ve never heard before.”

Peter ground his teeth, debating on how he wanted to proceed with the conversation. He was somewhat irked by the human’s blatant disrespect for werewolves, but couldn’t deny that the human’s boldness was intriguing. Most humans took their subservient place to wolves without bothering to question circumstance. And they very rarely bit back with confident defense. So Peter just crossed his arms and looked over to Mark to lead the way, surprised to find a smirk on Mark’s face.

“He’s got an attitude.” Derek noted, looking towards his father. “I like that, even if you guys don’t. Please, come on—let me have him for just a couple hours. I can have him bent over this couch and mellowed out in twenty minutes flat, I promise.”

Stiles felt heat creep onto his face, reddening his fair skin. He looked over to Derek and then over to Mark, mouth gaping open with surprise at what he had just heard. He briefly questioned the integrity of his own ears, but it was clear that he had heard correctly. Stiles gulped—looking through the three strangers’ facial expressions, shifting around where he sat. None of the three looked as though they were about to bust out with laughter and a reveal that everything was just a big joke. They were serious.

“Stiles, let me explain something to you.” Mark started. “You’ve trespassed on our property during one of the most interesting times of our werewolf cycle—the Autumn Mating Market. It’s an annual production. At the beginning of autumn, werewolves hit their heating period—”.

“—and unfortunately, we all lost our own personal mates years ago in a tragic accident.” Peter interrupted, joining his brother in explanation.

Mark nodded, acknowledging Peter’s further explanation. “As a result, we usually come here together during the mating market to relieve each other of the rather nagging burn of desire that plagues us through the month.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand what that has to do with me?” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his lap, trying as best as he could not to let the three men notice that he was getting hard in his pants. But he lied, because he knew exactly how the whole “mating market” thing could involve him.

“He’s getting hard in his jeans.” Derek announced with a snorted chuckle, letting his eyes flare bright blue.

“Stiles, you don’t have to be ashamed of what you’re feeling.” Mark cooed, reaching forward to trail his fingers down the side of the boy’s freckled face. “It’s perfectly normal.”

Stiles felt extremely hot. His skin flushed damp with hot sweat, slowly but surely soaking into the taut fabric of his t-shirt. All the while, Stiles felt the crotch of his pants grow tighter as his cock thickened. He could feel himself twitch rapidly underneath the coarseness of his pants, and despite the fact that the three werewolves apparently knew how they were affecting his body; Stiles tried his best to hide himself—using his hands to push down harder onto where he was throbbing.

“Rutting with my son and brother is a mediocre way to cool the heat of the annual mating market, but as nature would have it, the season would be so much more tolerable after being able to mate with a willing stranger—” Mark started to pace around with his arms behind his back, noticing the anticipatory energy that started to radiate off of Derek and Peter. “—especially a human with one of the most delicious scents I’ve ever had the pleasure to take in.”

“You’re starting to sweat.” Derek said, grabbing at the hem of Stiles’ t-shirt. “Here—let me help you with this. You’ll feel better.”

Derek stood up from where he was sitting on the couch and walked around to stand in front of the human. He knelt down slightly and hooked his fingers underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, tugging it up and over the boy’s head, before setting it down on the floor. And then suddenly, the scent of arousal and intrigue slapped him across the face, pulling a throaty growl out of his body. The human was delectable—a special treat.

Stiles sat there—somewhat frozen in the situation. He kept his hands on his crotch, despite the fact that everybody in the room could see the large bulge that was visibly thumping up into his palms. He had never been shirtless in front of other guys in such a way. In the locker rooms after lacrosse practice? Sure. At the public pool during parties? Definitely. But in the privacy of a stranger’s home, surrounded by strangers, circling him and looking down on him like he was something to eat? Never before. And the feeling that the situation settled deep within Stiles’ gut was something unlike anything he had ever felt before.

For a moment, Stiles’ glance caught Derek’s. Time seemed to slow and the world around them blurred out. And whilst Stiles found himself almost instantaneously lost inside the unnatural glow of blue of Derek’s eyes, Derek slowly leaned inward and pressed his lips against the skin of Stiles’ neck. A whimpered moan unintentionally escaped Stiles’ lips, his body tensed, and his eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I’ve—never.” Stiles moaned, pressing his fingers into the muscle of Derek’s clothed torso.

“Our wonderful toy is a virgin.” Mark announced, delighted—pulling both Derek and Peter’s undivided attention.

“How did you know that?” Stiles caught his breath, rubbing at where Derek’s beard had already started to scratch a beard burn into the skin of his neck. He was slightly offended by the accusation, despite it being true.

“As beta werewolves, my son and younger brother can do all sorts of things, but they can’t smell a virgin from a pack cum-sponge even if they sniffed their noses off.” Mark laughed. “But as an alpha werewolf, I can smell things that would even shock god, herself.”

Stiles nodded slowly, somewhat entranced by Mark’s words. The complexities of werewolves still didn’t make that much sense, and werewolves actually being something more than figments of folklore hadn’t completely seeped into Stiles’ brain as being reality. All Stiles knew was that he liked when Derek touched him. He liked the attention that he was getting from the three strangers. And he liked the faint sense of danger that buried itself deep inside of his gut.

Stiles moved his hands from where they had been poorly attempting to hide his erection from the three, watching closely as they reacted. He spread his thighs open, stretching out his legs, and letting his bulge shift around where it remained locked within the confines of his pants. It was a not-so-subtle way to display his own eagerness to continue with whatever weird mating games the strangers wanted to play. And by the visible desire painted on each of their individual faces, Stiles was clearly doing something right.

Derek knelt down one knee onto the cushion of the couch and cupped his hands underneath Stiles’ jaw, tilting the boy’s head upward before taking the human’s lips in for a kiss. Stiles’ body shivered and broke out in goosebumps, as did Derek’s. Stiles hadn’t been touched ever in his entire history. Meanwhile, Derek hadn’t had the touch of somebody other than his father and uncle in more than five years. It felt like something new to the both of them and it became easy to melt into one another’s heat and taste, growing more fierce and passionate with their kiss as the minutes passed.

Whilst Derek and Stiles moaned into each other’s mouths—kissing, sucking, and playfully tugging at one another’s bottom lips when they pulled back for the occasionally draw of breath, Peter knelt down to the ground at the boy’s spread thighs. He leaned in and took one of the boy’s hardened pink nipples into his mouth. Peter nibbled and sucked enthusiastically at Stiles’ nipples, alternating between which one got to be in his mouth. He also rubbed at them with the pads of his fingertips, making sure that there was always enough stimulation to please the boy.

Mark watched his two betas touch and kiss at the human, pleased from where he remained on the sidelines for the time being. There was something insanely hot about watching the betas passionately tear the human apart. Stiles was red with lustful anguish as he writhed around in the cushion of the couch—unable to fathom of the amount of pleasured strain that was being placed upon his body. But Mark could smell everything. He could smell the boy’s pre-cum leak profusely into the crotch of his boxers. He could smell the boy’s arousal stir around in the air like perfume. And he could smell just a hint of doubt and worry cook around inside of Stiles’ head whilst he wondered as to whether or not he was doing the right thing.

Eventually, Peter shifted his focus away from Stiles’ nipples to where the boy was painfully hard. He unbuttoned Stiles’ jeans and shucked them down Stiles’ hairy thighs, removing them with the tight boxers that Stiles had been wearing underneath. Immediately, Stiles’ cock sprung upwards—throbbing rapidly, unfathomably hot to the touch, and already ready to bust. Peter barely got his lips around the leaking head of Stiles’ cock before the boy came with a shout.

“Oh—my—god.” Stiles grunted, pulling away from where he had been wrestling his tongue against Derek’s, just to watch as his cock spewed thick jets of cum against Peter’s unsuspecting face.

“You virgins and your hair-triggers...” Peter growled, taking Stiles’ sensitive cock into the warmth of his mouth.

Peter laid kisses alongside the throbbing shaft of Stiles’ cock, analyzing the length. Surprisingly, the boy was a hung eight inches hard, cut, with a nice girth, and full balls—filled with the precious seed of a soon to be ruined virgin. Peter lapped up the cum that had drooled down Stiles’ length, humming to the taste. He then hollowed out his cheeks and set a cum-hungry rhythm, immediately taking Stiles’ cock down to the hilt—choking out slightly.

