#the trash bag i was carrying out broke

[lostandbackagain]

you guys ever wake up evil

[allthingsfangirl101]

Hey, Bartender – Jake Seresin

Working as a female bartender has never been easy. It's worse when the last person you ever thought you'd see again walks into the bar.

"Oh no," I gasped. I put the drink I was making in front of the customer, threw down my towel, and quickly turned around.

"Geez, Y/N," Penny chuckled. "Slow down. What's up?"

"Nothing," I stuttered. Penny crossed her arms over her chest and stopped me from running away.

"What?"

I looked over my shoulder, my whole body skipping a beat. "Ohh," she held out. "Which one of them did you grow up with?"

"The tall gorgeous one," I mumbled before looking away from him.

"The one they call Hangman?" Penny asked.

"How fitting," I scoffed. "Yeah. Except I knew him as Jake Seresin. He was the guy every girl was madly in love with."

"Even you?" She chuckled.

"Sadly," I said, shaking my head. I gasped when she turned me around and pushed me toward the bar. Jake smirked when I appeared.

"Hi," I stuttered.

"Hey, Bartender," he smirked. "Can I get another round of beers for me and my friends?"

"Sure," I said, my heart sinking when I realized it.

"Thanks," he said, sending me a wink before turning around and walking back to his friends.

"Soo?" Penny sang as she ran into me.

"He and his friends want another round of beers."

"Of course, but did he. . ."

"He didn't remember me."

Without another word, I turned around and went into the back room. I tried to wait out Jake and his friends, but they stayed the rest of the night. Penny didn't ask any questions about Jake, but she let me keep clear of them.

Once the bar closed, Penny didn't let me leave until I told her everything.

"I have been waiting all night to hear about this," she chuckled as she hopped onto the counter. "How do you know that wannabe BackStreet Boy?"

"We grew up together," I started to explain. "Well, sorta. We were neighbors and our dads worked together. We ended up going to the same work parties and barbeques, but we didn't interact at school. I thought he'd at least remember me. Guess I was wrong."

"Oh, honey," he sighed. "I'm sorry. Maybe he just needs a memory refresher or. . . Maybe he. . ."

"Maybe I wasn't important enough to him for him to remember me."

* * * * *

Jake and his friends returned night after night. I stayed behind the bar, mixing and pouring their drinks. All without Jake remembering me. Every time he came up and ordered from me, my heart sank lower. By the end of the week, I couldn't handle seeing him every night.

"Hey, Y/N, can you take the trash out?" Penny asked, dragging me away from watching Jake play darts.

"Sure," I mumbled. Penny sent me a pitiful look as I grabbed the garbage bag.

I carried it outside, holding my breath as I passed Jake. He didn't notice me. . . Shocker.

Right as I was about to toss the garbage bag into the dumpster, the bottom broke, spilling the contents all around my feet.

"Of course," I scoffed. I knelt down and started picking up the bottles. Suddenly, someone joined me. I looked up to see Jake helping me.

"I hate when this happens," he flirted. "Let me help."

I watched him for a second as he picked up the bottles. He looked up at me and sent me a wink.

"You don't remember me, do you?" I asked, my voice quiet.

"Why would I. . ." Jake stopped himself as he looked up and studied me. "Holy. . . Y/N?"

"Hi, Jake," I said, my voice getting caught in my throat.

"Wow," he chuckled. "It's been so long. How are you?"

"Please don't," I said a little harsher than I needed to as I stood up and threw away the bottles I was holding.

"Don't what?" He stuttered as he stood up and threw his armful of bottles away.

"Don't act like you remember me after all these years."

I started to walk away but he gently grabbed my hand.

"What makes you think that I don't remember you, Y/N?"

I looked up at him and pulled my hand out of his grasp. I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted my weight. "Really, Jake?" I scoffed. "I have worked here for three years. You and your band of pilots have been here every day this week. You have come straight up to me, at least three times a night, and looked me in the eyes as you ordered a drink. And it takes me picking up garbage for you to remember me."

"Who says I didn't remember you the second I walked up to the bar?"

"You acted like you had no idea who I was," I said, my voice dropping.

"I know I did," he sighed. "And I'm sorry about that, Y/N. Truly, I am. But, to be honest, when I walked in and saw you, I freaked. I went to get drinks and didn't think I'd run into an old friend."

"Old friend?" I couldn't help but doubt. "Jake, you never spoke to me unless we were at our dads' work parties. You completely ignored me at school."

"I know that too," he said, his tone changing. "You have to believe me, Y/N, the only reason I didn't hang out with you at school is because I thought you'd think I was an idiot."

"Wait," I slightly cut him off. "You didn't think you were smart enough to hang out with me?"

"I was embarrassed," he nodded.

"Jake," I sighed. "That's. . . I'm sorry, but I don't believe you."

* * * * *

I didn't tell Penny what happened last night. When I called her this morning and told her I woke up sick and needed the day off, she didn't push back.

Instead of being at work, I spent the entire day thinking back through my and Jake's childhood. There was nothing in any of the few occasions we interacted to hint that Jake was too embarrassed to hang out with me. He never even looked at me in high school.

Later that night, I got a call from Penny.

"You need to get here," she said the second I answered.

"Wait, what?"

"The trainees came in again tonight," she said. "They came and all Hangman has done since he realized you weren't here is sit in the corner and drink. His friends went home an hour ago and he's still here drinking."

"Pen. . ."

"He keeps mumbling things about you," she cut me off.

"What kinds of things?" I couldn't help but ask.

"That he shouldn't have ignored you," she started to list off. "That he should've talked to you. That he should've asked you out. That he hates that you think he didn't ever think about you. And yes, those were his exact words. Please come and talk to him."

"I don't know," I stuttered. "I just. . . I find it really hard to believe that he. . . There's no way he thought. . . He couldn't have looked at me. I was a nobody."

"Did you ever think that maybe he thought the world of you but worried you'd think he was some stereotypical jock who couldn't put two and two together?"

"Are those his exact words?"

"Not exactly," she chuckled. "But still, the sooner you get here, the better."

* * * * *

I walked into the bar, instantly making eye contact with Penny. She sent me a soft smile before nodding her head toward the booth in the corner. When I saw the state he was in, I stopped behind the bar and got him a cold water. I took a deep breath before walking toward him. I grabbed his empty beer bottle and replaced it with a water.

"Cutting me off?" He slurred.

"Considering the fact that I'm not working tonight," I said, making him jump, "no. I'm just worried about you."

"Y/N," he stuttered. "What are you. . . You're here. Penny said you. . . Hi."

"Hi," I chuckled. "You mind if I sit?"

"Of course not," he said instantly. He sat up straighter as I sat across from him. I couldn't help but blush as his eyes scanned me.

My heart sank when I glanced at his empty beer bottle collection. "Jake," I sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I'm sorry I made you think I didn't recognize you the moment I looked into your gorgeous eyes. I'm sorry I made you think you weren't good enough for me. I'm sorry I made you think I didn't see you. I swear, Y/N, I did."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" I asked, my voice soft.

"I just. . . I thought. . . " He stuttered. "Because I was a coward." Jake reached across the table and gently grabbed my hands. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?"

"I don't know, Jake," I said honestly. "We were never really close. I mean, we only talked on a few of the awkward occasions where we were the only kids at the work party. And when we were teenagers, we didn't talk at all. You weren't even sending mixed signals."

"I was scared," he said again.

"Jake, no woman believes that a man is or was too scared to talk to her," I sighed. "That's the kind of stuff you hear in teenage romance movies."

"And you don't believe those?" He laughed. "Come on, Y/N. I seem to remember you always had your nose stuck in those romance novels."

My heart sank when he laughed. He looked up at me when I pulled my hands out of his. The look in his eyes changed. "Y/N," he stuttered. "I didn't mean anything. . ."

"Stop before you dig your grave any deeper," I mumbled. I let out a sigh of relief as reinforcements arrived.

"You good, Hangman?" Rooster laughed as he walked over.

"What are you doing here?" Jake asked, his voice still slurring.

"I called him," I said, making him look at me. "Figured you'd need help getting back to base."

I got out of the booth and watched as Rooster pulled Jake to his feet. He wrapped his arm around his waist and started carrying him to the door.

"Thanks, Rooster."

"Anytime, Y/N." He sent me a wink before carrying him outside. I turned around to see Penny smiling softly at me.

"So?" She elongated.

"So, we talked," I shrugged as I walked over to the bar.

"And?"

"Will you stop with that tone?" I sighed. "I'm not sure what's going to happen next. He apologized, and we talked for a little while, but he was too drunk to have a real talk so I had Rooster come get him."

She smiled as she gently patted my arm. "Well, I think it was good for him for you to come. I know it was hard for you, but he needed it."

She walked away, leaving me at the bar with my thoughts.

* * * * *

The next night, I came back to work. Penny didn't bring up Hangman and he didn't come in. Later that night, I took out the trash.

"Need any help?"

I looked up to see Jake standing by the dumpster. "You're back," I said. "Why aren't you inside?"

"Because I wanted to continue our conversation but I wanted to make sure I was sober when I talked to you," he said, walking over to me. He grabbed the garbage bag out of my hand and tossed it into the dumpster without turning away from me.

"Jake," I stuttered.

"I know you don't believe me," he started softly, "but I have been crazy about you since middle school. When we got to high school, I got a different reputation. I was on the basketball team. I was the captain. People made it seem like I was this big important guy on campus. Then I'd see you, studying in the library, and I'd feel like an idiot. I hated it."

"You hated being popular?"

"Of course," he said like it should've been obvious.

"Why?"

"Because you weren't in that group," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. It was then that I realized how close we were to each other. "I had a stereotype," he whispered. "And you, luckily, didn't fit into it. You were too good for that group. You were too good for me. You still are."

"Jake. . ."

He delicately pressed his lips to mine. My mind raced as I slowly started to kiss him back. When we needed air, Jake slowly broke the kiss. He leaned back with a playful smirk on his face.

"That was just how I imagined," he whispered.

"What do you mean?" I asked, just as softly.

"Kissing you," he shrugged. "It was just as perfect as I imagined."

"Have you always been this cheesy?" I laughed as I teasingly pushed him away from me. He chuckled as he instantly rewrapped his arms around me.

"Always," he whispered before kissing me again.

"Jake," I whispered, breaking the kiss.

"What's wrong, gorgeous?"

"What is this?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"What do you mean?" He asked, studying my face.

"This," I said, pointing between us. "We haven't seen each other or spoken to each other in almost ten years. And now?"

"Now, I finally take you on the date I should've taken you on back in high school."

Part 2

[emmyrosee]

YALL BASED ON THIS VIDEO HERE IM SCREAMING-

-

It’s been hours since you’ve smiled at Rintaro.

Not since this morning when you left. He was home today, all day, left to watch your three year old, and be home to see your nine year old. You’d kissed the side of his nose, reminded him of some chores, and everything was fine for you to go out and do your own set of errands.

But to come home to a trash bag sitting outside of the door and not in the barrel that got emptied today?

Oh. Screw smiling.

There may have been a small argument that broke out once you told him, about how he assumed you’d take the trash out since you were leaving the house- of which you snapped that it’s not your responsibility to automatically take out the trash when you leave.

Your son, Akito, was only left to watch the chaos, setting up the console he and his father were about to play on.

“I forgot, okay!” He snaps, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take it out later, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” You yell back. “The trash was already taken! It’s worthless at this point to do it!”

He looks like he’s about to say something back, but you see him bite his tongue. “Good choice,” you snarl. Leaving him and Akito, you make your way upstairs and into your bedroom where you get changed into something that doesn’t emit outside-world feeling. You take a quick shower, wash your face, and when you step out still angry, you’re quick to make a new game plan.

Once you’re done with your small dose of self care, you stomp into the kitchen for something to eat, hoping that it’ll help curb any further anger coming from you both.

Crackers and cheese, some little slices of fruit which you intend to pair with they jelly you got on your last visit to the city.

You grab the jar and with a deep, frustrated exhale, you grip the cover and try to twist.

When it doesn’t budge, you feel your eye twitch.

You try again, to no avail. You grab the nearest towel in an attempt to get a better grip. No dice.

You sigh, tossing the rag to the side before stalking your way into the living room, grimace etched on your face.

“Can you open this?” You ask, and just as Rintaro pauses the game and tosses his controller aside to reach for the jar, you slip right past him and pass it to Akito, who takes it in his hands to pop open the lid.

With a small grunt he manages to open the lid, passing you the jar with a small smile, “here, ma.”

“Thank you, handsome man,” you hum, blowing him a kiss and blowing a raspberry at Rintaro when you make your way back to the kitchen. There’s a pause of silence, a question you don’t quite catch from your son, and suddenly, you hear your husband jump up from the couch. You smirk. It doesn’t take long before feet quickly pound their way into the kitchen, and a disgruntled Rintaro stands, pouting, in the doorway.

“What. Was that about?”

You shrug softly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” he says, brows furrowed in frustration. “You’re seriously going to use my own creation against me?”

“Your creation?” You scoff in disbelief. “First off, I don’t remember you carrying our two children around for nine damn months. Second of all, our children are not creations. They’re children.”

“Point one,” he begins, quickly walking over to you. “You were hot as fuck carrying around our spawn. Secondly? Last time I checked, our baby machines only worked when together.”

“Feral!” You snap, giving him a grossed out look before turning towards the snacks you’d been making. “Get the hell out of my kitchen, I don’t want you here- HEY!”

Before you can think, Rintaro reaches past you and grabs the jar of jam, quickly raising his arm above his head to get it out of your reach. You would’ve tickled him for it, but the jam was from a small business three cities over. And the fuckhead knew that, and you hate him for it.

“You’re such a pain!” You growl, making a jump for it. You barely come close. Your fingers wrap around his shoulder in an attempt to yank his arm down, but he tightens it up completely to make it immobile. You’re rendered completely helpless to your husbands cruelty.