“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault.” Stiles sucked in a deep breath, feeling Peter’s hot mouth encase itself around his cock. “I’ve just never—this is all something new.”

“Don’t feel embarrassed, Stiles.” Mark defended softly. “My dear brother seems to forget how easy he was to tear apart in the beginning.”

Peter growled in response to his older brother’s snide comment, but refused to retract most of his own attention from pleasuring Stiles. He could feel the boy’s energy spark and vibrate. The taste of eagerness tasted delicious. Peter kept up his solid pace and swallowed down the human with enthusiastic and sloppy gulps. He would occasionally pull his mouth off from where it was wrapped around Stiles, giving the boy a few firm strokes, just to change things up.

But Peter especially loved being able to look up to watch Stiles’ half-lidded golden eyes sparkle with tears of bliss. This was the first time getting his cock sucked, and it brought Peter immense joy to know that he was the one getting his paws on his human. First dibs meant everything when it came down to the annual mating market. It was just something that he would be able to rub into Derek and Mark’s faces for the years to come.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Derek asked, tugging away from Stiles’ lips. “Peter’s really good with his mouth. Don’t listen to him when he chalks up his skill to natural talent. He’s a goddamn liar. He practices with closeted frat boys from the local university.”

“There’s nothing wrong with some practice, nephew.” Peter smacked his lips, lapping up the pre-cum that had slicked his mouth. “Perhaps I’ll let you show the human what your mouth can do.”

Derek was barely able to hide his excitement, quickly switching places with his uncle. He knelt down to his knees—slotting himself in-between Stiles’ open thighs. He sized up the boy’s cock, leaning forward to start with tentative swipes with the heat of his tongue. The taste of his uncle and the taste of the human’s pre-cum immediately assaulted Derek’s senses, making his own cock begin to leak into where he was hard in the tightness of his pants.

Whilst not as calculated and trained with sucking cock as Peter was, Derek had his own techniques. He took Stiles’ girth into the warmth of his firm grasp, stroking it for an extended period of time, whilst only wrapping his lips around the fat head of his Stiles’ dick. He swirled his tongue around Stiles’, whipping the tip of his tongue into the leaking slit of the boy’s cock. Stiles tasted amazing. It was no wonder as to why Peter had been so immersed within the experience.

Stiles carded his hands through Derek’s hair, unable to take his eyes away from where his cock stretched the werewolf’s mouth open. It amazed Stiles to see that even whilst getting a cock stuffed down his throat, Derek sported the angriest looking face—thick eyebrows furrowed. But it was clear that Derek wasn’t angry. All of the sounds that he made—the whimpers, the gasps, the groans—they were sounds of pleasure, contentment, and satisfaction. That was just how Derek’s face looked and damn, Stiles couldn’t deny how attracted he was to Derek’s perpetual look of broodiness.

Mark rounded the couch, kneeling down next to where Derek was knelt down. He analyzed his boy’s work, making sure that Derek was doing his best and not slacking on the job. “That’s good, Derek. Can you feel Stiles’ body react to the pleasure you’re giving him? Can you taste that arousal?”

Derek mumbled in confirmation, continuing to abuse the head of Stiles’ cock with his tongue. But all at once, he felt the calloused guidance of his father’s hand squeeze gently on the back of his neck—slowly, but surely pushing him down. It forced Derek to take more of Stiles’ length down his throat. The human stretched his throat nicely. The burn was noticeable immediately, but not unbearable. If anything, it enticed Derek to add more movement to his performance, which was much to Stiles’ enjoyment.

“Oh fuck, Derek.” Stiles moaned. “Keep doing that—like that. Don’t stop, please.”

“Take him in all the way, Derek—” Mark instructed brightly, shoving the back of Derek’s head slightly more. “—to the root, son.”

Derek choked the moment he felt Stiles’ cock hit the back of his throat, eyes burning with tears. He wanted to pull back to draw in a clean breath, but also wanted to stay down to continue blowing Stiles. His father, however, didn’t really give him a choice in the matter. Mark kept his hands firmly placed on the back of Derek’s head, holding him in position—keeping Derek’s throat occupied. The only things that Derek could really do was cough out, slurp, and prepare himself for what he could feel Stiles’ body tighten up to do.

Stiles came for the second time, hands flailing out to grab into the couch cushions. His hips reacted involuntarily, thrusting upward into the cavernous heat of Derek’s mouth. Derek seemed perfectly content with the surge of new cum flooding into his mouth, because the only sounds that came from his body were throaty growls. Stiles felt Derek’s throat work around him, swallowing down everything, until his cock was only pumping out finishing drops of cum.

When Mark finally released his hold on Derek’s head, Derek popped up—clearing his throat. He smacked his lips, licking at them, and then looked up amorously into the boy’s golden eyes which were wet with tears just like his own. Derek sniffled with a slight chuckle on this tongue, rubbing away the ache that had settled into his jaw. He looked up to where his father stood beside him, as it waiting to receive a reward or punishment from a teacher.

“Sorry, Peter—” Stiles breathed out with a smirk tugging on his lips. “—your nephew’s got you beat.”

Peter scoffed with a half-baked laugh, leaning forward into Stiles’ face—listening to the immediate uptick in the boy’s heartbeat. “That pretty little mouth of yours sure does know how to push my buttons. How about we see what I can do about fixing that, human.”

Derek and Peter simultaneously gripped their hands onto each of Stiles’ shoulders, yanking him up from where he had been resting on the couch. Stiles yelped at the quick movement. He was somewhat unsure as to where the situation was heading, though he felt as though he had a pretty good idea in his head. The werewolf nephew and uncle duo spun Stiles around and knelt him down on the floorboards in front of the couch, and then took their own seats—side-by-side—where Stiles had once been.

“Now, be the good pack bitch that I know you can be and take our cocks out.” Peter instructed, palming at where the crotch of his jeans were raised obscenely with a bulge.

“They were both so nice for you. It’s time to put what you’ve learned to good use.” Mark planted his hands down on either of Stiles’ shoulders, firmly squeezing at them as if he were some kind of encouragement booster. He rubbed confidence into the boy, pushing out any concern or tension that he may have had. “It’s only fair, Stiles.”

Derek reached out and cradled the back of Stiles’ head, pulling the boy down to where his cock was still locked up underneath his jeans. Stiles took the initiative and began to slowly mouth at where Derek’s bulge was the most prominent through the fabric. Stiles drooled and dragged the pad of his tongue along the rigid material of the heavy denim—chasing the smell of musk. Stiles was also able to feel the heat of Derek’s cock radiating outward. It was so powerful and so comforting that Stiles lost hold of some minutes, entranced with mouthing at Derek’s bulge until there was a visible wet spot from saliva there.

“Take it out.” Derek said softly, combing his fingers gently through Stiles’ messy hair.

Stiles complied, fiddling anxiously with the top button and zipper of Derek’s jeans. Nerves fluttered around inside of his stomach. He was nervous, but also excited. He had technically already had his mouth of Derek’s bulge, and fuck—it was huge. Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do when he finally had the man’s cock plunged down his throat. But when he finally undid Derek’s pants and pulled them down the man’s hairy thighs, Stiles lost his timid composure.

Just as soon as Derek’s freed cock sprung up—nine inches long, thick as a can of beer, and leaking profusely with anticipatory pre-cum—Stiles found himself wrapping his lips around Derek’s cockhead. Stiles didn’t really know what washed over him—the surge of confidence seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks. He was there, knelt down on the hard floors, feverishly sucking at a stranger’s cock. No questions about condoms. No hesitation. It just happened.

Stiles felt a darkened, untapped corner of his brain snap. All went black. Electricity crackled inside the liquid gold of his hazel eyes. Suddenly, all Stiles wanted was cock. He wanted it in and around him. He wanted load after load down his throat, on his skin, dripping out of his ass. He wanted to be used in the worst of ways by the three strangers and whoever else wanted a turn with him. This was what he wanted from now on. This was how he wanted to spend his time—his life. He wanted to burn away his years under the thrusts and dominance of men, of cock, of sex, and of cum. Everything else that mattered in his life just seemed to flutter away like a rather unmemorable dream.

Derek watched as more and more of his length slipped past the boy’s plump lips and into his salivating mouth. Stiles just took it all without thinking—like some starved kid at a buffet. Derek could barely believe what was happening. Just a few moments prior, Stiles was timid and uncertain as to what to do and how to handle other people touching him. But then without warning, it was easy to see that Stiles’ morals had taken a backseat. Derek could see the fire inside of Stiles’ otherwise glassy, blank eyes. It was clear that Stiles’ mind had been warped and overpowered by lust, dulling anything else that the poor boy could ever hope to think about.

“Oh, he’s fucking done this before...fucking lying cumslut.” Peter growled, pulling Stiles away from Derek and into his own lap. “Get my cock out and suck me off since you’re so good at it.”

“God, yes.” Stiles mumbled, hurriedly undoing Peter’s pants. And unsurprisingly, the uncle and nephew duo followed similar personal preferences when it came down to whether or not they wore underwear.

Stiles reached into the opened crotch of Peter’s jeans, instantaneously wrapping his grasp around where he could feel the older man’s heat pulse against his palm. He took Peter out of his jeans, grinning ear-to-ear upon seeing that Peter was just as massive and just as thick as Derek. The only noticeable differences between the two boiled down to presentation, because Peter was a lot more trimmed up when it came to body hair. But Stiles hadn’t found issue with Derek’s untamed curls, on account of the masculine scent of musk and sweat.

Without further instruction or demand, Stiles opened his mouth as wide as he could manage to accommodate Peter’s thickness, much like what he had done with Derek. Stiles slicked up the shaft with his tongue, giving the man a few firm strokes with his hands, before fully taking Peter into the warmth of his throat. Stiles worked quick and unapologetically messy, slurping up any of Peter’s potent pre-cum that leaked out from his overstretched lips. And with one of his free hands, fondled Peter’s heavy balls—applying a generous amount of comfortable pressure, which made Peter writhe around in the seat of the couch.

“I think your big bad alpha nose is broken, Mark.” Peter breathed heavily, fighting with himself to finish speaking his thoughts instead of losing them to Stiles’ wicked tongue. “You smelled a virgin, but there’s no way this human hasn’t done this before.”

“What do you think is burning in the fireplace, Peter?” Mark questioned boldly.

All three of the werewolves looked over towards where the fireplace had refused to dim. And whilst Mark looked towards its flames with a smile on his face, Derek and Peter were unequivocally confused as to what their alpha was talking about. It looked like a completely normal fire, flickering away brightly inside of the charred brickwork. Visibly, there was nothing off about it. And as far as scents went, it smelled like simple wood—termite touched, with some notes of char and old ash.

Peter cried out, throwing his head back in pleasure, clasping his hands at the sides of Stiles’ head. Meanwhile, Derek rolled his eyes at the dramatic moan, still looking towards his father for an explanation about the fire. There didn’t seem to be anything immediately different about any of the other fires that had been burned there before. And if his father was testing him on something that werewolves were supposed to know, Derek was about to fail.

“It just looks—normal.” Derek explained with a shrug.

Mark snapped his fingers and Stiles pulled away from Peter’s cock, shifting back over to take Derek into his mouth. It was smooth. Stiles moved robotically, fluidly, like he knew exactly what everybody was thinking and what everybody wanted from him. He moved like he had practiced for this scenario throughout his entire life, graduating with honors from cocksucking academy. But the snap of Mark’s fingers was a hint, obviously. Derek just still couldn’t figure it out.

Mark closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. “It’s Priapus Gingersnap.”

“That’s one of the rarest materials to come by. How on God’s Earth did you find such an abundant supply of it? And enough to draw in a human virgin? Did you sell your lycan soul for this?” Peter snickered, peering over to the fireplace.

“It’s off brand. I crafted it for a particularly lonely mating market. Rabbit bones, alligator tongues, and the hair plucked from a trusted and noble authority figure.” Mark snorted, unbuckling his own belt.

“Fuck—you had to find a pure authority figure.” Derek commented, still relishing in Stiles’ mouth. “There are no pure authority figures in this world, dad. All of them are power-hungry barbarians.”

“This one—” Mark gestured down towards where Stiles remained on his knees, swallowing down Derek’s cock with ravenous enthusiasm. “—is the son a nearby city’s sheriff. I plucked some hair off the old man and who would have known his own virgin son would come through our woods, drawn to our fire.”

Derek’s muscles tensed, involuntarily thrusting up into Stiles’ mouth, shooting his load. Despite the abruptness, Stiles didn’t miss a beat. He swallowed down the thick surges of cum that Derek supplied as they pulsated out, letting his throat gulp down everything. He cleaned Derek’s cock until it was shiny and free of cum, then pulled away with a satisfied hum and smack of his lips—freezing in place where he remained on his knees.

Stiles froze with a blank expression locked onto his sweaty, flushed out face. His eyes still sparkled brightly with gold, but there was otherwise no thought left inside the boy’s head for the time being. Derek found it confusing at first, but then realized what he had read up on Priapus Gingersnap before during his high school days, and it became clear that Stiles wasn’t frozen, he was just waiting—placed on pause, awaiting the next order or desire like some kind of computerized sex toy.

“I think I’d like to see our cockslut’s dripping hole.” Peter suggested wickedly, watching as Stiles immediately stood up from where he had been.

Stiles walked over to an arm-chair that was situated in the corner of the living room, next to the mantle of the fireplace. Peter and the two other werewolves watched as Stiles hopped into the chair with a plump bounce and then hooked each of his legs onto each of the chair’s arms—forcing his thighs to be obscenely spread. Stiles slouched down slightly, letting his puckered entrance come into fire’s light, showing off for the three horny werewolves that drooled all over themselves with delight.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Mark asked, tugging out his cock through the unzipped crotch of his jeans. He stroked himself as the three wolves drew closer to where Stiles was spread out on the chair.

“But—how? I know a little bit about this gingersnap. It can’t draw in unwilling participants.” Derek noted, slightly befuddled.

“You’re exactly right, son.”

“So, he—”

“—was just a cock-warmer waiting for an opportunity to jump at.” Mark cooed, trailing his fingers down one of Stiles’ legs. “And how generous are we for giving this to our human pet?”

Peter laughed. “Very.”

“Now, Stiles—” Mark started, turning his attention back to where the human was blanking staring at him. “—what do we say when we want something?”

“Please—” Stiles’ throat tightened as he gulped. “Please, daddy. Please fuck me.”

“Atta boy.”

Mark slotted himself in-between Stiles’ legs, pressing the head of his leaking cock into where Stiles was flushed hot and puckered up, untouched and twitching with an eagerness to be filled with another’s man’s girth and heat. As he eased himself into the human’s overwhelming heat, Stiles panted out like a dog—huffing out and drooling all over his own bare chest, unable to fathom the feeling of finally being stretched open by something other than his own fingers.

As the alpha werewolf, Mark had control. Derek and Peter knew as much, so they both waited around on the sidelines with their own cocks still raging hard and desperate to get inside of Stiles’ slutty heat. Mark, however, didn’t waste his time. The speed and severity of his thrusts was unlike anything another human would ever be able to replicate. If Stiles were to set back on his merry way—to live a normal life back in Beacon Hills, to get married, to raise a family, to work tirelessly at some cookie-cutter career—it was certain that Stiles would exhaust himself and waste away trying to find somebody to fill him as well as Mark and his betas did.

Stiles’ body was savagely thrashed around underneath Mark’s dominating thrusts. Mark was rough, but passionate. He cooed filthy nothings into the boy’s ear whilst he kept up his rhythm, willing the boy to moan out desperate pleas of “daddy, fuck me harder”, “make me your bitch”, “fuck me full”, “don’t stop”. Most of the pleas were of Stiles’ own internal soundboard, but Mark hit the switches—repeatedly, over and over again, until the words were breathless and hoarse. The only thing Mark truly pushed harder for was Stiles’ frequent and babbled use of the word ‘daddy’ which dripped off of Stiles’ lips and waged unearthly fire through Mark’s veins.