“Akito!” You call your son in hopes for assistance, snarling up at your husband. Instantly, socked feet slip along the floor, and at the sight of his figure in the doorframe, Rintaro bears his teeth.

“Don’t help your mother, she has to learn a lesson!” He snaps.

You growl back, “don’t listen to your father, you and your sister’s snacks depend on it!” Akito’s green, confused eyes flick back and forth between you both, and if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d think about how absolutely hilarious this is.

Rintaro, in all his 185 cm glory, holding a damned jar of jam above his head, so much so a sliver of his side pokes out from his shirt, and you, crossing your arms childishly after making extreme reaches for the jar.

It’s ridiculous, it’s childish, and it’s perfect for your marriage.

Akito gnaws his lip, “I mean… Ma is the boss, dad-“

“If you scram, I’ll double your allowance this week.”

“Bye mom!”

With the last bit of hope you have, you watch as he skates his way back into the living room, eye twitching in annoyance. “Kaiya wouldn’t betray me like that!”

“She’s three, mom!”

“She’d still help!”

Left to your own pity, you once again make a reach for the jar, only for him to reel his arm back a little bit more. “Give me a break, I have snacks to make,” you say, voice pitched in annoyance and defeat.

“Tell me you won’t go to our son for husband jobs.”

“Tell me you’ll take out the trash when I tell you to!”

“I thought you were throwing it out!”

“Why would you not check!”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll check on your waking daughter,” Akito calls annoyed from the living room, the only thing breaking up your argument.

With a deep, exhausted breath, Rintaro slowly lowers his arm, though still keeping a slight distance between you. “Cant we both say we’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong,” you snip.

“I know, but for the sake of waking our three year old up, please just cave with me. Please, baby. I’m-“

He’s cut off by your quick lunge for the jar. He yanks it out of the way, and you’re left chasing it like a dog with a treat. You do, however, hear your husband laugh, but it’s not the laughter of victory from a few moments ago.

It’s laughter of adoration.

“I will leave you.”

“Gotta get the jar first.”

You, once again, for the nth time in a row, make a reach for it, but this time, Rintaro’s free arm quickly wraps around your waist to encase you in a hug, and he leans you back into the most ridiculous dip you’ve ever been apart of. You can’t begin to fight your own laughter that bubbles past your lips, fingers instinctively gripping his collar for stability.

Once your titters are finished ringing in the air, he straightens you both up, relaxing as you thunk your head against his chest. The jar gets put down on the counter, and he kisses the crown of your head sweetly as his arms tug you close.

“You’re annoying,” you purr.

He chuckles, “I know.” He closes his eyes and gently breathes in your scent, “and I’m sorry about the trash my love. Even if I thought you took it out, I really should’ve just. Checked.” Long fingers gently smooth up your neck to gently massage the nape, and he hums as you melt like putty against him.

“Now it’s gonna sit,” you pout. “In the trash outside. And it’s gonna smell. And we’re gonna be the house with smelly ass trash.”

“I know,” he repeats, trying not to laugh at your concerns. “I’ll take care of it princess- and worst case scenario, I’ll write letters apologizing to the neighbors for our rotten trash.”

You snort softly against his collarbone as you continue to nuzzle closer, “I’m sorry I went to Akito to open my jar,” you confess, angling your head up at him. He smirks and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks lovingly.

“You wanna know a secret?” He asks against your lips.

You hum in intrigue.

“I’m pissed because I tightened them all when you were in the shower, so you’d have to talk to me.”

“SERIOUSLY?”

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

Hellows...we needs more star sanses! Requesting for these beautiful skeles in a first meeting with a fem reader, but they kinda bumped and accidentally kissed each other. UwU

pls. take ur time and take care of yourself too 💛

I'm Sorry, got stressed that ink's part didn't get saved and never touched this again- I'M SORRY TRAVELER!!

Featuring: Dream, Blue and Ink.

Masterlist

Blue

"Shit shit shit I'm late!"

You breathe heavily while running as fast as you could, you've woken up an hour later than normal, trying to get to the cafe you work in as fast as possible, this has happened before and your boss was not happy about it. You were barely even awake, since your vision was a bit dizzy from not eating breakfast and rushing, that you didn't even see the skeleton with a blue cape in your way, bumping into him and falling down.

You let out a squeak as you felt his chest hit yours, his teeth against your lips, a short kiss that you quickly broke by moving your body up, facing the monster's empty sockets as a darkish shade of blue spread all over his face.

"I'm so so so so sorry sir!!" H-here, let me help you out.."

As you got up, you extended your hand towards the unknown skeleton, which he grabbed as support to get up, passing his hands on his clothes to try and get some dust off.

"Uuh... Thanks..."

When he looked back, you were no longer standing in front of him, it took him a while to see you in a crowd running inside his favorite cafe..

Dream

Another day, another room to clean... You were taken by Nightmare as a maid, not that you had any better choice since between old guys who'd give you a tight, sexualized uniform plus giving you glares and staring at your private parts and the king of negativity who'd let you live on the palace and give you a good enough payment + an actual proper maid uniform, you didn't have to think twice, did you?

"Huh? What was that noise?"

You turned your head around not seeing anyone, yet the sound of a vase breaking certainly caught your attention, maybe it was killer and dust fighting? No.. they were on a mission.. maybe one of Killer's cats decided to roam the place and broke something? Well, whatever it was, you were the one that needed to clean it anyways.

Your footsteps echoed though the hallway, you signed seeing the broken glass on the floor, quickly grabbing your broom and sweeping it to the trash, yet you almost didn't hear heavy breathing since a figure ended up bumping into you full force, throwing both him and you on the ground, your lips smashing into his for seconds before he lifts himself up.

"Oh gosh, I'm so so so sorry! We need to get you out of this place!"

You look at him with a confused expression as he grabs your hands, lifting you up too.

"Uhh... Sir I work here.."

"What?"

"Dreamy boy come back here!"

Killer's voice was heard from the distance, the unknown skeleton looked back and started running, disappearing on the halls as you see both Killer and Dust run past you with a knife and bones on their hands.

"There isn't a normal day in this godman Castle.."

Ink

It was a beautiful day outside, birds were singing, flowers were blooming, on days like this, humans like you... Were walking home with groceries bags on your hands.

It didn't take long for you to get home, you lived some minutes from the market anyway. You unlock the door with the key, placing the bags down on the kitchen table and begin to unpack, organizing everything in their designed places.

"Fuck I forgot the eggs."

You sign, hitting your forehead with your hand as you turn around, ready to leave, were the eggs necessary now? Not really. Then why did you go to the store again? Because you knew you'd forget about them the next time.

The cashier looks at you confused and holds back a giggle when he sees you carrying the box of eggs on your hands, scanning your card and asking if you want a bag, which you decline, it's just some eggs, they really aren't that heavy, he smiles and wishes you a good day for the second time.

You were getting close to your house, you smiled, thinking about getting back in your pj's and watching cartoons all day, or maybe playing some video games..

Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by a skinny skeleton running against you, bumping into your body making you trip and fall, his teeth ended up pressed against your lips, yet the kiss was broken quickly as he lifted himself off you.

"Heh, not even taking me to dinner first?"

He giggles as you look to your right, seeing the eggs cracked open on the stone ground.

"My eggs!! Fuck now I'll have to go back to the store again..."

You mumbled touching the open box ripped on the ground, you turn your head to look at the man, yet in his place was a note and a 5 dollar bill.

'Sorry there!' was written on the piece of paper, leaving you with five dollars and already a bad start to your morning.

[brodygold]

The Decision Part 2

Part 1 here

Liam sat on the edge of the empty soccer field, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows over the grass. The events of the day played over and over in his mind—the confrontation with Kareem, the cold dismissal, the shunning from the Vanguard. He had given everything to that team, and in a moment, it was all gone.

He thought about the white and green jersey he had worn only yesterday. It no longer represented pride or honor. Now, it was just a painful reminder of what he had lost. With a heavy sigh, Liam put his shoulders on his knees, thinking about the team that had abandoned him.

The sound of footsteps behind him broke through his thoughts. Liam turned to see a familiar face—Brody, the rising star of the Golden Army, walking toward him with a calm, steady stride.

“Liam,” Brody called out, his voice warm, carrying none of the judgment or pity Liam had expected. “Mind if I join you?”

Liam shrugged, too tired to put up a front. “Sure. Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be.”

Brody stopped beside him, looking out over the field. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just standing in silence, watching the last rays of sunlight fade.

“I heard what happened,” Brody said finally. “It’s rough, man. Really rough. But I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to be alone.”

Liam scoffed softly, not turning to meet Brody’s gaze. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I? The Vanguard made sure of that.”

Brody shook his head. “That’s not true. You’ve still got options. We’ve been talking, and the Golden Army—we want you to join us.”

Liam blinked, finally turning to look at Brody, surprise evident in his eyes. “What? Why would you want me? I just got kicked out of the Vanguard like yesterday’s trash.”

Brody smiled slightly. “Everyone makes mistakes, Liam. What matters is how you move forward. You’re a good player—one of the best. And more than that, you deserve a team that has your back, not just when you’re winning, but when things get tough too.”

Liam hesitated, the offer both tempting and terrifying. “You really think I’d fit in with the Golden Army? After everything?”

“Absolutely,” Brody said, without missing a beat. “We’re about more than just rules and discipline. We’re about supporting each other, growing together. And yeah, we push each other to be better, but we don’t abandon our own.”

Liam felt something stir inside him, a flicker of hope he hadn’t felt since he was cast out of the Vanguard. But with it came a fear of the unknown. He had spent so long adhering to the Vanguard’s rigid structure—could he really start over with a new team?

Brody seemed to sense his hesitation. “Look, I know it’s a big change. But I think it’s exactly what you need right now. A fresh start, a new beginning with people who won’t judge you for one mistake. Give it a chance. If you don’t feel like it’s right for you, no hard feelings. But at least try.”

Liam looked back at the field, the place where he had once felt at home, now a source of pain. Slowly, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

Brody’s smile widened, and he reached out, placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Welcome to the Golden Army, then.”

Liam couldn’t help but smile back, a small, tentative smile, but genuine. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“There’s one more thing,” Brody added, reaching into his bag and pulling out a golden jersey. He handed it to Liam, who took it with a sense of reverence. “When you join the Golden Army, you get a new name. A fresh start, like I said.”

Liam looked at the jersey, then back at Brody. “What’s the name?”

Brody’s eyes held a spark of excitement as he answered, “Griffin. It’s a symbol of strength, courage, and loyalty. Qualities we see in you, Liam. From now on, when you’re with us, you’ll be Griffin.”

Griffin. The name resonated with him, filling the empty space that had been growing inside since his departure from the Vanguard. It was more than just a new name; it was a promise of a new beginning, a chance to be part of something greater than himself.

Griffin felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he pulled on the golden jersey. It fit perfectly, like it was meant for him. The uniform changed him slightly too. His hair lightened to a light brown. His pecs grew out slightly with more muscle and his facial hair fell away, revealing a clean shaven face.

He also started looking at Brody in a new light. Before, he was into women, but looking at Brody's plush lips sure made him want to try guys for the first time. Griffin found he didn't mind the feeling at all either.

As they walked off the field together, Brody and Griffin talked about the upcoming season, strategies, the team’s dynamic, and their own dynamic now too. The more they talked, the more Griffin realized that he was no longer just a player who had lost his way. He was now part of something bigger, something that valued him not just for his skills on the field, but for who he was off it. And he had a new boyfriend to thank for everything.

The Vanguard had been his past, but the Golden Army was his future. And with his new name, Griffin knew that the future was bright.

[screamingforests]

Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, thats why i write cod hybrid foster au on company time

_________ More Below ⬇️

The next day isn't any easier, especially for you. Being a sheep hybrid, you were especially shy, and being around giant predator hybrids didn't help with that fact. You were painfully scared, your fight or flight on 24/7.

And the boys didn't know how to help you. You were their first placement, so they weren't as smooth with everything and helping you as they'd like.

In fact, that first morning, you gave Simon a fright. He had knocked on your door and entered, expecting to need to wake you up for breakfast that Kyle was preparing, but didn't see you in your bed.

You had just wandered out, needing to use the bathroom, but it caused a good scare. You were so silent when moving around, and it broke their hearts to see such obvious signs of your past hurts. You had also scared Johnny when coming out of the bathroom because he thought you were in your room.

Breakfast was... tense. You ate slowly, pushing food around on your plate. You mostly watched everyone else eat. John ate slowly as well but tried to encourage you to eat more. He needed to provide for his cubs.

"Eat up, lamb, there's plenty to go around," Price soothed softly, gently pushing your plate closer to you. "You want something to drink? I think we've got juice."

You were quiet for several long moments, chewing on your lip. Johnny so badly wanted to reach over and chide you but he knew it wouldn't be welcome.

"Juice, please?" You finally ask, the first words you've spoken to them. It makes them want to coo and fawn over you.

However, the sheer hesitancy in your tone makes them pause. It was clear you had been through a lot. The foster system had not been kind to you.

But Kyle jumps up to go get your juice. Unbeknownst to you, he dilutes it about halfway with water. Because your anxiety is so high, he doesn't want the excess of sugar making it worse. The cup he sets in front of you is a bright plastic, some cartoon character etched into it. You didn't know who, though.

"Thank you, mister," you mumble gratefully as you take a sip, holding the cup with the utmost carefulness as you take a drink.

"It's no problem, sweet boy," Kyle coos at you, a soft smile on his face. "But you don't need to call me mister, you can call me Kyle, or Ky!"

You watch him with your wide eyes for a moment, digesting the information. Finally, you nod slowly. It would be interesting if you would follow through with that, though.