“I feel so full.” Stiles sighed contently, rubbing at where his stomach rhythmically bulged out with Mark’s insertion.

“Give our pet something to chew on.” Mark said, combing his own sweaty hair out from where it had fallen into his eyes due to the wildness of his thrusts.

Derek and Peter positioned themselves on either side of the arm chair where Stiles was spread open underneath Mark’s vicious hammering. With Stiles slouched down, he was at the perfect angle to handle a couple cocks in his hands and in his mouth. And with a snap of Mark’s instructive fingers, Stiles immediately jolted alive with newfound energy, switching over into some kind of preprogrammed motion. He took Derek and Peter into each of his empty hands, applying firm pressure and fluid stroked movements.

For a while, the two betas happily took advantage of Stiles’ warm, receptive grasp. They started to leisurely thrust their cocks into Stiles’ hands, howling up towards the splintered wood ceiling of the living room. Meanwhile, Stiles happily jerked both of them off, grinning like some doped-out slut—switching his gaze back and forth between where Derek and Peter stood on opposite sides of him. He ran the pad of his thumbs across the leaking slits of their fat cockheads, tingling with anticipation as to when he’d get to have them in his mouth.

“So big—so hot.” Stiles chirped with a bright smile and wide eyes.

“Go ahead, son. Let them fuck that beautiful mouth of yours.” Mark murmured softly, grinding deep into Stiles’ overworked heat.

Stiles let his head fall back against the backing of the arm chair, letting his mouth fall slack-jawed. Derek was the first one to make the move and take the human. He clasped his hands at the sides of Stiles’ head and pulled the boy closer, shoving his meaty cock right into where Stiles was open and drooling with hunger at the simple thought of a cock slipping down his throat. And as soon as the weight of Derek’s cock hit Stiles’ tongue, the boy came for the third time.

Mark chuckled to himself, punching a series of particularly harder thrusts into the human’s lithe frame, working the boy through his orgasm. Stiles’ body convulsed hard, but even as his body writhed and flailed, he never let Derek’s cock slip out from between his abused lips. He kept sucking, unable to stop himself from swallowing around Derek’s girth, even as he felt his own body shake uncontrollably and his own thick rod blast another one of his loads onto his lean stomach.

When Stiles’ orgasm died down, Mark slipped himself out of the boy’s hole—still hard, still loaded, but determined to give Stiles a reward for taking an alpha’s cock so well, thus far. He knelt down in-between where Stiles’ legs were still spread open and hooked on the chair’s arms He pressed his mouth against where he had just removed his cock, slipping his tongue inside of Stiles’ gushing warmth—alongside a few of his own trigger-happy fingers.

With Derek and Peter frivolously trading Stiles’ mouth back and forth between the two of themselves, Mark worked his fingers and tongue into Stiles’ hole. He plunged his digits inwards, hooking them slightly, and circling around until Stiles screamed out around whichever beta was lodged down his throat. But the moment Mark got his fingers on the right stop, he refused to let up. He continued to circle his fingers around, pressing deeply, with precision and intent—repeatedly, drinking in all of the screams that Stiles let out.

Stiles’ body reacted in such beautiful ways to Mark’s fingers. His muscles tightened and released. His breath quickened, drawing in loud breaths whenever Derek or Peter traded him to the other. Mark was so precise and so brutal, keeping the point of his fingers directly plunged against Stiles’ prostate—rubbing in that spot over and over and over again that Stiles’ body seemed as though it started to malfunction. One of the boy’s eyes began to twitch, some of his toes twitched, a pink blush spread across his sweaty chest, and his cock started to pulsate as though he was shooting a load—but he wasn’t.

A dry orgasm ripped Stiles’ body apart without remorse—causing him to momentarily break out from under the effects of the Priapus Gingersnap. His stopped sucking where his mouth was wrapped around Peter’s girth, letting the werewolf slip out of his mouth with a gush of saliva and pre-cum, down to splat against his chin and chest. Stiles screamed out towards the ceiling, immediately falling into a hysterical display of crying and laughing, seemingly unable for his brain to correctly identify the kind of pleasure that rocked through his body. All the while, Stiles’ hard cock pulsed violently, completely untouched, producing no spray of cum. His balls hadn’t had enough time to produce anything, but his body pushed him through the motions.

Mark pulled his fingers from where they had been pressed against Stiles’ prostate, letting the boy float down from his orgasm. He slapped and rubbed at the boy’s hole with his fingers in a repetitive and soothing motion. And eventually, once the boy’s mixture of delirious laughs and cries dulled down into complete silence, Mark watched the fireplace’s charm take the boy back into its competent grasp. He watched Stiles catch his breath and lick his lips, readying himself for further instruction.

“Derek, I think we’re overdue for some father-son bonding time, don’t you think?” Mark asked, winking over to where Derek was standing with his wet dick in his hand. “Do you remember that one time we took that closeted, blond, jock-type lacrosse player out behind the dumpsters of that gaybar in the city?”

“Yeah—he came out to his parents the next day.” Derek laughed. “He said something about not being able to keep hiding how much he wanted cock stuffed up his ass anymore. What was his name again? Johnny? Jeremiah? Jacks—?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mark interrupted. “But let’s give Stiles what we gave that jock.”

Mark stood up from where he was knelt down at Stiles’ hole and laid back atop the solid wood coffee table that was placed in the middle of the couch and the fireplace. His cock was still jut out from his open pants—speared up towards the roof of the room. He snapped his fingers again and watched as life revitalized Stiles’ exhausted body. The boy stood up from the arm-chair and straddled over Mark and where he was laid out on the coffee table—hovering his hole directly above Mark’s cock.

“I don’t think one cock did the job, did it, Stiles?” Mark asked, reaching up to pinch at Stiles’ spit-slicked nipples.

“Daddy, please.” Stiles groaned, reaching back with his hands to spread open his ass checks. He let his clenched hole rub over Mark’s throbbing cockhead. “I need more than one. I need two. Please, I need you and Derek inside me—fuck me at the same time.”

Mark gripped his hands at both sides of Stiles’ hips and slowly eased the boy down onto his cock. He leaned the boy forward, so that Stiles was laid flat against Mark’s chest—face nuzzled up to Mark’s stubbled jaw. It allowed for Derek to take his positioning, crouching down behind Stiles and slowly pushing inside the boy. Mark held his composure, despite nearly losing himself to the warm tightness of Stiles’ ass. But just as soon as he felt his son’s huge cock nudge against his own—confirming that they were both deep inside of the human, all bets were off.

Derek and Mark fucked their cocks inside of Stiles’ hole, adjusting their rhythm enough so that one of them fucked inward whilst the other pulled out. It provided a delicious kind of friction that not only set Derek and Mark’s bodies on fire, but Stiles’ as well. As the three of them rocked into one another, Peter walked around and played his own part—shoving his cock into Stiles’ empty mouth, just to make sure that there wasn’t one hole of the boy that felt left out. They all worked together in tandem, fast and hard—setting an unforgivable pace that shook the human’s bones.

Stiles remained sandwiched between the two Hales, never once letting Peter drop out of his mouth. His mind fluttered around with feelings of bliss and fear of one day not being able to enjoy such an overload of stimulation. But he hung on, letting the three wolves take his body and do with it what they pleased. Much to Stiles’ pleasure, every touch, every whispered word, every spurt of hot cum, every kiss, and every taste of cock that pressed itself onto Stiles’ tongue, filled Stiles’ body with the upmost feeling of love and satisfaction.

“Oh fuck, dad—” Derek breathed, his thrusts stuttered rapidly. “—I’m gonna, jesus, dad. I’m gonna—”

“Me too, son.” Mark groaned.

And at once, Derek and Mark shoved everything that they had to give into Stiles’ body—feeling their balls draw up tight and their thick cocks throb rapidly where they were bound together within the heat of a human. Shortly thereafter, Peter felt his own orgasm approach. He pulled out from Stiles’ mouth and jerked himself off roughly, stroking his cock whilst he stared down into the tearfully wet eyes of the newest Hale pack pet. His cock spewed hotly and heavily, jetting out ropes of white cum in rhythmic bursts—painting over the boy’s debauched face, coating his upturned nose, his delicate freckles, his precious lips, and the heavy lashes that fluttered down closed to hide the boy’s golden eyes.