After breakfast, Simon and Johnny want to take you out on the town. You need more clothes and they want to help you personalize your room a little more. Maybe get you a little suitcase in the very slim off chance you get reassigned. That way, you don't have to carry your belongings in a trash bag, which was always heartbreaking to see.

A large majority of the trip you were carrying around in Simon's arms, it was odd, but it was comfortable. You felt more secure, but not enough to say that wouldn't bolt the first clear chance you got. Passerbys cooed at you, and even some sheep hybrids smiled at your protected form. No place safer than right next to a vicious prefator set on protecting you, no?

By time you all left the shops, you were dozing off and it was barely even noon. Simon just slightly passed you off to Johnny, who chuffed low in his throat to soothe you when you momentarily stirred. Simon then tasked himself with carrying all the bags into the car - they had gotten you a lot of stuff. Johnny just continued to cradle you, like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

And at that moment, you were.

Just a soft little lamb that lit up their worlds more than you knew.

And mayne after your nap, they would establish more of the rules for you and help you settle in more with all your new things.

[thedeathwitchescats]

My collection of tips for people who are just now developing a chronic illness or just now realizing they have one. ((As someone who has only been struggling with mine for a little over a year))

-dont blame yourself for not being able to do what you used to. Your body used to do its job to a better degree than it does now. You are not lazy bc your taking more breaks or bc you cant get out of bed. Your taking care of yourself. I struggle with this all the time. Especially considering my living situation. Shit doesnt get done when I dont do it but I simply cant sometimes.

-that leads me into my next point. Take advantage of your good days, but dont overwork yourself just bc your "not feeling chronically ill." When you have the energy, start the laundry, do the dishes, take out the trash, but still take breaks as needed

-keep a set of your meds literally everywhere. I have a pill box I specifically keep in my car with a weeks worth of my morning meds. I have a three sets of my most important meds in my bag at all times. I have pain meds stashed in every crevasse they could be stashed. Trust me, when your running late and you get half way to work before you realize you havent taken your meds your gonna want to be able to reach into your glove box and take them rq

-buy the mobility aid. You think you need a brace bc a specific joint hurts like hell and wont stay in place?? Get it. You cant walk for long periods of time and think a cane would help?? Get it. You think a shower chair would do you good so you dont pass out with shampoo in your eyes and naked?? Get it. Just get it. Walmart sells canes for under ten bucks and they work really well. They also have extra tips in a two back for 2.50. Dollar tree has braces and like 12 different pain creams. Five below also has some braces and quite a few pain relief options. You can also get them cheap on sites like shein or Amazon and sometimes depop. ((I know I know, dont support those sites but a bitch is broke and two bucks for compression socks is a fucking steal)) You can also sometimes find wheelchairs and canes and crutches at goodwill. It isnt a guarantee but its a good option if you need smt cheap. ((Be careful and check that their not broken before you buy))

-take the pain meds. Put on the pain cream. Ice that joint. You dont get brownie points for toughing it out and it will help your health in the long run. If someone looks at you like your weak for taking smt to help with your pain, their the problem, not you.

-create a good support system. Find the people who will drop their brand new iced coffee to stop you from slamming your head into the ground during a fainting spell. They are out there. Find them and hold onto them for dear fucking life

-try to make the best of what you can do every day. Put on cute earrings. Buy cute compression socks. Get braces that fit your vibe. Put stickers on your mobility aids. Put pins on your bag. Carry a cute weighted stuffie for when you need some extra comfort. Make the most of what you are capable of doing.

[neon-kazoo]

A Man of His Word

(Context: Civilian has a friend that is well known for never breaking promises. This friend also just so happens to have a secret, and Civilian has figured it out.)

Cw: threat of death, knife violence

Civilian smiled across the kitchen at Friend. He was helping them put their groceries away, transferring things from the floor to the fridge. Plastic rustled as he removed milk from one bag and various cheeses from another.

“Thanks again for helping me carry these. You know how much I hate doing two trips.”

Friend sighed, rolling his head back dramatically as he replied, “I know you just keep me around for my arm muscles.”

Civilian glared at their friend, who was now flexing his biceps, for all of two seconds before a smile broke back out across their face.

“But really, it’s no problem at all.”

Breaking the comfortable silence after the amendment, Friend bunched up an empty bag, throwing it straight at Civilian instead of shoving it into the bag-of-bags looped around the pantry door handle.

Civilian gasped as they batted it away, instinctively going for the closest thing on the island that wasn’t breakable. They clutched the freshly-bought apple in their hand before throwing it mercilessly at their friend. Luckily, Friend caught it with a laugh, keeping the fruit from being bruised.

Civilian joined in with some light giggling of their own as they watched him take a bite with a satisfying crunch before continuing to stock the fridge while they conquered the pantry.

“Hey! That was supposed to be for a pie!” They protested.

“Please,” he started, pulling some scissors from the kitchen drawer and cutting open the plastic rings from a six-pack of soda they had broken into earlier. “I saved it from a terrible fate:” He finished, tossing the bird-safe remains into the trash, “The horrors of your baking.”

Civilian gaped in offense.

“No more birthday cakes for you!”

“The best gift I could ever ask for,” he winked, coming over to throw an arm over Civilian’s shoulders and ruffle their hair.

The normalcy sent off a pang in their chest.

A thoughtful, dependable, goofy guy. It was just so easy to believe.

It was a shame they knew it was a lie.

Friend had started to relay some adventure from earlier in his day, which Civilian tried their best to attend to. In the background, the TV in the living room was playing some stupid sitcom with a shitty laugh track that was definitely being overused. They leaned against the counter, basking in the peace of it all for just another moment.

Before it all went to shit.

Civilian made their move after the pantry was shut and they both headed for the next room.

“Hey,” Civilian checked their nails as they spoke, “I want to talk to you about something, but you have to promise me something first.”

An innocently confused, mildly concerned expression plastered itself over Friend’s face as he stopped short of the couch. Civilian’s stomach twisted at the sight.

“Yeah, of course. Anything.”

Friend crossed their arms and leaned against the pony wall disarmingly.

“You have to hear me out. Give me ten seconds.”

An awkward chuckle.

“What is this about?”

Civilian met their friend’s eyes seriously.

“Just promise me. Ten seconds.”

“Okay… Yeah sure, ten seconds,” he assured, shooting them an uneasy smile.

Civilian took a deep breath.

“I know who you are.”

And just like that, Friend was gone. Instead, there was Villain, pinning Civilian to the floor, holding a blade a hair’s width from their jugular.

Where he had hidden the knife, Civilian had no idea, not that was particularly important right now. Only one thing was.

“You promised!” They squeaked out, hating how helpless they were in that moment, how they were betting their life on there being a kernel of their friend left in the man on top of them now.

Inflectionless, he responded, “Nine. Eight.”

Civilian’s relief was very short lived. Shit, they should have said fifteen.

Trying so very hard to stay still, to keep that sharpened metal away from their carotid, they practically whispered their desperate plea to the stone face above them, “I don’t care. I swear to anything I don’t. You have a plan to take down Hero. In- in three days. I need to help.”

“Two.”

Frantically, they stumbled over their words as they added. “Oh! and um- dead man’s switch.”

Despite themselves, they scrunched their eyes shut as their internal countdown hit zero. When nothing happened, their eyelids fluttered open again to see utterly unchanged features. No reaction at all.

“What,” Villain spoke, in a voice that Civilian no longer recognized, “does that mean?”

“If I live, your identity stays between us. If I die…”

A sharp pain lit up their arm as, presumably, the knife that had been at their neck relocated itself into their flesh. Civilian swore.

“Who,” Villain growled lowly, leaning close to their ear, “The fuck. Do you think you are?.”

“Someone with a will to live?” Civilian choked, no longer scared to take deep, heaving breaths to the side now that there wasn’t a blade directly above their artery.

“Clearly not. People who want to live keep their mouth shut and run far, far away,” he spit.

Their head was wrenched back into a forward-facing position via a hand in their hair.

“How long?” Villain demanded.

Civilian blinked. Right, the switch.

“Fifteen minutes.”

Suddenly, they were being hauled up by the collar, then unceremoniously shoved into the light blue accent wall, conveniently within sight of where their laptop rested closed in the middle of the room.

“Disable it.”

“I can’t. It's automatic, every 8 hours. No off switch.”

Spots arose in their vision as their arm was grabbed in a rather unfortunate location.

“Disable. It.”

“I can’t. I swear.”

“I can get the code one way or another,” Villain warned.

“I know you could.” Involuntary tears dripped down their face as they explained, “There’s nothing to get. The answer changes every time. It’s randomly selected. I don’t know it till I see it.”

“You’re lying,” he accused, and Civilian didn’t have to look to know that they were bleeding somewhere else now with just a swipe of his hand.

“I’m not! Give me the laptop, we’re running out of time.”

Civilain gestured wildly to the oak wood coffee table.

“The only person running out of time here is you.”

With that, Civilian was thrown back to the floor, Villain straddling their horizontal form before they could get their legs underneath them to scramble back. The knife returned, only this time it would not be pressed shallowly, and there would be no more counting, no more promises of time, no more hesitation.

”Look! Hero killed my parents, okay?!” They blurted, a last, desperate attempt at getting through to him before he ended their life.

Maybe there was a shred of Friend left in the villain after all, because Civilian caught the slightest moment of pause in his movements, a blip they might never have noticed having never spent time with the man.

“Please, I would never stop you,” they pleaded, searching for another blip deep inside their former friend’s eyes. They came away empty.

They didn’t really know how it happened, but somehow they ended up perched on the couch, laptop open and propped on shaking legs. Villain breathed down their neck every second, watching them like a starved hawk.

They were lucky they could even punch the code in with the amount of nervous movement in their fingers and hands.

“That’s it. We’re good for another eight hours,” they confirmed, slowly closing the lid of their laptop and sliding it back onto the table next to the coaster. “Guess we’re partners now,” Civilian laughed weakly.

“No,” Villain dissented, in a tone that left no room for argument. “You’re a temporarily-alive prisoner.”

He appeared in front of them, pulling them up and off the couch with an alarmingly harsh grip.

“Don’t forget it.”

Part two: A Face With Two Hands

[taniahylian]

Sonetto: The most voilent character in the suitcase

No, this isn't a joke... well, it kinda is? But I also have proof that Sonetto is very violent and impulsive, despite also being the by-the-book righteous girl we know her to be.

First of all, in the epilogue, Sonetto and Regulus fight, and then Regulus falls to the ground, clutching her arm and saying it's broken. Now, we know she was just pretending, but Sonetto didn't know that, and what was her response?

I mean... if your enemy is already on the ground, and seemingly injured, why ask her to fight you again??? Wtf Sonetto. Good thing Vertin had her own agenda and prevented further confrontation.

Then, in ch1, Sonetto and Sotheby are lost in the underground Laberynth of the Walden and then finally see a stage behind a brick wall. Sotheby even remarks it looks like there's a party outside. Sonetto's immediate response? She wants to blast the freaking wall.

Again, she has to be stopped, this time by Sotheby, who reminds her that an explosion could hurt ppl and they shouldn't act so impulsively. Starting to see a pattern here?

Then, after Forget me Not delivers the "good news" and the gang escapes through the Laberynth, they run into another pair of Italians.

Schneider is carrying Marian on her back and comforting her, not to mention that the two girls look very alike. Yet, when Sonetto sees this sight, she accuses her of being the one who had been torturing Marian and then, without waiting for an explanation, immediately attacks rather violently (the game even points it out).

Granted, there are also instances where this violent side of Sonetto comes in handy, like all the times she fights the manus, but especially when she's told Vertin joined the enemy and Schneider died, and she responds by seeking vengace through combat.

Schneider even remarks that Sonetto was rather fierce during the fight.

BUT we're not done yet with Sonetto's impulsiveness! In ch3 someone is following her around at the rehabilitation center and, after unsuccessfully trying to lose them, she grabs a trash bag and puts it on their head.

Now, imo this was very reasonable and smart, since she didn't know who was following her. What was a bit more problematic however, is that she then proceeded to beat this individual, whose identity was still unknown to her btw, despite the fact that Matilda didn't attack her and was just trying to escape.

And finally... the one impulsive act that almost cost Sonetto her own life:

She broke the vow of silence and attacked Arcana in the hall of truth despite the oath she made and the fact that Arcana didn't even try to get close to them; we just see her clapping and then putting a finger to her lips to indicate silence, yet Sonetto immediately casted a spell.

Now, I don't want to be too hard on her, I know this is what she was taught to do all her life, plus it's her nature as a protective doggo to act this way, but I do think it's something she should work on.

Plus, it's kinda hilarious that a character whose signature phrase is "may the peace be with us" is anything but peaceful, don't you think? XD

[suuuupernovaaa]

Taxi Cab

Hobie Brown x f!Reader

She would never hurt anyone. He would hurt anyone for her.

Before Hobie, nothing very eventful ever happened in my life. I grew up in a happy home, went to a good school, and decided to become an art teacher. I got good grades, I made life long friendships with people similar to me, and I kept my head down and minded my business.

Though it's been nearly half a year since he came rocketing into my life, I still can't put my finger what exactly drew Hobie to me. We don't have a lot in common. Where I am passive, Hobie is active and fierce. Where I am lenient, Hobie is harsh. Until Hobie, I had never listened to punk music, considered anarchy, or pierced a single thing on my body.

Well, I still haven't done the last one. Besides my ears. Needles are too much for me. Sometimes I get nervous that the spikes on Hobie's wardrobe are going to stick me.

Hobie is a force. He's dangerous, he's passionate, he's larger than life. Being near Hobie is addictive. He has a gravity around him that draws people in, but it tends to spit them out at much the same rate.

For some reason, I've been able to hang on. Sometimes it feels like clinging for dear life, until he reminds me how much he cares.

Even though he can do that in odd ways.

Like tonight.

Ever since I met Hobie, trouble seems to follow me around. I've been mugged twice, had my tires slashed, and even had to move because someone broke into my apartment and trashed the place.