Stiles remained seated atop Mark’s body, speared open by two huge werewolf cocks. A flood of Hale family cum ravished his inner walls, burning white hot into where he was bright pink, overworked, and stretched out. But all that Stiles could do was mindlessly hump his hardened cock against where it was pressed flat against Mark’s body, bringing himself to a feeble orgasm—spurting out tiny drops of white cum into the fabric of Mark’s sweaty shirt. It was all the cum that Stiles’ body was able to produce, having been so thoroughly used.

“Oh, Stiles—our dear, new pack pet.” Mark whispered, soothingly rubbing his hands down Stiles’ bare back, kissing softly against the cum-speckled skin of the boy’s face. “Whatever are you going to do now?”

Stiles mumbled groggily, slipping quickly into a safe passage of sleep—coddled and squeezed between a loving father and son. “I’mmugh, stay—ing.”

+

Helicopters and search teams swept through cities. It didn’t matter, though. They could search for as long and as hard as they pleased. Their efforts would prove nothing but unsuccessful in regards to locating the missing Stilinski boy. Sure, missing persons fliers decorated the boy’s hometown of Beacon Hills—but they didn’t turn up anything. All of the hotline tips that were called in to be collected lead nowhere helpful. The only thing that had been found was the boy’s leaky blue jeep, parked haphazardly on the side of a rather vacant, washed out highway.

The boy’s father, the pure and noble authority figure of the Beacon Hills Police Department, tried his best to find his missing son, but poor ol’ Jonathan Stilinski came up short every time. For months and months, John led the charge for searches—exhausting his efforts and power as the sheriff to facilitate thorough combs through surrounding wooded areas, lakes, and grassy patches. But nothing—just like all the other attempts, all roads seemed to lead to nothing.

Although, there had been one particular search that had lasted late into the early morning hours, after search and rescue volunteers had retired back to their homes to escape a coming thunderstorm, John continued to trek through a dense line of woods, avoiding muddy patches, tripping over thick branches, and nearly slipping down slippery slopes. Exhausted and delirious with sleep deprivation, for just a moment, John could have sworn he had heard his son calling out to him—“Daddy, daddy, oh god, please!”

But John waved it away as being a figment of his month’s long exhaustive search without much sleep, heading off to search in another direction…Unfortunately, never finding his way to the broken old house with the billowing chimney smoke, where his son cried out—not in agony, not in fear, not in pain, but in orgasmic, heart-stopping pleasure.

[sithlordintraining]

My Girl

A/N: I miss TMM, do you?

masterlist

Summary: Greaser Kylo Ren fell in love with good girl Rey Kenobi over the summer. When they unexpectedly discover they’re now in the same high school, will they be able to rekindle their romance? OF COURSE, with a little help from their friends and some singing. But that was Junior year, can their love really stand the course of Senior year, college applications, and other teenage problems?

Fridays after school were designated to you since Juney was either at practice or watching Teddy. On Fridays, Teddy would be at a scouts meeting and would pick him up at Kenickie’s, since his brother was one too. But as the winter formal grew closer, he found himself accompanying Y/N with his enemy and co-planner, Poe Dameron. Poe kept his eyes on the planning book. “So, the Nutcracker Prince and Sugar Plum Princess-” He was then cut off with a stern no. He looked up to see it was from you. “It’s the Sugar Plum Fairy, not a princess. And she has a cavalier. The Nutcracker is with Clara.” You corrected him. He sighed, knowing that the only reason Juney hadn’t punched him for looking at you was that you had initiated it. “The Nutcracker and Clara will be announced, the snowflakes made by the art club will rain down upon them, making it the last dance of the night for and everyone will ride off into the Land of Sweets,” Poe said. “Wow, that sounds so beautiful!” You smiled up at Juney. His amber eyes flicked down at you. “Well, it’s our first dance together. It needs to be perfect and special for you.” He pressed a kiss to your nose.

“Ummm...well, I guess I’ll see you.” Poe slid out of the booth. “Alright, bye man.” Juney waved him off and turned back to you. “I thought he’d never leave.” He hugged you tight nuzzling into your neck. “JUNEY!” You squealed. “Stop!” He just snuggled against you more. “No, I don’t wanna.” He pouted. “Come on, we have to go look for gifts for your brothers.” You pushed him. “No! I don’t want to.” He whined, even more, paying the bill. “You wouldn’t be acting like this if you knew you were getting one.” His face lit up with a smile. “I am?” He moved closer to you. “Yes, two actually.” You nodded. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Tell me!” He begged. “No, it’s a surprise!” You swatted his arms. “Can I get one early?” His bottom lip jutted out in a pout. Standing on your toes, you pressed your lips to his. “That was an extra gift, happy?” You smiled in his face. He returned the wide smile “Yes!” He slid his hand in yours as the two began to exit Maz’s. “Hey, you’re still able to come to my match on Tuesday, right?” You nodded. “Of course, I’m going to tutor Kylo at school so I won’t be late.” You smiled up at him. “Oh, you’re still doing that?” Juney asked. “Well, I guess as long as he stays in his lane.” He placed a juicy kiss on your lips.

Y/N sat across from Kylo as he finished up one of the English writing assignments given to them. Kylo could feel her eyes staring at him and the heat that began to burn on his cheeks. “Yes, Princess?” He looked up at you. “I...just wanted to say...thank you.” You whispered. It had been weeks since Thanksgiving and you didn’t speak about what happened. Actually, you acted like nothing ever happened. “No problem, it’s my job.” Kylo shrugged. “It’s not your job Benji.” you sighed. “It’s not yours or Juney’s or my Dad’s, it’s mine to finally get over it and realize that things will never change with her.” Kylo’s large hand took yours in. “Yeah, but don’t act alone in this. We are just trying to help Y/N, please we love you that’s all.” The corner of your lip twitches into a smile. “I want to get the Knight’s something for Christmas.” Her small hand slide from underneath his. Kylo missed the feeling of your hand under his but decided to indulge in conversation instead of thinking about it. “You don’t have to.” He shook his head. “I know, but I want to.” You shrugged. “The guys have been so nice!” Kylo winced at your smile, knowing that he was probably at the end of that list after everything he had done. He felt something brush against his cheek. Your lips gently kissed his reddening cheeks. “Don’t worry Benji, you’re getting one too.” Kylo’s eyes looked down trying to hide his blushing form. “So I can’t know what it is?” He asked. “Nope! It’s a surprise.” You chuckled. “Are you getting me anything?” Y/N cooed as she smiled which caused him to suck in a breath. Of course, he was, you were his best friend and especially after everything, he needed to get you something to show you how much you meant to him. “Yeah, I’m actually going to my Uncle’s this weekend.” “Lando?” Your eyes widened. He laughed nodding. “Yeah, my cousins are probably going to yell at me because they told me next time I bring you.” Before he knew it a crumpled paper was being thrown at him. “Hey!” He laughed. “I want to go!” It was your turn to pout. A lopsided smile fell on his lips. “Next time, Princess, I promise.”

Kylo and Lando were laughing as they walked towards the famous Calrissian mansion. Before Lando could even open the door, it swung revealing five beautiful girls with matching scowls. Kylo stood their visibly scared as all of them were staring at him. “Where is your girlfriend?” Lena asked. “We told you the next time you come, bring Y/N!” Lucille said as everyone agreed. His pale skin turned red and it wasn’t from the Vegas sun. “Leave him, alone girls!” Lando laughed. His hand fell between his nephew’s shoulder blades as he pushed him in. “Besides, he’s here to buy her a gift.” All of their brown eyes lit up. They all grabbed at him ushering him into the large living room. Lando just chuckled as he left them alone. “So do you have anything in mind?”  Louise asked. “Um, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Come on, you’d have to know! Y/N is a boss cat!” Lorelei said. “How long have you known her?” Lillian asked. Kylo looked up with glazed eyes as the first time he met you played in his mind. “All my life.” He spoke softly. “I met her in pre-school, she used to wear these two pigtail braids.” His large hands pretended to be them. “You guys remember how awkward I was, well still am.” The girls chuckled. “I don’t know what it was about her but I just wanted to be her friend so bad. So I pulled her braid and she didn’t get mad or cry she said ‘that’s alright, my Daddy does that too he says it’s good luck and that’s how he wins cases.’ She’s been my girl ever since.” A smile ghosted on his lips. The girls cooed and awed at the story. “Our little Ben’s in love!” They said simultaneously. “Are you guys committed?” Louise asked. Kylo shook his head and looked down. “That’s it!” Louise shouted. “You’ll propose!” All the girls began to yell in excitement.

“I can’t.” Kylo shook my head. “Why not?” They asked in confusion. “She doesn’t want to get married.” He told them. “Her parents are divorced so she thinks that she will inevitably end up like that.” Pouts formed on their faces. “She shouldn’t think that.” Lorelei protested. “I told her that, but she’s made her mind up. She even tried to convince me not to marry my girlfriend.” Kylo shrugged. “Wait, what?” Lucille asked. “Y/N, she’s not, wait I’m confused, Benjamin. Who is your girlfriend?” Kylo realized that when Juney came in during his birthday party, Lando and his girls had already left. “She’s my best friend, Y/N, is my best friend.” Kylo sighed. “And your girlfriend?” Lena asked. “Her name is Rey.” He spoke lowly. “And...what did you get her?” Louise asked. “Nothing...I-I don’t know. It’s our first Christmas.” He sunk down into the couch. “Oh Ben...you got it bad.” Lorelei teased as the other girls laughed. “No, don’t say that!” Kylo covered his hands with his face as a loud groan let out. Before anyone could say anything, Lando was strolling in. “Alright girls, leave your baby cousin alone. Now let’s go.” The girls were up and out of the door leaving a pouting Kylo to stroll beside his Uncle. “It’s ok, kid. You can tell your Ol’ Uncle Lando everything.”

Kylo turned the corner in the library, keeping as close to the wall as possible. He did not want to be seen in the library or worse sneaking with you. That would just be another fight with Rey and an actual fight with Juney. As he passed the science section in the library he heard two voices. One was yours of course and the other had to be none other than: “Gwen,” Kylo growled. “Ben,” A fire & ice red sinister smile was plastered on her porcelain face. “What are you doing here?” He set his books down. “Well if you must know, I was invited for Juney’s big day!” She smiled at her best friend who rolled her eyes. He looked down to see you biting back a blush. “Stop, I only said you can stay if you play nice!” You scolded her. “This is Benji’s time and if you don’t I’ll make you wait with Hux.” Kylo liked that idea very much as Phasma rolled her eyes. His large form took the seat next to you, putting his body practically on top of you. Phasma’s blue eyes watched the interaction between the two friends. She shook her head at all the obviousness. “You two.” Phasma scoffed before getting up. “What?” Two sets of eyes looked up at her. “The two of you look like first graders when he used to try and share the desk with you.” She pointed. Y/N looked at the nearly absent amount of space between the two before she moved her chair further from him. If Phasma had balls, he’d kick them right now. “I’m going to smoke.” Phasma excused herself. Kylo was thankful once she left. He turned to you with an awkward stiff motion. “You can move back over. I don’t mind.” Kylo smiled. You just shook your head and continue to work with him. And of course, there was another distraction. A knock on the wooden shelves caused Kylo to growl; Finn popped up with a slight smile. “Hey Y/N, sorry to disturb you.” His gaze fell to Kylo. “Kylo” Finn nodded. “The match is about to start and Juney wants to see you.” A smile fell on your lips as you excused yourself from the table. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Kylo waited for a for a good fifteen minutes and you still didn’t return. Packing up his things, he made his way to his locker. Of course, he couldn’t miss the loud yells from the gymnasium and decided to stop by. He didn’t see you, but he saw the Pinks, the Knights, Hux, and Phasma who were engaging in conversation to his surprise. Kylo’s boots scuffed the wooden floors as he made his way in. At the same time, you were crossing the gym to sit front and center for your boyfriend's big match. “Hey, Kylo! Sorry, I took so long, I hope you’re not mad.” You began to play with the ruby ring on the long gold chain hanging from your neck. “Doll, when did you get this?” Phasma asked taking a better look. “Oh, Juney just asked me to watch it while he’s out here. I have all his prized possessions on me right now.” You gestured to his varsity jacket that you were now wearing. “His prized possessions watching his prized possessions.” Hux chuckled. You rolled your eyes and laughed. Kylo was taken aback by the friendliness between Y/N and Hux. About two months ago you hated the guy and now you were inviting him to your boyfriend's match! The group sat down getting the best seat in the house. Kylo stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He felt out of place. Everyone talked amongst each other, Phasma and Hux flirting and you and Finn having the most animated conversation. Kylo felt alone. “Well, I got to go. There’s an Apples meeting and I don’t need them having a valid reason to kick me out.” Finn stood up. Y/N’s glossed lips fell into a pout. “No Finn stay!” You begged. “I’d love to but you know they’re out to get me because of Juney.” Finn hugged you. “You’re still coming by for brunch after church right?” He asked. “Of course, Juney is going to try and bring James is this time.” You told him. “The more the merrier!” He opened his arms with a wide smile. “See ya Y/N. Bye Phasma, bye Hux” He exited the gym. Kylo just stared at the boy, he was really invisible.

“I didn’t know you and Finn were close like that?” Kylo mumbled loud enough for you to hear. “Yeah, he’s Juney’s best friend and we go to the same church.” You smiled. He just nodded. “Does Juney go there too?” Kylo looked up at you with a pout. “No, Juney goes to the Catholic church in the city.” Her delicate hands found her hands wrapped around his chin. “Stop looking like that Benji. You’re such a baby.” He nuzzled his face into your hand and peered up at you with his deep chocolate eyes. A whistle was blown commencing the match and all her attention flew to Juney. Kylo let out a breath, there was no winning today. Everyone watched as the various players made their way through the matches. At the moment, the score was tied and Juney was the last person to go. “Smith and Weslyn!” The referee called out and Juney got up in his navy unitard. The Knights, Pinks, and Phasma began cat-calling Juney, who wore a smug smirk walking towards the mat. Soon everyone's attention was on you as Juney winked causing you to hide your blushed behind your hands. Kylo groaned in disgust. Juney shook the boy's hand and began wrestling.

You were sick to your stomach. Of course, it wasn’t a real fight, but it still made you feel uncomfortable. And Kylo noticed; you tried to hide your shaking hands in your lap but it wasn’t working. You jumped when you felt something touch your hand. Looking down you noticed the large pale hand slowly wrapping around yours. You looked at him with wide (y/e/c) eyes and he just shook his hand: “It’s alright Y/N.” And you nodded in response. Your grip would tighten every time the other boy bested Juney from keeping him pinned down. The gym was loud from the roars of the players and the crowd. Juney could feel his heart in his ears; he had the boy in a tight grip, he just needed a good move to settle him on his back for good. His amber eyes looked up catching the sight of your glossy eyes and heaving chest. His Mama looked so terrified, he had to win it for her. He then caught the sight of her holding Kylo’s hand. A fire illuminated in his eyes, finding the strength to swiftly flip the boy on his back and keeping him down. “WINNER! Smith for Hoth!” The referee cheered and everyone jumped up cheering. The players ran to jump on Juney to congratulate him. He waved at you and you give him a wide smile.

When they all retired to the locker room, some students began to congratulate you on Juney’s win while you waited for him in the hallway. Phasma was busy telling Finn the exciting play, as Kylo stood behind you watching you humbly accept their congratulations on Juney’s behalf. Kylo rolled his eyes, you were so perfect and poised like a princess or First Lady. He wondered for a second if Rey would ever or would she just take credit for “changing him into a better man”. Kylo was too busy rolling his eyes to miss Juney make his way through his crowd of fans towards Y/N. Instantly, Juney wrapped his arms around Y/N and gave her the biggest kiss on her lips, they both tried to hide their smiles which caused everyone watching to coo. “Congratulations,” You said softly hiding your bright smile in the crook of his neck. He laughed placing a kiss to the side of your face. “Thank you, Mama.” Y/N pulled back remembering all of his stuff she was wearing. “Here you go.” Y/N removed his chain from her neck and jacket. He accepted them and reached into the inside of the varsity jacket. “And this is yours.” Juney pulled out a gold chain with a garnet pendant. You gasped as every girl, and Kylo’s,  jaw dropped. Tears began to fill in your eyes. “I just wanted you to know how special you are to me, Mama and I’m sorry I couldn’t wait till Christmas, but I love you and I’m so thankful you’re my girl and I’d truly won with you. It would be an honor if you wore my birthstone.” Juney said with glassy eyes.  “Shit, babe don’t cry, you’re going to make me cry too.” They both chuckled as Y/N wiped the tears of her cheeks. You couldn’t find words so you shook your head and he put it on. The hallway filled with applauds at this. Kylo just watched with a twisted face and broken heart because she was no longer his girl, she was never his girl.