My parents are becoming increasingly alarmed, only satisfied in the fact that Spider-Punk always seems to be nearby. They don't necessarily approve of Spider-Punk (I mean, most don't), but they do at least appreciate that he seems to be looking out for me.

Which is so weird! Hobie can't figure it out either, but he says Spider-Punk is a narcissistic asshole who only saves people to get attention for himself.

He might just be mad that I said I thought Spider-Punk seemed like he'd be cute, under the mask.

I was hoping my luck had turned around and I wouldn't need to run into Spider-Punk again for a while, but I guess that was just silly optimism. On my way to Hobie's with two large bags of groceries in hand, I'm stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk when a taxi cab crashes directly into a fire hydrant.

The fire hydrant lets loose a typhoon of water in my direction, and I scramble to the right to get out of the water, but it's too late. I'm soaked.

"Oi!" I hear the unmistakable sound of Hobie yelling. He was heading my direction after I told him the bags were getting heavy, and arrived just in time to witness the crash. He wrenches open the door of the car and pulls out the taxi driver. He seems unharmed, a little shaken up, with heavy bags under his eyes and a wobble in his step.

Drunk or high.

"You could've killed someone!" Hobie is shouting, looking over at me and then back at the driver. "I ought to kick your fucking arse." He pushes the man against the side of his cab as the water continues to spray. I drop the groceries, mostly ruined now, and approach Hobie.

The man is muttering something under his breath, and as I reach them, I can smell the liquor coming through his pores.

I grab Hobie's arm. "I'm okay. Come on."

"No, I saw it, he nearly killed you, Y/N. Just a few feet over, you'd be gone. Then I'd have to fuckin' kill him!" Hobie slams him against his car one more time, and I pull on his arm harder.

"But he didn't. The cops are on their way. Let's go. I need help carrying the groceries, and it's too cold for me to be all wet."

Hobie looks at me finally, really looks at me, and then with one more burning glance at the inebriated taxi driver, gruffly releases his collar and turns to me.

Effortlessly, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal-style, and I gasp. He strides with ease over to our drowned groceries, and bends down, picking them up in his hands.

"Jesus, have you been working out?" I ask.

His face is too tense for a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch. Despite my protests, he carries me into his building and up three flights of stairs, only setting me down once we are safe inside the walls of his apartment.

Without me asking, he goes into his room and brings out a pair of leggings I've left here before, and one of his t-shirts. I change in the bathroom, drying my hair as best I can with a towel, before going back to the kitchen to see what can be salvaged of the groceries.

"I think I can still do something with this! The bread is gone but, homemade bread crumbs aren't like, necessary. They're just fancy." I turn to see Hobie leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, still scowling. "Uh, or I can go to the store, if the homemade bread crumbs were like, important."

I let out a yelp of surprise when Hobie pushes himself off the counter and strides towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me to him for a rough, passionate kiss.

In moments, I meld into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as his fingers find their way into my hair, and his tongue enters my mouth.

This kiss feels different. Urgent, feverish, desperate. He holds me tightly, pressing me so close to him it feels like he wants us to be one person, like he would climb right into my skin.

I pull away for just a moment, gasping for breath. "Are you okay?" I say on an exhale.

Hobie stares down at me intensely, his hands still in my hair, his eyes wild and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he says flatly. "There's no limit to what I'd do."

I bring my hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, nodding. "I know, Hobie."

"I would have killed that man if you hadn't stopped me."

I know he's exaggerating to make a point, but a chill runs up my spine a the way he says it so calmly, with no hint of irony. I remember his chest heaving, the wild look in his eyes as he held that drunk man up against his own car.

He looked out for blood.

"I'm okay, Hobie. So are you."

"Move in with me. You hate that new place. Stay here."

We've only known each other six months. We're barely adults. I make no money as a new teacher and I honestly haven't figured out how Hobie seems to make so much money off the gigs he plays. It's too soon to move in together. It's not smart.

But I love him. And he loves me. We haven't said it yet, but I don't know that we need to. I can see it in his eyes, feel it while he holds me, taste it on his lips.

He loves me.

"Okay."

"Today. Like, we can get your stuff later, but don't sleep there anymore. Stay with me."

I nod and lean forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. His hands finally leave my hair, and wrap tightly around my shoulders. I listen to his heartbeat - rapid at first, but as we stand there, silently clinging to each other, it begins to slow down.

He's pressing soft kisses to the top of my head, humming quietly, and I've never felt more in love.

I've never felt more cared for, more loved in return, more safe.

Six months or sixty years. I don't think it matters.

[halevetica]

Pushing Up Daisies

*AN* So there are two sides to this fic. One perspective and then the other perspective. It's a sort of mirror fic. So don't be confused when you see the other half further down. I promise it's worth reading both!

This is for the Sterek week day 2 prompts Love is murder/Domestic bliss.

(Love is Murder)

A distant thump snapped Derek's eyes open. The darkness of sleep faded into a muted gray room, the bare walls came into focus. The sun was still hiding behind the horizon. What time was it? Had he dreamt the sound? Another thump had him sitting up, his eyes scanning the mostly empty room. There was nothing but the dresser and a pile of still unpacked boxes stacked by the closet door. Had the sound come from downstairs? No. He was being paranoid. They'd barely owned the house for a week, nobody was out to get him. Yet.

Derek's eyes fell to the still-sleeping figure beside him. Soft snores escaped Stiles' full lips, his hair tousled by his pillow. He was beautiful, even like this.

Thump

That was definitely coming from downstairs. Throwing back the covers, his bare feet hit the cool wood floors.

He silently slipped on the jogging outfit he'd laid out on the top of a box labeled 'Stiles' PJs' the night before.

It was probably raccoons getting in the trash. The non-existent trash. Because they'd not even filled a single trash bag because they'd only been sleeping here for three days. He took in a breath and let it out slowly. He was being paranoid. Not everything was scary and dramatic. He had removed himself from that life. Chose not to go down that path. He chose a normal life. A quiet life. With Stiles.

Derek reached the bottom of the steps and froze. A shadow passed across the back door. Too large to be a raccoon.

Maybe it was a bear. Their property backed up to woods. It wasn't impossible. Despite his mind trying desperately to rationalize it, Derek couldn't push the fear away. What if it was hunters? What if they caught wind of him?

With a gentle click, he unlocked the back door. His heart hammering in his chest. Every muscle in his body froze as a cool breeze wafted over him, carrying with it the scent of a wolf. All apprehension melted from Derek's mind. This was no raccoon or bear, this was a threat. In his home. In his and Stiles' home.

Instinct flooded his veins. Fangs extended into his bottom lip. His fingernails lengthened into sharp claws. He would not let his old life threaten Stiles. They were happy and nothing was going to jeopardize that.

He followed the scent around the side of the house, where a figure was yanking on a closed window.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. The intruder paused, turning to face him.

Derek lunged.

A tangle of teeth and claws. This werewolf was no alpha, but he was strong. But Derek was stronger. He hooked an arm around the man's front. A sharp pain tore across Derek's forearm forcing him to release the intruder. The wolf took advantage of his freedom and bolted across the backyard. Derek gave chase. Close on his heels, he followed him to the dilapidated building at the back of their yard. With another lunge, Derek plowed into the man's back, sending them both rolling through the floor of fallen leaves.

The werewolf jumped to his feet and leapt at him. Derek grabbed an old nearby shovel that was propped against the paint-peeled wall of the shed. He swung, slamming the rusted spade into the side of the wolf's head.

A soft ping rang out into the early morning. The wolf's body hit the ground with a soft thump along with the shovel head, which was now no longer attached to the handle still in Derek's hand.

He panted, his breath fogging in short bursts. The wolf lay unmoving. His head cocked at an odd angle. The threat was gone. But now he had a body to deal with. The wound on his arm was already healing, but his blood had started to dry on his skin. He lifted the handle of the broken shovel. He couldn't bury the body with that.

Letting out a cloudy sigh, he tossed the broken handle aside. The sun peered through the treeline as it rose from its slumber. Birds greeted it in song. He had an hour or two max before Stiles would be awake.

He dragged the body around the back of the shed, out of sight. He'd have to make a run to town and get a new shovel. Following his footsteps back the way he came, a trail of his blood painted the fallen leaves. It lead to the side of the house, where a spattering of red decorated the side. He'd grab a rake too. He wiped at the blood and groaned when it smeared across the off-white, wood planks. And some paint.

Derek scanned for any other sounds or movement before heading inside to grab his keys. He paused in the kitchen. He'd wanted to finally have a real meal with Stiles. One that didn't involve cold cuts and drinks from a can. He was going to make Stiles breakfast. He'd have to settle on coffee. It was the first thing to get unpacked. He snatched a pack of sticky notes from a box labeled 'office' that hadn't made it into the other room yet.

He stared at the pad of paper. He felt bad lying to Stiles. But it was for his safety. Knowing about this world was dangerous. He scribbled a short note and turned the coffee maker on.

He turned on the sink and scrubbed away the dirt and blood from his arm. He made a list in his head of things he would need. A shovel, a rake, paint, a paintbrush, a sponge, a bucket. And peroxide. It was good for getting blood out.

He listened for any movement from upstairs. Nothing. He glanced back at the gurgling coffee maker where the note was stuck. He buried the guilt before heading out.

-

Derek pushed his cart full of supplies to the checkout. He scanned each item, mentally checking them off. Shovel, rake, paint, paintbrush—

"Derek!"

His head snapped up, his eyes meeting his husband's. His heart skipped. "Stiles...hey, what are you doing here?" he stepped around the cart, hoping to hide the basket of supplies to avoid any questions.

"Oh you know wanted to fill up the house, get some groceries for my husband. Even though he did leave me in an empty bed. There's a monster in our house that eats peanut butter-like breathing."

Derek's heart dropped. "A monster in our..." he shook his head. "Oh right." He gave a nervous laugh. Paranoid much? He thought to himself. There was no monster, Stiles was just being funny. "Sorry about that. I just wanted to get an early start. I made sure the coffee was ready though."

He stepped forward, pressing a kiss to Stiles' full lips.

"Yeah, thank you, that was really nice honey bun," Stiles said, holding his hands up in a finger guns motion.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly. They caught on a large glass candle. He plucked it from the pile of groceries in Stiles' cart. He sneered at the name. 'Sweet vanilla chai kisses'. "Really?" he shook his head, setting it back down.

"Hey, say what you want, white girls got nothing on my fall game. I got the healthy cardboard cereal you pretend to enjoy as a compromise." Stiles winked.

An affectionate smile tugged at Derek's lips. "You take such good care of me." He brushed a thumb gently along Stiles' chin. It was true, and Derek was thankful for Stiles every day.

"I'm great at this marriage thing. Hey, what are you doing here?" He glanced around Derek and into his cart. "Did you sign us up for a HGTV show I don't know about? A rake and paint? What happened to you by the way? I thought I was the one with godlike grace and agility."

Derek slid a hand into the cart, pushing the large sponge to cover the peroxide bottle, that one would be harder to explain. "I was just trying to fix up that old building for you, I know you were excited about it. And the yard could use some TLC." Derek shoved the guilt aside once again. He hated lying to Stiles, but how would he tell him he had a dead werewolf in the backyard?

Stiles moved forward, bumping the cart gently into Derek's hip. "Look at you, not so bad at this yourself, handsome. I will fight you for the Husband of the Year title, though. I was thinking of making butternut squash soup and salad for lunch, how does that sound?"

"A home-cooked meal? You win automatically. I'm headed out actually, so I'll see you at home?" Derek wanted to get rid of the body before Stiles got there.

"Okay, yeah. Before you head out, you need me to get anything for you from the store?" Stiles teased with a laugh.

Derek's eyes softened. He was so smitten. Stiles could ask him to murder everyone in the store and Derek wouldn't hesitate. "Maybe a less poisonous candle? Or are you gunning for my life insurance already?" he smirked, leaning forward to press a kiss to Stiles' forehead. "Be safe."

"You have unscented ones. And I don't need money nearly as much as I need someone to make me coffee in the morning," Stiles called over his shoulder as he turned to continue his shopping.

Derek pushed his own cart toward the counter to check out. "Oh, maybe some of that creamer with the picture of the dog dressed as a pumpkin. You know the one." Of course Stiles knew the one. Stiles knew everything about him. A nauseating tug at his stomach reminded him that he didn't know everything.

-

Hoisting the rake over one shoulder and the shovel over the other, Derek made his way toward the back of the building. He hoped the body hadn't magically disappeared in the time it took to fetch a proper shovel. He didn't know if someone would come looking for him. He didn't know anything about this guy. Why was he trying to break in? What was he after? Who sent him? These would have been good questions to ask, but Derek's mind was on one track that morning. Eliminate the threat. Now the threat was eliminated but he had no clue if more would be coming.

Stepping around the building, the body was still where he'd left it. He patted the body down, searching for some clue as to who this man was and what he wanted. There was nothing. With a grunt, Derek grabbed the ankles and drug him into the woods. The last thing he needed was a dead body buried directly on his property. His father-in-law was the sheriff after all.

It took far longer than Derek thought it would to dig the hole. He chucked the body into it and wiped at the gathering sweat on his brow. Despite the crisp autumn air, he was now drenched.

He shoveled the dirt over the body as the soft hum of Stiles' voice reached his ears. He smiled to himself. He must be cooking. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of lunch. He hadn't eaten yet. But he still had work to do. There was blood staining the side of the house. He'd need to clean that before Stiles noticed.

Swiping underbrush over the freshly turned ground, Derek listened to Stiles' humming. He followed the sound back toward the house and gathered the other supplies.

The sponge sloshed peroxide and water onto the side of the house. It only managed to smear the stain further. He would need direct peroxide. He poured it onto the sponge and scrubbed. Most of the blood wiped away but the once off-white paint was still tinted pink.

Painting over the stain was easy enough and didn't take nearly as long as burying a body. The last thing he needed to do was rake up the blood-soaked leaves.

He drug the rake over the ground, catching something black in the teeth. It was a wallet. He opened it to see his earlier attacker's face. 'Ansel Williams'. Well, now he had a name. Though not much else. Glancing up he saw Stiles in the window. He quickly dropped the wallet and drug a pile of leaves over it. He gave an awkward wave. Stiles waved back with a smile. Derek glanced down at the bloody leaves at his feet. He should throw the wallet away, but what if someone came looking for him? What if Sheriff Stilinski came by?

Derek ran a hand through his hair. He was being paranoid again. The Sheriff would have no reason to come here looking for Ansel. Raking the wallet into his pile of leaves he decided to just bury the wallet in the woods near the body. Nobody shy of a lucky coyote would find it there. He finished raking the leaves and hiding the wallet just in time to hear a voice from the house. Not a voice he recognized. Listening closely, his stomach dropped.

"You must be Stiles."

"Hi, and who are you? Do you know my husband? Do I know you?"

Derek dropped the paint can he was putting away and sprinted toward the house.

"No, not yet. But I'm hoping to be good friends with you," The man's voice said. Was that an underlying threat?

He shoved open the back door a little too hard. It knocked into a pile of unpacked boxes before slamming shut.

"You and your husband. Of course. I just wanted to meet the new neighbors."

Derek came up behind Stiles just as he responded. "Oh, do you live nearby?"

A lupine scent hit his nose, making his hackles rise.

Stepping in front of Stiles, Derek narrowed his eyes. "This is private property, what do you want?"

The man's dark brown eyes went wide. His nostrils flared. "Uh, sorry, I was just..." he took a couple steps back, his foot faltering on the top step. "It was nice meeting you."

Stiles thrust a hand out in greeting. "Oh, don't go. No, I'm sorry. This caveman with no manners is my husband." Stiles shot him a sharp glare. "Please don't mind him. We'd love to have your company. I just finished making lunch."

Derek snapped his head toward Stiles. He didn't know who this person was. He was inviting a threat in to eat with them. "I'm sure he can't stay." It was lousy as far as excuses went, but he didn't know how else to get rid of him without Stiles fussing at him for his lack of manners.

The man shook his head. "Oh, no, I—"

Stiles grabbed Derek's arm, giving it a hard squeeze. "I insist." Derek knew what that meant. He was gonna get fussed at for his lack of manners anyway.

An awkward silence hung in the air. How did he get rid of this man without telling Stiles that he was dangerous?

"Come in. What was your name?" Stiles stepped back to allow the threat inside. He made a shooing motion at Derek. Clenching his jaw, he obliged. His eyes watched the man's every move. If he was stupid enough to pull something, Derek would be ready.

"Ansel Williams," He answered, eyeing the pair carefully as he stepped inside.

Derek froze. His heart jolted. Shit. This man was looking for the dead wolf in the back.

"But you can call me Andy. I can see that your husband recognizes the name. It's very unique I know. It's odd that you don't th—"

"My name's Derek, nice to see you again." he stuck a hand out, pulling Andy's attention from Stiles. He gave a hard squeeze. "Stiles made soup. I hope you're hungry."

Andy gave him a curious look and smiled. "Famished." He followed Stiles with a newfound confidence.

-

The tension at the table was palpable as Stiles grabbed the plate of rolls and handed them to Andy. "So what kind of special assets does your company acquire?" he asked.

Andy took another roll, dipping it in the remains of his soup. "Well, it depends. Though we really go after the more coveted and unique people."

"Oh, so you're a headhunter?" Stiles sounded interested. It wasn't his fault he didn't know about the threat this man posed, but Derek hated how friendly he was.

Andy swallowed his bite of bread and smirked. "Something like that."

Derek continued to glare. He'd been glaring at this man through all of lunch. Everything out of this man's mouth was a lie. Other than the part about going after coveted and unique people. That was true. But what was it about Derek that was so coveted or unique? Nothing that he knew of. Unless it was because of his bloodline. The name Hale was well known, but to warrant a multi-attack? It didn't make sense.

"What do you guys do?" Andy asked, gesturing between the pair with his half-eaten roll.

"Well, I'm an online web designer so I work from home," Stiles answered.

Derek didn't respond. Why did he want to know what they did?

"And my wonderful husband is a basketball coach at the high school. The kids absolutely love him. He's so good with them. So much better than he is with adults sometimes." Stiles gave him a pointed look, patting his hand sternly. Derek could hear the reprimands that would come later.

"How very domestic." Andy smirked. His eyes were on Derek. He was taunting him. Derek wanted to rip this guy's throat out. But first, he wanted him out of his damn house and away from Stiles.

"It's a very rewarding job," he grumbled, hoping his response would appease Stiles enough.

"He's really very good. He took the kids to state last year. Honey, you should go show him the photo in the garage and your trophies. I have to go get dessert ready anyway." Stiles pushed away from the table. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Derek's temple. "Be nice and make friends," he muttered.

Derek gave a forced smile as Stiles squeezed his shoulder firmly. "Dessert will be just five minutes."

Derek waited for Stiles to leave the dining room before narrowing his eyes and gesturing toward the garage door. "Follow me."

Andy silently did as he was told. Despite his confident posture, he smelled nervous. Good.

Derek shoved Andy through the garage door almost sending him into a pile of unpacked boxes labeled basketball trophies. With a hushed whisper, he demanded, "What do you want?"

Andy whirled, squaring up with a false sense of confidence. "I want to know where Ansel is."

"Not here."

"But he was."

Derek took a menacing step forward. "What. Do. You. Want?"

Andy gave a smug smirk. "Ya know, that husband of yours sure is something."

Derek's arm snapped out and grabbed him by the throat, claws extending into his flesh, making Andy wince. His eyes flared red.

All color drained from Andy's face. "You're an alpha."

Derek's brows furrowed. He didn't know he was an alpha? Then what did he want?

The moment of hesitation was enough for Andy to throw his elbow into the crook of Derek's arm, making his grip falter just enough for him to yank away.

He slammed his hand into the garage door opener.

Derek lunged but Andy was already rolling under the opening door.

"Damn it," he swore. He started after him, but the door to the house opened, halting him in place.

Stiles stood in the doorway, a confused look on his face. "The pie is ready. Where'd Andy go?" He craned his neck as if to spot their guest. "You didn't murder him did you?" he joked.

Derek walked over to him, stepping in his line of sight. He huffed a laugh. "He had to go, wife called," he lied, hoping Stiles believed him.

As he got closer he saw a smudge of red on his lower lip. He reached out, swiping his thumb across it. He licked at the sticky substance and hummed, "Mmm, cherry?"

"Yeah... It is..." Stiles answered, but his tone was hesitant, like he was trying to put the pieces of something together. Something he would never be able to piece together because he was missing vital parts of the puzzle. Once again a twist of guilt wrenched Derek's stomach, churning his lunch.

He reached past Stiles, sending the large garage door rattling back down and forcing Stiles to step back into the house. Giving a sweet smile he gestured inside,"Shall we?"

-

The pile of boxes in the living room was less scary when he needed them as a distraction to avoid the questions from his husband. Stiles was obviously upset about Derek's behavior at lunch, but he didn't have a good answer. What could he say? The man was a werewolf come to kill him? He didn't even know if that was true. Andy had been less than willing to explain what he wanted.

He yanked open a box, digging through cords and surge protectors. How was he supposed to enjoy watching a movie when a threat was looming in the distance? Surely Andy would be back. He hadn't gotten what he wanted. Had he? What if what he wanted was information? Stiles had been more than willing to tell him all about them.

Pushing the box away, he yanked open another one, tearing it in his frustration. He plucked the DVDs, setting them neatly in the new entertainment center he and Stiles had picked out last week. It gave him pause. It was new. The house was new. How had they found him here? They'd barely lived there three days.

Derek replayed the brief conversation he had with Andy in the garage. He had been surprised when he saw Derek's eyes. He hadn't expected him to be an alpha. But that wasn't new. He'd been an alpha for years. Well before he met Stiles.

He could hear the hostile clank of dishes in the sink. It rang through his ears like an alarm. He was in trouble. He needed a lie. One that Stiles would believe.

Derek was knelt in front of the entertainment center, dvd's in either hand when Stiles stormed into the living room. "We're going to talk about how lunch went, and how you know Andy. Also, don't try to make me think it isn't a big deal. You don't normally act like that. And don't you dare try and tell me it's nothing or that you're okay. I know you Derek Hale-Stilinski and that lunch was not you and you shutting me out and not talking to me definitely isn't you..." Stiles sucked in a breath and waited a moment before gesturing to Derek. "Okay, I'm done now you can speak."

Derek sighed, setting the DVD's in his hands on the entertainment center. He pushed to his feet. Lying to Stiles when he was already suspicious wouldn't help matters. So maybe he could just be vague. "I had an unpleasant run-in with his brother." Not technically a lie.

Squinting at Derek, with his hands on his hips, Stiles asked, "How unpleasant? Do I need to go over there with the rest of the pie laced with laxatives, or poison?"

Derek couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. He huffed a laugh, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist to pull him in. "No, I was being an ass. I shouldn't have acted like that. I'm sorry. I promise to behave in the future."

Stiles melted into him and sighed in relief. "I like when you misbehave. I don't like when I feel far from you. Next time just slam the door in his face and tell me why we don't like them now." He nuzzled into Derek's chest.

Closing his eyes in a wince, Derek pushed away the guilt. How easy it was for Stiles to take him at his word. It made his chest clench. "Deal," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I found the DVDs. Pick one while I shower."

-

Derek was tucked under Stiles' arm, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly along his knee. Captain America played on the TV across from them. It was one of Derek's favorite places to be. Curled up with Stiles. He only wished he could fully relax. Despite his comfortable state, his mind was anywhere but the scene on the screen in front of him. His ears were perked like a dog waiting on an intruder. Is that what he was reducing himself to? Stiles' guard dog? That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a quiet life with his husband.

A gentle clunk made his heart leap. Was that upstairs? It couldn't have been the movie. This scene was too calm. Another softer thud had him sitting up suddenly. Stiles gave him a sleepy, confused look.

"We should make popcorn. I think the box with the popcorn maker got put upstairs. I'll grab it. You don't have to pause it." He said giving Stiles' knee a gentle squeeze before standing.

"I was just about to fall asleep, that's perfect. Popcorn will keep me awake. Do you want help?" Stiles offered, though Derek knew it was an empty offer, he always made the popcorn. Stiles got too comfortable and hated moving once the movie was going. Sure enough, he tucked himself further under the sherpa blanket as Derek rounded the couch. His keen hearing honed in on the obvious shuffling upstairs.

"No, I've got it. Keep the couch warm for me," he called over from the bottom of the stairs. Derek's patience for today was waning. He was going to rip apart whoever was stupid enough to break into his house. He hoped it was Andy.

The steps whined under his bare feet as he stalked to the top. His nostrils flared, searching for a foreign scent. He paused when a shadow crossed the floor of his bedroom. His claws extended. He expected the familiar smell of Andy to reach his nose, but it was someone new. Another wolf. A low growl escaped his throat. He was tired of people trying to break into his house. What did they want?

Derek stepped into the room to see a man by his, once locked, bedroom window. He stood tall, with dark hair, and olive skin. His arms were crossed over his chest.

"Took you long enough," The man said. His husky tone was almost bored as he leaned against the wall. He looked too comfortable.

"Let me guess, friend of Ansel?" Derek growled back.

"You know, I was disappointed when he didn't return. He was a good one. I'm guessing he's dead?"

"He wouldn't have been if he hadn't tried to break into my house." Derek glanced at the broken lock of the window.

"Right, about that. It was nothing personal, just business." The man smirked.

Derek's fangs dropped. "Nothing personal?" he scoffed. "What do you want?" he was going to get his answers before he killed this one, and he wasn't letting him get away.

"Well, not you." The man waved a disinterested hand as he pushed off the wall.

Derek's eyes narrowed.

"Surely you didn't think you were of interest? Frankly, I didn't even know he was married, much less to a werewolf."

Derek's blood ran cold. They were after Stiles. Before he could even register what he was doing, he had crossed the room. His eyes bled red as he closed the distance between them.

A brief expression of fear flitted across the man's face before his own eyes flared a dark crimson. So this was the alpha. Derek would be damned if he let anyone hurt Stiles.

Derek's claws dug into soft flesh. The lamp on their dresser shattered into pieces as the alpha's face smashed into it. Derek held his head against the top of the dresser, blood seeping onto the dark wood.

"If you even so much as think about hurting him—" Derek's words were cut off by a pair of claws raking across his gut. He stumbled back. Before he could regain himself, he was being tackled. He and the alpha tumbled into a pile of boxes, crushing them under their weight. Hastily folded clothes and blankets spilled out around them. Derek rolled to his feet and sank his claws into the man's ribcage, who snarled in pain. He was about to go in for a blow to the throat when he heard a cry of anguish from downstairs. Stiles.

Panic spiked through him. No. No. No. No. He should have known this was a distraction. Why else would they break in upstairs? He spun away from the alpha, his only goal now, to get to Stiles. A heavy thump had Derek scrambling down the steps in record timing. He almost didn't want to see what was waiting for him. Stiles' dead body? He couldn't bear it. He hopped the banister, not bothering with the last few steps. He needed to get to him. He landed in the foyer that opened to the living room, his claws and fangs still out on full display.

He barely got three steps forward before Stiles was skidding to a halt in front of him, his eyes wide.

"You're a werewolf?!" he exclaimed.

Relief and dread washed over Derek. Relief because Stiles was alive. Dread because Stiles now saw a side of him that he'd never wanted him to see.