P.S.: Juney and Reader 5ever!

[chalcid]

10:The Ring That Shouldn't Be (Disappear)

When I got home, I tossed my wet clothes in a pile on my bedroom floor and tried to get a little sleep. It didn't go well, and soon it was the ever-dreaded Monday morning.

I crawled out from under my blankets and stared at the leftover mess from last night's adventures. My coat was still a sopping wet bundle of fabric. I stared at it for a minute or two. What was I supposed to do? I wear it everywhere, but apparently, today, I couldn't.

I tip-toed down to the laundry room. Lawrence was sleeping in the room next door, I think. Not waking him would be the least I could do.

I threw my clothes in the washer and sighed. At least my coat would be clean and ready to wear by afternoon.

There was a brief moment of panic when I remembered the abundance of stuff in my pockets, but I recovered it in time. The book, the ring, some chocolate bars, and my pocket watches. So many pocket watches. I shivered.

I ate a very quick breakfast and retreated to my room again to pass by the agonizingly long period of time that was waiting for it to be time to wait for the bus at the triplets' house.

I couldn't face Tilly today. She didn't get visibly mad, ever. Being yelled at was awful, but I don't think I could just handle it if Tilly's smile just widened.

This was torture, just having to live through every extended moment. I wish Dad and Tilly would just leave already, walk out of my life never to return.

Eventually, I just gave up on waiting in my room and decided to show up at the triplets' house twenty minutes early.

Trite must have seen me waiting from his bedroom window because shortly after I arrived, he left the house, a stack of containers with treats in hand.

"Would you like some cookies? Carrot cake? Scones?" Trite asked. His smile was a little too wide and there were dark circles under his eyes. Funny, he was usually the triplet without them. "I've got plenty."

"Uh, you good man?" I asked, plucking a blueberry scone from the top of the pile.

"No," his smile widened.

Pacifinos and Poseikion closed the front door behind them and moved to sit beside me.

"Merika, where's your jacket?" They asked almost in unison.

"It's in the washer right now. Apparently, things don't dry well when you crumple them into a ball and throw them on the floor," I bit into the scone. It was really good.

"Why was your jacket wet?" Poseikion questioned.

"I wore it outside, obviously," I declared. "It feels really weird not to have it, though. Where do I put all my clocks and the homework I don't do and any cool rocks and my snacks and all that jazz?"

"Backpack," Poseikion suggested, "Or your pants pockets."

I sighed "These don't have pockets."

That sorrowful statement inspired the rain to start to fall.

"So how was your weekend," I asked.

"Well..." Poseikion glanced very pointedly at Trite and his mountain of food "That happened," he lowered his voice "I don't get why he's so stressed. Isn't slacking off and being laid-back his whole thing."

"Ask him," I shot back.

"I have known Trite for all but twenty minutes of my life and one thing I can say for sure is that he is absolutely terrifying when he's stressed," Pacifinos said suddenly.

"You're all vaguely terrifying when you're stressed," I said. "Although you're all different kinds terrifying. Like, I don't know, not talking to me for... it feels like forever."

"Not just you," Poseikion said pointedly "They avoided me all weekend."

"I'm brooding," Pacifinos mumbled.

"About what?" Poseikion argued. Whatever Pacifinos's response would have been was swallowed up as the bus screeched to a magnificent stop in front of us.

I plopped down next to Pacifinos, who glanced at me.

"Could you not?" they asked.

"Pardon?"

"I need to sit alone right now. Do you think you could..."

"Oh, sorry," I stood up and paused "I'm here for you if you wanna talk."

Maybe it was just my imagination that I heard them say "Believe me, I don't."

The bus ride took fifty times longer this way. Was I stripped of everything that made me Merika? My coat, my friends, my confidence?

"This is just a bad day. Try not to read too much into it," I whispered to myself.

Eventually, the bus stopped and I got off.

I spotted Casey in the halls and almost ran to her.

"Hi, Casey," I said brightly "Did you have a good weekend?"

"It was alright," Casey mumbled "I read some books. You?"

"Oh, I got lost in the woods looking for ruins and we ended up finding some creepy paintings," I said casually. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." Casey trailed off and shook her head "No. Sorry, I don't know why I'm like this."

She sunk to the floor. I plopped down next to her.

"Is it because the boat sank?" I asked "Because boats sink all the time. To the point where I can spend every weekend retrieving things in the boats all day long and find a new one every other month."

"No, no, I'm just... sorry. I'm not good with friends. People. I kind of thought you were too, but..." Casey stopped"I'm sorry. You're funny and charming and I maybe sort of hoped that you were awkward like me. Two peas in a pod. It's stupid. And probably all kinds of other negative adjectives."

"Just because people respond positively to me doesn't make me any less of an introverted nerd," I joked. "Sure, I can be outgoing and witty, but I like being alone best of all."

"No, no, it's not that I don't like being around people," Casey sighed "I love people. I just wish I was better at the whole thing."

"Ah. So I'm a charming introvert and you're an awkward extrovert," I said.

"Yeah," Casey sighed "Guess we aren't so much the same after all."

"No, we're different, like all people are," I said "But I think it might be a good kind of different. Like..." I wracked my brain for a good metaphor "Like two halves of a treasure map."

Casey sniffled "We're a treasure map?"

"Yeah," I said, "That was not my best analogy."

Casey unexpectedly hugged me "I love it."

"Anyways, if you'd like to get better at people, maybe you should hang with me and my friends more," I suggested.

"That sounds nice," Casey sniffled.

...

"Hey, uh, can I sit here," Casey asked timidly.

Poseikion sniffed "I don't know, can you?"

"Oh, don't be such a literature teacher," I smacked his shoulder. "Of course you can."

Casey sat down beside me. Pacifinos narrowed their eyes at her. I thought they liked Casey. Maybe I was wrong.

Edonia cleared her throat "Do you have stuff we found last night?"

I checked my bag "It looks like I left the book back at home. Here's the ring, though."

Edonia inspected it "This is ruby. Or it looks like it."

"Ooh, ruby," I said as Edonia slid it back to me "You know, I don't think I've ever seen ruby."

I held it up to the light. It was a very pretty stone, but it was also worth a lot, I assumed. Did I keep it or sell it to get turquoise to finally fix the sword I found last winter.

"Is something wrong," Poseikion prodded.

"Oh, it's nothing," Edonia said "Just that ruby would have been considered very bad luck when people last lived in that house. So it's weird it would have been there at all."

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing Fairy Tale Contest 2020, Submission by Lucy Wright

The Princess with the Dragons

 Once upon a time a young French princess was born and her name was Daniella. Her life was perfect in every way, but then her parents caught the plague. They had less than a year to live and now she would have to be queen. Yet the villagers were angry – she was only 12! They told her she was irresponsible and young and didn’t deserve to be queen.

When the monarchs died, they didn’t admit their mistake and she was mistreated. A sorceress named Abigail Lightheart came and saw what they were doing and cast a spell that when the princess reached the age of 17, she would stay 17 forever until the villagers learned to accept her and she ruled over their village.

But they didn’t learn and her seventeenth birthday came and went. The village was breaking down with no competent leader. Then one day the princess vanished; she was locked in a tower guarded by two dragons. The villagers realised their mistake and that she was their rightful ruler. They couldn’t get past the dragons, so she stayed locked up.

This tale was a favourite of the village, as they could see the top of the tower over the hill. Many people tried to get to her, but they all came back with nothing. Then, hundreds of years later, another prince decided to try his luck at getting to her. And that is where we begin.

To say Prince Pierre Mont-Clair of France’s Outskirts was hated was an understatement. He was detested and his subjects dread the day he’d become king. He rode into town on his horse, Victory, and made no time in making sure everyone knew of his presence.

“Where is the leader of this little hovel?” he asked a young woman, barely 19, who was buying some bread.

“I don’t know,” the woman replied. “I live in the woods. I’m just buying myself some food. Ask Oscar.”

He left her and asked around for ‘Oscar’ and eventually found him. He was the priest.

“Hello Oscar,” smirked Pierre. “I understand you know everything that goes on around here?”

“Oh yes,” Oscar smiled. “Come on in.”

Pierre looked; it was a church. Churches were awful in his eye; they were the root of evil.

“I would rather not,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust.

“Why not?” asked Oscar.

“Churches are awful places – they are made of stone and are so old and filled with stupid old men like you.”

He slowly became aware of the many people watching their conversation, most of the village were staring in horror.

“Who are you?” someone called out.

“Prince Pierre Mont-Clair of France’s Outskirts.”

The crowd murmured – they’d all heard of him but for all the wrong reasons.

“I am here to save Princess Daniella from her imprisonment. Which none of you could do, obviously. I guess you’re just weak.”

The villagers looked at him, their faces all offended. “That is offensive and rude. Normally we’d give people like you weapons and maps to save Daniella. But now…” someone yelled.

Pierre didn’t care; he was rich and so had the weapons he needed. He didn’t need these stupid slobs to help him. This village was awful and he didn’t want to stay there any longer. He needed to go, save Princess Daniella, marry her so he’d be married to a beautiful princess and rule over France.

He left Victory in a stable, grabbed his trusty sword and satchel full of food and walked away. He passed the woman from earlier again, it looked like she was the only one who hadn’t watched his conversation. She was buying books and gave him a tiny smile as he marched into the woods.

The trees were thick. Everywhere he turned was a canopy of green. It enveloped him and made him feel he was trapped in a green bubble. Birds fluttered around him, the only colour besides the green. He walked for many hours and slept for many more until, eventually, he reached a clearing. Everything inside this clearing had been burnt – the grass was burned away, the small flowers were burned away and even the branches that would’ve spread into it were burned away. Dragons.

Pierre could see the tower up ahead. It was close, but the dragon was closer. He saw it, a large mound of red with spikes encrusted down its spine like diamonds, its long tail curling round one of its paws, a worryingly large spike protruding out of its end. Its eyes were luminous; the yellow was enough to scare the bravest of men, yet it was sleeping. He slipped behind the dragon, reaching his sword high in the air, and he killed it with one swing of his sword.

That was when he noticed the second dragon, the sun reflected in its identically red skin. It was an identical twin of the first one, but awake. Clouds of fire puffed from its nostrils as it advanced slowly, closer and closer. It wasn’t trying to kill him, just ward him off so that he wouldn’t head to the tower.

Running backwards, Pierre hid himself in the trees. The dragon would be too big to follow him and it didn’t seem to want to kill him, just scare him off. That was when the dragon noticed the other body – it flared up, every diamond spike down its back bursting into flame. This dragon was angry and it certainly wanted to kill him now.

It burned down the trees, thumping its way over to him. So he ran, but made sure that he didn’t go too far from the castle. Then he heard something, the sound of water – a stream! He ran towards it, thinking that at least it would be protection from the fire. He dived in, keeping a firm grip on his sword, ready for the rampaging dragon.

It charged across the wood towards him, he reached up his sword and…it slipped and fell out of his hands, wedging itself between two rocks downstream. The dragon took its opportunity and let out a raging fire storm. Pierre dunked himself underwater and swam to where the sword was, he grabbed it but it was stuck! Soon he would have to come up for air, so he tugged and tugged. The dragon was practically above him; it would be now or never. Pierre wrenched the sword from the stone’s firm grip and thrust it upward. The dragon let out a roar of anguish and sunk to the floor, dead.

Pierre climbed out of the river and dried himself off with a flame which was still going. He then took off towards the tower with no obstacles in his way. He looked up at the tower – it was strangely beautiful, with flowers and ivy growing up the sides and a little door at the bottom with a sign reading ‘Home Sweet Home’. He pushed the door open carefully and entered. There was a cleverly constructed pulley-system which acted as a lift for him. When he reached the top, he found himself in a friendly looking kitchen. The princess stood at the other end, cooking something.

“Hey Abby,” she said, not turning, “I thought you were going to get back this evening.”

“I’m not Abby…” Pierre replied cautiously

The princess turned – she looked confused. “Oh… how did you get in?”

“The front door,” Pierre said.

She looked at him inquisitively and gestured to a seat and sat on the one opposite.

“You do not seem upset…” Pierre asked, carefully sitting down. He’d expected a maiden throwing herself at him rather than this cool and collected girl, who seemed to be wearing trousers.

“Why’d I be upset?”

“You’ve been imprisoned in this tower,” Pierre said.

“Who told you that?”

Pierre repeated the whole story to her and was surprised when she laughed at the end.

“You… believed… that?” she laughed hysterically, “I disappeared 342 years ago, stories change! Abby and I were best friends; we were the only red-heads in the village! I asked for the spell to be put on me to teach everyone a lesson. Abby goes out every weekend to get supplies for us.”

Pierre thought back and remembered the young girl who had told her about Oscar, that was Abby. It was becoming clear now, but not in a good way. It was like un-fogging your car’s windscreen to find that you’re driving off a cliff.

“And the tower with the dragons…” Pierre murmured.

“All me,” she grinned, “I asked Abby to do it. Also, that legend is wrong; my name isn’t Daniella. It’s Dan, short for Daniella, but never call me that.”

“Tell me all about it.”

Dan smiled, “My life wasn’t great, my parents died of the plague and everyone hated me for being young. I wanted to teach them a lesson, so I asked my friend Abby to cast a spell that I would never be old enough to rule, knowing she could reverse it at any time. But they were too stubborn – I grew to enjoy being 17, but I couldn’t live with their torture. Then I read two books, called Beauty and the Beast and Rapunzel, one about a French princess and the other about a tower. So I asked for another favour, Abby made a tower with two friendly dragons and I’ve lived here for 314 years. People have tried to break me out, but Ruby and Scarlett ward them off.”

Pierre nodded nervously; he wished he’d never listened to the legend.

“I’ve never asked what you’re doing here,” Dan realised. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve… come to save you.” Pierre said, instantly regretting it.

Dan flared up immediately. “WHAT!” she screamed. “Why on earth did Ruby and Scarlett let you through?”

She ran to the open window and screamed into the day; “RUBY! SCARLETT! COME RIGHT NOW, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! GET THIS STUPID PERSON OUT OF HERE!”

There was no beat of wings, or snort of even a rustle. She leaned out and saw the two hulking bodies, lying in the woods. She turned; Pierre had never seen this sort of rage before. Dan was deadly.

“You are so lucky that Abby’s at the market,” she hissed, grabbing a large book, “because now I’ve got to kill you the old-fashioned way.”

She hurled the book across the room. He ducked and ran to the door. As he jumped into the lift, lots of potato peelings rained down on him. He then ran out of the door and Dan swiftly followed, clutching the biggest frying pan he’d ever seen. She chased him through the woods and out into the village. Every time Dan got close, she would whack him with her pan. The villagers came out and watched them. They seemed to be mocking him, so Pierre ran and never looked back.

So, what happened to everyone?

Well, Dan became queen and learned that opinions do change. She lived a long and happy life.

The two dragons, Ruby and Scarlett, were resurrected by Abby and protected the village from all of the invaders that would come in the next years.

Pierre, much to everyone’s disappointment, became King of France’s Outskirts. Although three years later he would be overthrown and his worthy brother, Diego, would be crowned.

As for Abby, she settled down and became a writer, but her favourite was a history book she’d written. She named it ‘The Princess with the Dragons’ and she knew exactly how to start it. Once upon a time, a young French princess was born, and her name was Daniella. She hopes you enjoyed it!