A thud and snarl behind him had him spinning on his heels. There was still a threat. The alpha. He had to protect Stiles. Before he could strike, though, the small table that housed their one and only plant tipped. The vines of the Pothos Lydia had gifted them, whipped out and curled around the alpha's arms and legs. They climbed him, winding around his throat like a choke collar on a Doberman.

Blood poured from his ears and eyes as the vines punctured them. He let out a pained cry. It was choked off by green spilling from his open mouth. His face stretched like an Edvard Munch painting.

Derek took a stumbled step back as if he were afraid the vines would come for him next. The alpha dropped to his knees and crumpled to the floor. The green of the plant drained, leaving darkened vines and shriveled leaves draped over the now-dead alpha.

Derek's claws and fangs retracted as he spun back to Stiles, whose eyes faded from a vibrant glowing green. His hand was outstretched like Darth Vader. He lowered it, a panicked look on his face.

Derek blinked at his husband. His magical husband. "You have Magic?!" how had he not known? Before he could press further, his eyes fell to the spreading stain on Stiles' shredded blue shirt. The sharp smell of copper hit his nose. His stomach sank.

"You're hurt." He reached out, desperate to see how bad the injury was. But the look on Stiles' face made him unsure. God how he hated being unsure with Stiles. Was he afraid of him? Disgusted by him? He paused his outstretched hand.

Stiles looked down at himself as if inspecting the wound. "I'll be fine, really. It's actually helpful that you're a werewolf," he gave a weak laugh. His expression remained unsure, his eyes almost timid. "Can I touch you?"

Derek's heart cracked. Stiles never hesitated to reach out. Were things really so different now? Did this change how he felt about him? Fear crushed him. He wasn't ready to lose Stiles.

"Please," he whispered desperately. He needed to feel his husband.

Stiles gave a small smile, his eyes filling with tears. Despite the permission, he still acted as though he were afraid of Derek, slowly extending his hands and gently clasping his forearms.

"This shouldn't hurt at all. I'm just borrowing your ability to heal."

Derek didn't care if it killed him so long as Stiles was okay. Relief wafted from Stiles as golden light climbed through Derek's arms and to Stiles'.

"Take what you need." His eyes glanced passed Stiles toward the living room, where Stiles had been coming from before. What had happened? Someone had hurt Stiles. The scent of Ozone painted the air.

Stiles' grip on his arms loosened. Derek pushed past him, his eyes scanning for the other threat. "Who hurt you?" There was no evidence that anything had happened at all. Did they run away? Were they hiding? Waiting to pounce again?

He followed the scent into the living room. Stiles blew past him and yanked the blanket from the couch to cover a body. But it was too late. Derek saw the body lying three or four feet from the kitchen door. There was no way to tell who this figure was by the way the body was shriveled and fried. It resembled the plant that lay dead in their foyer. But the smell in the air gave away his identity. Andy.

Derek gaped at the blanket. He knew what magic could do, but this was beyond anything he'd ever seen. "You did this?" he asked, almost not believing that his sweet, adorable, spastic, husband was capable of such power.

"I-I um, yeah," Stiles answered sheepishly. "He came up behind me and I-I just reacted." He chewed on his bottom lip. "I had to get to you."

Pride swelled in Derek. His eyes didn't leave the blanket-covered body. "Oh. Wow," he breathed. Stiles was incredible. He'd always known it but this... this was unbelievable.

"I'm sorry." Stiles' quiet tone made Derek whirl around to where Stiles had retreated toward the door. His arms crossed over his chest in an anxious, protective manner.

"No, don't apologize. I just... all day I've been trying to keep you safe but... you never needed me." It was a painful realization just as much as it was a proud one.

A tear slipped from Stiles' eyes. "I always need you."

The sight of tears erased any reservation Derek had about touching Stiles. He crossed the room and wrapped him in a hug. Relief flooded him when Stiles didn't shy away, but instead nuzzled into him. He didn't think he could handle if he was afraid of him. It felt so good to hold him.

"I think we have a lot to talk about," he said.

"Just give me a moment. I just need to hold you to know you're okay. I thought—" The words caught in his throat. "I thought they'd kill you because of me."

Had Stiles known them? He pet the top of his head, hoping to comfort him. "Who were they?"

Stiles shrugged into the hug. "I don't know. From what Andy said it seemed like they wanted me for my magic."

"How long have you..." Derek pulled back to meet Stiles' eyes. Surely this wasn't a new thing. He was too powerful for it to be new.

"Been a glowy, magical, young, hot, Gandalf?" he teased. "Technically since birth, but I didn't get any of the cool magic till after my mom died."

"So the whole time." Derek nodded and huffed a laugh.

"How long have you been... craving Scooby snacks?"

Derek gave an affectionate eye roll. "Also since birth."

"So the whole time," Stiles laughed.

How much stress and guilt could have been avoided if they'd just been honest from the beginning?

"Damn, I missed an opportunity to give you a squeaky toy as a wedding gift." Stiles teased again. "So you're an alpha? Where's your pack?" he asked.

Derek's eyes softened. He pinched Stiles' chin gently between his thumb and index finger. "Right here."

Stiles reached up, swiping a thumb at the corner of Derek's mouth. "I doubt this would taste like cherry." There was a smear of blood. He wiped it on his already-stained shirt.

Derek smiled and surged forward. Their lips crashed together. Not ten minutes ago, he feared he'd never get to experience this feeling again.

When they pulled back, they pressed their foreheads together. Derek breathed in Stiles' scent. It was a comforting one. One that now that he knew, was layered with a certain arcane spice. How had he not noticed before? Perhaps, it was true what they said, ignorance was bliss.

The space between them doubled as Stiles pulled back. His eyes searched Derek's. "But no really, where's your pack? You can't be an alpha with just one puny human that didn't even know you were a werewolf."

Derek tried not to wince. He had wondered when Stiles would press about his werewolf status. It was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to. "My alpha status wasn't planned. Wrong place, wrong time. I never wanted this." He gestured to the dead body under the blanket. They would not be putting that back on the couch. Too bad, it was a nice blanket.

"How long have you been an alpha?" Stiles' tone shifted from curious to mocking. "Since birth?"

Derek huffed a laugh. "Five or so years. I haven't really kept up with it. I never took a pack." He'd considered it briefly. But the idea of not being part of his mother's pack had been too hard. He'd rejected the idea completely. It felt too much like a betrayal. A desperate attempt to save a young girl had turned into a police investigation and red eyes in the mirror.

Stiles' brows pinched into a sympathetic frown. He placed a hand on Derek's chest, like he was trying to guard his heart. "Derek that- that's awful. Being an alpha without a pack is a terrible way to live. You have nothing to draw from, nothing to hold you down. It would be like if I didn't have my magic. Pack is a part of being a werewolf as much as magic is a part of who I am."

Derek sighed. He had never imagined having this conversation with Stiles. He had hoped to never have to. But it seemed like this was the trajectory of his life. His mother had warned him that he couldn't escape it. He had thought he proved her wrong.

"Becoming an alpha was... the worst thing that could happen to me. It took me from my family. They were my pack. I never wanted another one. But a pack can't have two alphas. It disrupts the balance." He stared into Stiles' honey-colored eyes. "Then I met you. And I knew I'd never need anyone else."

"You're all I need too, but Derek I don't want you to deny a part of who you are to be with me."

Derek would deny any part of him if it let him be with Stiles. But he knew well enough not to say as much. Instead, he asked. "What about you? Where's your coven? Am I gonna find a broomstick in one of these boxes?" he gave a teasing smirk.

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "Do you think I'm a witch?!" he stepped back like Derek had struck him.

"Well, I don't know what you are." He gestured to the covered body again. "You're something."

"If you ever call me a witch again, I'm buying you a doghouse for out back. I'm a druid."

Those words struck Derek like a knife to the heart. A druid? No. He couldn't be. The room shifted around him. Or maybe it was just his entire life. His balance faltered, forcing him to take a stumbled step back. "Do-do you have an alpha?" Surely not. He would have smelled him. Unless he used his magic to hide him. The thought of smelling another alpha on Stiles was almost enough to make his wolf surface.

"Why would I? I already have one lug trying to tell me what to do." Stiles' tone was still light, teasing. But Derek's stomach was in knots as he listened for a lie. An emissary protected their alpha with their life. Stiles would be fully in his right to keep it from Derek. But he hoped he wouldn't. He hoped there was more respect and trust between them.

"You're an emissary though." His eyes continued to search Stiles' expression for any clue. If he had an alpha that would be almost as bad as finding out he had another husband.

Stiles squinted at him. A tell tale sign that he was being an idiot. "I'm a druid... I didn't specifically say I was an emissary. Derek, do you think all druids are emissaries? Because that's racist. I'm offended." He sneered in mock offense.

Derek blinked. "All the druids I've ever met are emissaries." Maybe Stiles didn't have an alpha after all. "Only alphas really deal with them. Why aren't you an emissary?" he tried to keep the hopefulness out of his tone.

"Because it's rare for a druid not born into or raised alongside a pack to become an emissary. To be an emissary is to be trusted with the pack's lives at the highest level, most of the time equal to an alpha. It's a huge responsibility, but an even bigger trust is needed. My mom left her pack back in Poland when she came here. I know it was something that she missed and always wanted for me, but I knew it would be too difficult to find."

The worry and fear drained from Derek. There was no one else. He almost felt guilty for being relieved. Poor Stiles had never known the love and safety of a pack. The alpha in him wanted to give that to Stiles more than anything. A sinking feeling dug into the pit of his stomach. "I hope I didn't keep you from finding that. You're incredibly strong. You'd make an amazing emissary."

"I gave all of that up when I met you. I had an opportunity out in New York. I almost left with a friend I had helped. He's a dryad and they had just lost their druid emissary. I realized what I had with you made me happier than that ever would. Sometimes I do miss it. Magic will always be a part of me." Stiles glanced down at his left hand and blue swirls of magic twisted between his fingers like a magician rolling a coin. "But Derek, don't think for one second that I'm missing out on what's meant for me."

"That's why he wanted you." Derek looked over at the dead alpha still in their hall. "You know, if you-if you wanted to be an emissary..." he trailed off. It was a scary thing to even consider, but he'd do anything for Stiles, even embracing this life. He stepped in, closing some of the distance between them, and threaded their fingers together. It was like sticking his hand into a frozen lake. Ice cold to the point it was almost painful. Almost. The blue swirled around their hands for just a moment before dispersing.

Stiles laughed. "Oh man, two seconds ago you thought all druids were emissaries. Absolutely not." Stiles squeezed his fingers.

Derek tried not to wince. It was hard not to take that rejection hard. But he understood. It wasn't something you did on a whim.

"I won't say yes to that until you fully know what it means. If you get sick of me you can't just divorce an emissary. Parting from an emissary is like ripping half of your soul away."

Derek fought to not scoff at Stiles' words. "I'd never get sick of you. Parting from you would already be like having half of my soul ripped away."

"Well, it's good you're stuck with me then." Stiles let go of Derek's right hand and threaded their left hands together before leaning in and pressing a kiss to where their wedding rings touched. "We can work towards it, but I have a feeling your emissary didn't tell you as much as they told your alp- Oh my god, Derek! Oh my god!" Stiles slapped at Derek's chest like he just realized something major. "Your mom is an alpha isn't she?!"

Derek was still reeling from his emotional whiplash of being rejected, before being told they'd work towards it to now being assaulted with questions about his mom. "Yes?" he frowned.

"Oh my god! At Christmas? At Christmas, they were all wolves?! How did I not know? This is insane! Your mom makes such a good green bean casserole and she's an alpha!"

Derek couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in him. God, Stiles was so endearing. "You'll have lots to talk about next year."

"Next year? I'm getting brunch with her next week. I'm not waiting for Christmas. This is huge!"

Panic briefly gripped Derek as it always did whenever Stiles interacted with his family. But it didn't have time to settle. There was nothing to fear any longer. No huge, life-altering secret to scare Stiles off. It was out in the open now. Stiles could have brunch with his mother every day— wait. "You're having brunch with my mom?" why had he not been invited? Why didn't he even know about it?

"Yes, yes, they have bottomless mimosas downtown. We're going to go once a month. Not the point. Holy shit I can't believe it! Wait, when Cora broke her leg in South America and your mom went to get her was that werewolf shenanigans, or did she really fall down a mountain hiking? Oh my god, I have got to call your mother! Actually, do you think she's still up? We could go visit."

Derek put his hands on Stiles' shoulders. He loved that he was so eager to talk to his mother. It had always warmed his heart how much they loved him and how much he seemed to love them. But right now wasn't the time. "Stiles, we have two bodies we need to deal with. Let's surprise visit my mother tomorrow, yeah?" he couldn't help the fond look in his eyes as he met Stiles'.

"Oh, yeah, totally. What do you think we should do with them?" Stiles' eyes darted between the two dead wolves.

Derek glanced over his shoulder toward the back door. "I actually have a spot already."

"What for bodies?" Stiles snorted, like the notion was an absurd one. Never mind the fact that they had two dead bodies to contend with.

"Well, I had to do something with the one from this morning."

Stiles' smile dropped and his arms flung out before settling on his hips. "What do you mean the one from this morning?!"

"Remember the brother I mentioned?" He nodded toward Andy's body.

"You killed him!?"

Derek's brows rose. The shock on his face was just as much insulting as it was endearing. He stepped forward, sliding his arms through Stiles', and pulled him in so they were chest to chest. He had no idea the lengths Derek would go to to protect him. There was no one more important to him. He met Stiles' eyes. They danced like ice in a glass of whiskey. He smiled, "Isn't it obvious? I'd kill anyone for you."

~~~

(Domestic Bliss)

By @lifebeginsbyleaving

Stiles rolled over with a grumpy sigh. Without opening his eyes to the early morning light he reached over to feel an empty space and frowned. His head lifted topped with violent sleep tousled hair as he squinted trying to find his husband. "Derek?" Stiles yanked his foot back up from the cold wood floors and then slid into Derek's slippers. Stiles might've complained one too many times about how cold the floors were until Derek rolled his eyes and looked in boxes till he found his own slippers. He didn't know if he'd ever get sick of Derek's face with that cute fond look even as he tried to be upset with him.

He yawned gently and looked around the still bare room. There was nothing except their furniture and boxes waiting to be unpacked. In the three days previous they hadn't gotten to the bedroom much yet, but he still smiled when he walked past the box labelled Stiles' PJs. It was filled with all of Derek's old t-shirts and basketball shorts. He had filled the box and labelled it as Derek's, but Derek came over and crossed it out and rewrote it while teasing about how they were no longer his own as Stiles wore them more than he did now. Stiles felt a lightness in his chest as he reflected on how much of a dream moving into their new house had been. They were still in the idyllic honeymoon phase where every night was the best one yet. The happiest day of his life had happened, they went on their honeymoon, and now just a couple months later he was moving into his dream home with a man better than his wildest imagination. His life was perfect. He had his dad, their wonderful home, and Derek.

Stiles reached for his toothbrush right next to Derek's and there was that overwhelming sense of love and happiness again. No matter how much they bickered or even fought, being with Derek was like the moment you figure out that everything will actually be okay in the end. It was that sigh at the end of a hard day and the first smile after being so sad you think you can't breathe. Derek meant safety, love, and home and Stiles finally understood what his parents had. He always appreciated that they were amazing together and that's what made losing her so hard. It was such a privilege to find someone that you didn't have to tolerate living with, someone that instead you had to survive living in the moments without them.

He rinsed his mouth out and spit into the white sink. Looking up at the mirror he tried to tame his hair while calling out again, "What do you want for breakfast?"

His brow furrowed as he received no response. He made his way down the creaky steps with soft padding slippered feet. He called out to the house as he entered the empty kitchen, "Oh husband mine? It's rude to not give me morning snuggles and kisses." Stiles pulled some coffee grounds out of an otherwise barren cabinet. He saw a note on the coffee machine and plucked it off with a quick snatch.

"'Morning sweetheart, went for an early run. Hope you slept well. Coffee should be hot (just like you) See you shortly. -D' Hmm. I'd rather have a sleepy husband, but I will take coffee." Stiles rubbed over the corner of the note where there was a dirty brown finger print on the paper. He must've had to clean up some coffee grounds. Stiles smiled down at his husband's rushed sloppy writing.

He used the last two slices of bread to make toast and decided he'd run to the store quick so they could have a proper lunch. He was getting sick of quick sandwiches, they needed some real food in the house. He could probably get back right after Derek showered and as he was making a protein shake if he hurried.

He grabbed the notes Derek had left on the counter and scrawled a quick note back to him for when he got back from his run.

Stiles balanced a piece of toast on top of his mug of coffee and stuffed the one he was eating in his mouth so he could open his bedroom door to get ready.

*** Stiles always somehow got the cart with the psychotic wheel and it was driving him crazy. He'd already bumped into two other carts because his possessed one took turns like they were an option instead of the only unoccupied path in a crowded aisle. He tried kicking the wheel to no avail and then sighed in defeat. He almost grabbed a box of cocoa pebbles, but instead grabbed Derek's middle aged woman cereal. He urged the wire monster towards the peanut butter while thinking wistfully of his abandoned chocolatey goodness.

He had tried to stick to the list, but he had gotten carried away with all of the things he thought they could fill the pantry with. He had gotten two cans of condensed milk despite not having a recipe for it. It was just something always in the back of the cabinet growing up. Somehow placing them in the basket had made those little flutters in his chest tickle again as if they somehow made their house a home with their uselessness. He had also gotten a couple autumn themed candles. Derek would hate them. Stiles smiled even at the thought of Derek sneering at a sweet vanilla chai kisses candle.

Stiles looked up from his overflowing cart to look directly at Derek. "Derek!" His grin completely took over his face.

"Stiles...hey, what are you doing here?" Derek sounded confused and his whole body froze. Stiles hardly ever spooked Derek or caught him off guard like that, but he supposed it was probably pretty strange for them both to be there.

"Oh you know, I wanted to fill up the house. Get some groceries for my husband, even though he did leave me in an empty bed. There's a monster in our house that eats peanut butter like breathing." Stiles deadpanned.

"A monster in our... oh right," Derek chuckled sheepishly.  "Sorry about that, I just wanted to get an early start. I made sure the coffee was ready though." Derek came around his cart and stood in front of Stiles to give him a quick kiss.

"Yeah thank you, that was really nice honey bun." Stiles shot out finger guns as he called him the overly sweet name.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly and then reached for the candle Stiles knew he would dislike the most. "Really?" He practically sneered at the name before putting it back into the cart.

"Hey say what you want, white girls got nothing on my fall game. I got the healthy cardboard cereal you pretend to enjoy as a compromise." Stiles sent him a saucy wink.

Derek's smile was small, but Stiles knew he loved the little things that showed how much they appreciated each other the most. "You take such good care of me." Derek praised and reached out to brush an appreciative thumb across Stiles' chin.

"I'm great at this marriage thing." Stiles mused. He finally looked away from his handsome husband's face to take in the state of his muddy joggers. "Hey, what are you doing here?" He peered around Derek's wide chest into his cart. "Did you sign us up for a HGTV show I don't know about? A rake and paint? What happened to you by the way? I thought I was the one with godlike grace and agility?" Stiles snarked self deprecatingly.

Derek turned his back to move some of the supplies around to show Stiles. "I was just trying to fix up that old building for you. I know you were excited about it, and the yard could use some tlc."

Stiles moved his cart to gently bump Derek's hip. "Look at you, not so bad at this yourself handsome. I will fight you for the husband of the year title though. I was thinking of making butternut squash soup and salad for lunch, how does that sound?" Stiles looked down at his cart to see if he forgot any ingredients.

"A home cooked meal? You win automatically. I'm headed out actually, so I'll see you at home?" Derek said briskly.

"Okay yeah. Before you head out you need me to get anything for you from the store?" Stiles joked.

"Maybe a less poisonous candle? Or are you gunning for my life insurance already?" Derek smirked before pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead. "Be safe." He added.

"You have unscented ones. And I don't need the money nearly as much as I need someone to make me coffee in the morning." Stiles confessed over his shoulder as he walked away from him.

Derek headed to the counter to check out. "Oh, maybe some of that creamer with the picture of the dog dressed as a pumpkin? You know the one." He called back.

Stiles looked in his cart at the cat curled up in the pumpkin on the creamer bottle already in his cart. Damn did he love his husband.

***

The plastic bag rustled as Stiles pulled out the thyme and garlic. He was somewhat glad Derek was out in the yard raking the leaves still. He adored spending time with his husband, but Derek and him both had verydifferent ideas of what a kitchen should look like while cooking. Derek cleaned dishes as he used them. Stiles was happy if the oven wasn't on fire. He still had grocery bags that needed to be unpacked, all of the soup ingredients were piled near the paper towels, and he had a half chopped onion near the pot he'd need to use for the soup. He arranged the daisies he had picked up for Derek in a green vase with meticulous care. He knew how much Derek liked plants in the house and secretly loved the romantic gesture of receiving flowers. He smiled at the finished bouquet and then returned to the onion while humming "I'll make a man out of you."

Stiles continued unpacking groceries and prepping the vegetables while working his way through the Mulan soundtrack. It drove him crazy while cooking if he had a song stuck in his head.

Stiles brought the squash to his cutting board and pushed aside the bowl . He moved to the sink to wash off the bits of onion skin that clung to his fingertips and looked out the window. He saw Derek frenetically raking leaves. Just the sight of him made Stiles pause while the warm water cascaded down his hands to rapidly circle the drain. He must've felt the eyes on him because he looked up almost immediately and gave him a subtle wave. Stiles' lips pulled into a grin and he waved back.

Stiles turned back to the squash with that warm feeling still inside of him. He placed the wobbly vegetable on its side and attempted to chop it in half. His still damp hands slipped and in a split second the knife sliced through the air and was flung straight towards his bare foot.

Stiles' eyes widened and in a fraction of a moment he flung his hand towards the knife too late to catch it, but with a flash of his eyes the knife halted midair. He quickly gripped it before letting the glow leave his eyes. The same eyes that then frantically searched to see if Derek had somehow appeared in the kitchen to see him or was peering inside the kitchen through the window. After verifying Derek was still in the yard he let out a relieved sigh.

Two years ago Stiles had pictured his future life completely different. He was about to give up on small town life and forget about ever being able to settle down before he met Derek. Having magic was never easy on him. People brought him all sorts of issues to solve like he had all the answers. It made dating and keeping people close really difficult. He never knew what to say to people. 'Oh, sorry I had to leave our date early. Someone I've never met before needed my help killing kelpies that were drowning people!' Some how he thought that wouldn't be the best second date opener. He kept being dragged into mystical hijinks as he was the only druid anywhere near their town. It was almost as if he had a magical beacon on himself saying I'm magical and I will help you.

It all became too much. His dad was the only one close to him that knew who he really was, what he could do. It was tiring always lying to people. Then, one day he had helped a dryad from New York. He was so grateful to Stiles he had invited him to move to the city. Stiles had told him how lonely the small town supernatural life was. How it felt like you were always lying and there was no way out, no one to share it with. He had even tried to stay out of the supernatural world, but it kept dragging him back in. The man then told him how different the city was. There were entire communities he could join and Stiles finally had hope. As loathe as he was to leave his dad, he had decided to go.

The month before he would've left he met Derek. Suddenly it wasn't about what drug him back to the life, it was about what kept him in the one he wanted. So many times he had wanted to tell Derek, wanted to not be lying. He knew it was better this way, he would give up anything for Derek and their perfect life. He wanted to be normal for Derek. He gave up magic and turned away anyone who asked him for help. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Derek because of him. He had his regular life now, and it was perfect. Derek was perfect. He was gorgeous and dorky, even if sometimes he could be a bit boring with his need to be obsessively domestic. Stiles loved it. He loved his boring normal life. He didn't care what he gave up for it or how much he had to lie about himself.

Stiles hadn't realized how long he'd been lost in thought. He looked down to the now soup filled pot he had made on autopilot. He would have to call Derek in soon now that lunch was ready, but he needed a few moments to collect himself. Derek always knew when he was feeling deeply, but he didn't want to sour the day.

He was about to go out the back door when he heard a knock at the front. Stiles hurried to the door, maybe it was his dad popping in.

It was a man with a charming smile and a smooth voice, "You must be Stiles."

Stiles was caught off guard. "Hi, and who are you? Do you know my husband? Do I know you?"

The man chuckled, "No, not yet. But I'm hoping to be good friends with you."

Stiles heard the back door crash open and slam shut. The harsh sound was on Derek's honey do list to fix.

"You and your husband. Of course. I just wanted to meet the new neighbors." Right on cue as he spoke Stiles heard Derek's heavy shoes clunking towards them.

There was something about this man's eyes Stiles didn't quite trust, but he wanted to be inviting. "Oh, do you live nearby?"

Derek shouldered in front of him pushing open the door even further. "This is private property, what do you want?"

Stiles' jaw was dropped about as wide as the man's shocked eyes. The man stammered out, "Uh, sorry, I was just..." He took a quick step back while his eyes never left Derek. "It was nice meeting you."

Stiles thrust a hand out after him, as he beckoned him back. "Oh don't go! No, I'm sorry. This caveman with no manners is my husband." Stiles shot Derek a withering glare. "Please don't mind him. We'd love your company. I just finished making lunch."

Derek snapped his head to look at Stiles and rudely replied, "I'm sure he can't stay."

The man started to decline, "Oh, no, I-"

Stiles gripped Derek's arm and dug his fingertips in. "I insist!"

The man and Derek stood in some sort of awkward stalemate. Stiles could not believe his husband. Derek was never like this he was so friendly and charming whenever they met new people normally. Sure he'd trash talk them and let him know later if he didn't really like them, but this is the first time Stiles had ever seen him so hostile and rude.

Stiles pointedly said, "Come in. What was your name?" Derek didn't budge till Stiles started to shoo him back into the house.

Stiles had no idea what had gotten into Derek his jaw was clenched, but he backed up.

"Ansel Williams." Ansel looked at them with a strangely intense gaze. "But you can call me Andy. I can see that your husband recognizes the name. It's very unique. It's odd that you don't th-"

Stiles looked at Derek completely lost. It made sense why Derek was acting hostile if he didn't get along with Ansel, but Stiles didn't know why then Ansel was acting like he wanted to be friends. He felt like he was missing something.

He just was about to say maybe they should have lunch some other time wanting to trust his husband when Derek interrupted the man. "My name is Derek, nice to see you again," Derek stuck out his hand which Ansel took hesitantly. "Stiles made soup. I hope you're hungry."

"Famished." The man regained some of his earlier confidence as he followed them into the dining area.

***

Stiles passed around the freshly baked rolls again hoping to cut the tension that had accumulated over the meal. "So what kind of special assets does your company acquire?"

Andy replied with his mouth full, "Well it depends though we really go after the more coveted and unique people."

"Oh, so you're a headhunter?" Stiles said interested, hoping to steer the conversation in a direction that wouldn't have his husband glaring and quiet.

"Something like that." The man smirked and Stiles wondered if he was being modest about what he actually did. "What do you guys do?" Andy asked while gesturing between them holding a half eaten roll.

"Well, I'm an online web designer so I work from home." Stiles looked at a completely silent Derek, who seemed like he was sitting on tacks, before turning back. "And my wonderful husband is a basketball coach at the high school. The kids absolutely love him. He's so good with them. So much better than he is with adults sometimes." Stiles gushed proudly. 

He gave Derek a pointed look and gave his hand a few rough pats hoping to coax him into the conversation. Stiles didn't want their very first introduction to the neighborhood to be so stilted.

"How very domestic." Andy commented.

"It's a very rewarding job." Derek pushed out without an ounce of the pride and happiness Stiles knew his job brought him.

"He's really very good. He took the kids to state last year. Honey you should go show him the photo in the garage and your trophies! I have to go get dessert ready anyway." Stiles stood up to go to the kitchen. Before he left he pressed a kiss to Derek's temple and whispered into his ear, "Be nice and make friends." Stiles dug his fingers into Derek's shoulder firmly to try and convey how rude Derek was being.

He smiled at Andy and said,  "Dessert will be just five minutes."

When he looked back at Derek he wore the same smile he gave Stiles whenever asked to take out the trash. It was begrudging and appeasing, but also he could never help the tiniest bit of adoration from sneaking in there whenever he smiled at Stiles. No matter how snarky.

Stiles pulled the pie he had warmed up out of the oven and placed the ice cream on the counter to thaw a bit.

As Stiles sliced the pie he thought about how rude Derek had been. It was so out of character for him. Sure Derek could be a bit gruff, but that was downright hostile at moments. Stiles was glad Andy hadn't stormed out or that he didn't take offense at any point. Stiles wanted this move to go well. He wanted to be settled and get along with the neighbors. He wanted the dream life for Derek and him. He didn't know how a grumpy Derek would fit in with his image of summer block barbeques and borrowing cups of sugar. Sure Stiles knew neither of them were the overly friendly or social type, but he just wanted them to have the white picket life. Stiles cleaned up the plates where the viscous cherry red pie filling had smeared while he thought deeply.

Maybe Derek didn't want that. Maybe he wanted it to be just the two of them, which Stiles certainly wouldn't object to. He was just so confused because up to this point Derek had been so kind to any friends Stiles introduced to him and meeting new people he always flashed his pearly bunny smile that melted him every time. Stiles licked the pie server clean before tossing it in the sink. He scooped the hard ice cream with great effort while sticking out his tongue in concentration so he didn't fling it across the kitchen.

Stiles wanted to immediately ask how they knew each other, but Derek had acted so coldly he figured it was not a good time. If they had bonded in the garage Stiles would mention it over dessert. The whole thing was so puzzling to Stiles.

The three forks clinked against the plates as he placed them. Just as he was about to bring the plates to the table he heard the garage door opening. That was strange. Stiles made his way to the garage to investigate the noise forgetting the pie for a moment.

He opened the garage door to see Derek standing under the big rolling door. He turned to Stiles and began to close the distance.

Stiles spoke as he moved, "The pie is ready. Where'd Andy go?" Stiles started to lean around Derek to look out the garage door. "You didn't murder him did you?" Stiles joked.

Derek let out a small laugh. "He had to go, wife called."

Derek swiped a thumb across Stiles' lower lip and licked it off. "Mmm, cherry?"

"Yeah. It is." Stiles replied with a question hidden in his tone. Stiles squinted at Derek puzzled, but for the moment willing to let it go.

Derek crowded into Stiles' space close enough he could smell his aftershave and forced him to take a step back as he reached past Stiles to close the garage door. "Shall we?" Derek straightened up and gestured to the door grandly with a sweet as pie smile.

Fuck the neighborhood, as long as he had that smile in his house he didn't care how many people Derek chased off.

***

Stiles let the plates clatter loudly after he scrubbed the water away much harsher than needed. If he kept it up the china nor their kitchen towels would survive their first year. He didn't like how evasive Derek had been while they ate pie. Stiles had always loved how honest they were in their relationship together.

Well, except for the one thing he'd always kept. In marrying Derek he made a lifelong commitment to leaving the supernatural world behind. It burned at something deep inside of him. This space and what seemed like secrets between them, they ignited all of his worry and fear. He left his past behind to find a future with his husband, but why did it seem like Derek was hiding in their present? When he thought about it Derek had been strange all day.

Usually he would wake him up before going for a run to let him know and give him a kiss. Usually, Derek wasn't as cold and rushed as he was when Stiles bumped into him at the store. Usually, he preferred to get into Stiles' way in the kitchen because of how much he loved to see Stiles move around the house. Usually, he asked Stiles to keep him company while they did yard work. Usually, he'd be right next to him putting away lunch or doing the dishes. Usually, Derek didn't make it seem like he had things to hide from Stiles.

Stiles pulled himself out of his pity party as he dried a spoon. His husband loved him. This could just be a misunderstanding or a bad day. He could've just been cranky at Andy for interrupting their lunch. Maybe they had history. The thought of maybe they were already growing apart popped just as fast as it appeared. It was laughable to the point Stiles couldn't even believe it had come from his own admittedly over active brain. They were so madly in love with each other it was frankly disgusting. Was he irritated with Derek? Absolutely. However, they were not the type of relationship to let one bad day ruin even the rest of their week. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles was definitely not the type of husband to let this go though. 

Stiles stormed into the unpacked living room. He stopped right where Derek was kneeling in front of the TV to unpack a ripped box of DVDs. "We're going to talk about how lunch went, and how you know Andy. Also, don't try to make me think it isn't a big deal. You don't normally act like that. And don't you dare try and tell me it's nothing or that you're okay. I know you Derek Hale- Stilinski and that lunch was not you and you shutting me out and not talking to me definitely isn't you...." Stiles drug a breath in desperately while waiting a second for Derek to reply. "Okay I'm done now you can speak." Stiles rested his hands that had been gesturing wildly onto his hips.

Derek sighed like he knew what was coming and put the DVDs on the shelf before facing Stiles. "I had an unpleasant run in with his brother."

Stiles squinted at Derek's genuine face. "How unpleasant? Do I need to go over there with the rest of the pie laced with laxatives, or poison?"

Derek huffed a laugh and then wrapped a coaxing arm around his waist. "No, I was being an ass, I shouldn't have acted like that. I'm sorry. I promise to behave in the future."

Stiles melted into him and sighed in relief. "I like when you misbehave. I don't like when I feel far from you. Next time just slam the door in his face and tell me why we don't like him now." Stiles snuggled into his chest.

"Deal." Derek sweetly kissed the top of his head. "I found the DVDs. Pick one while I shower."

*** Stiles was fighting to keep his eyes awake. No matter how much he loved seeing Bucky Barnes in uniform, the feeling of Derek's warmth radiating into his side where he was gently leaning on him was like no other. If that wasn't enough Derek was slowly dragging his thumb along his knee lulling him deeper. Stiles was so content he could live on this edge between his dreams and the dream forever.

Derek jolted and pulled him out of his fulfilled state. Stiles cocked his head to the side in question.

Derek replied, "We should make popcorn. I think the box with the popcorn maker got put upstairs. I'll grab it. You don't have to pause it." Derek stood and a cool rush of air met his side.

"I was just about to fall asleep, that's perfect. Popcorn will keep me awake. Do you want help?" Stiles offered noncommittally as he tucked himself into the blanket.

"No, I've got it. Keep the couch warm for me." Derek spoke already at the base of the stairs.

Stiles yawned, but he sat up to try and stay awake. He absentmindedly checked his phone for a couple moments before he heard the front door jingle.

That was odd. He hadn't heard Derek come down, nor did he know why he'd need to go outside. Stiles pulled the blanket off himself and stood up with a curious gaze towards the dark hallway. As he moved closer he slowly adjusted to the light and right as he wound around the corner a shape suddenly moved towards him out of the darkness. Stiles stumbled backwards in shock back into the living room. As the shape followed him the light spilled from the TV and lamp to illuminate his face and Stiles stopped in the middle of the room out of confusion.

"Andy?" Stiles asked.

"Stiles, hey sorry it's so late. I wa-" Andy wore a charming smile that Stiles didn't fall for one bit this time.

"The front door was locked. Why are you in my home?" Stiles demanded. He hoped Derek stayed upstairs long enough for him to deal with this. Whatever this was. Stiles crossed his arms and continued on, "Is this about your brother? If so, I doubt an argument is worth breaking into the sheriff's sons' home."

Andy took small leisurely steps closer. "This has nothing to do with Ansel. He was just an unfortunate loss along the way thanks to your dear husband."

Stiles tried to figure out what that meant while looking around the room for weapons. His options were limited to whipping DVDs at him like a knock off Gambit or running to the kitchen for knives. "What do you want with my husband?"

Andy laughed. "We don't want him. He is just in our way. You're quite special Stiles."

Stiles had heard enough. He looked to where the door was left ajar like Andy planned on it getting used again soon. Almost as if someone else would be coming in soon. He didn't know what was going on he just knew he had to deal with this fast especially if there were more coming.

"We just want to talk. We just want you to come with u-"

Stiles cut him off with a sudden uppercut and then immediately dashed for the kitchen. The punch hadn't had quite the effect he hoped because Andy was hot on his heels enraged. Stiles heard his steps too close. He wouldn't make it to the knife block.

Stiles went full speed into the stack of boxes on the other side of the kitchen and kicked out a leg behind himself blindly hoping to keep just enough distance between them. Thankfully he found what he was looking for as Andy gripped his calf tightly trying to wrench it to the side so he could grab Stiles. Stiles spun around and violently smashed the heavy wok into the side of Andy's skull. He used the second of dazed confusion to push against Andy's chest.

Stiles' eyes widened as Andy grew claws and fangs in front of him. The man before him growled as his eyes flashed blue.

"Oh fuck." Stiles swore.

"We just need you to come with us you little bastard. If you come easy we won't hurt your husband, but you're coming either way."

Stiles saw red at that threat, but he pushed it down. There was that "we" again. Stiles felt his stomach drop as he realized his mistake. The door was open so Andy could take him back through it, but if someone was going to follow they would've already. They didn't need to come in through the door because they were already inside.

It didn't take that long to get a popcorn maker.

With that realization Stiles heard a crash of glass shattering upstairs.

Stiles felt everything at once rage, despair, hopelessness, and finally determination. He held up his palms as they flashed with a blinding painful light. It was as if he had lit up their kitchen with a flash bang that could harness the sun itself.

As Andy groaned in pain and clutched at his face disoriented, Stiles pushed past him to sprint upstairs.

He must've been too loud because despite being temporarily blinded, Andy was able to grab onto his torso and sink his claws in before he had even made it through the living room. Stiles shouted in pain from the digits that dug deep into his flesh.

He needed to get to Derek. Andy was in his way.

Stiles gripped both of the werewolf's wrists and attempted something he knew would drop him instantly. Lightning crackled around Stiles' white knuckles that were now covered in his own blood from where they gripped Andy's splattered arms. Stiles could feel the man shaking behind him, but if anything it just drove his claws in deeper. Werewolves had a high tolerance for electrocution. However, it did make them susceptible to other forms of magic. Stiles' eyes started to glow pure white as all of the moisture from the man started to pull out of his eyes, his ears, and finally his mouth. First it was just little trickling strands and then pouring streams that mixed with the electricity as the moisture started to explode out of his skin like a wrung out sponge.

With a heavy thunk the dried out crisp husk of a man fell to the floor.

Stiles started towards the stairs again, but for the second time in less than a minute was dumbstruck with the fangs and claws in front of him. "You're a werewolf!?" Stiles shouted the question at his newlywed husband with wide eyes as he nearly ran into him.

Derek looked relieved, well as much as Stiles could tell through the sideburns his husband never had before.

The floor where Derek had just dropped down groaned in protest as another heavy snarling body thumped down right behind him.

Stiles saw the man's red eyes trained on his husband and reacted instinctively as Derek whipped around to face the threat.

Stiles' hand raised to their cherished house plant sitting on the table up against the stairs while a vibrant green glow emanated from his fingertips and eyes. The pothos had been with them since their first apartment. Lydia gave it to them as a housewarming present. Derek would be upset with how much care he had put into keeping it alive, but he couldn't think about that right now.

The thin vines whipped out and grew in both number and size. In the blink of an eye they wrapped around the alpha's arms and legs just as he was about to swipe his claws at Derek. The green ropes held him taut as even more sprouted thorns and wound around his neck. The alpha began to scream as the thorned vines pushed into his eyes and ears causing blood to gush out. His scream was choked off as vines burst out of his mouth. He fell lifeless to his knees and then finally slumped to the ground as the vines atrophied and turned brown.

Stiles breathed in and out to calm himself from the carnage that had happened in their previously peaceful house in but a few moments.

He lowered his hand slowly and the glow left his eyes, eyes that now met Derek's after they left the now non-existent threat.

He took in his husband's shocked face and didn't even know how to start the conversation, hell the multiple conversations, they now had to have. Like what was he supposed to say, 'Hey honey, why yes I've always been able to do this. Dear, how long have you been a werewolf? Love of my life, would you like to burn the bodies or should I start to look up pig farms?' Stiles felt a pit well in his stomach, for once he did not want to talk to his husband. He didn't want to ruin what they had. Maybe he could wipe Derek's memory. He was spiraling he knew, but he couldn't give up their perfect life. He never wanted to bring Derek into the supernatural life, but here they were.

"You have magic?!" Derek exclaimed.

Derek's eyes fell to Stiles' blood soaked torso. "You're hurt." Derek slowly reached out then paused, almost like he was expecting Stiles to lash out with a dandelion from the yard.

Stiles looked down at his stomach almost noticing the wounds finally through the shock of what had all happened. "I'll be fine really." Stiles looked at Derek's paused hand on his way to reach out. "It's actually helpful that you're a werewolf." Stiles chuckled weakly. "Can I touch you?" Stiles sounded so very unsure about it even he was surprised that he was talking to his husband. The one person that never made Stiles feel unsure.

Derek let out a desperate whispered,  "Please."

Stiles' eyes started to water at the tender feelings and warring worries welling inside of him. He wouldn't have known what to do if Derek turned him away. He smiled as he reached out to grab Derek's arm. "This shouldn't hurt at all, I'm just borrowing your ability to heal." Stiles hesitantly gripped Derek's forearms and focused. Golden glowing veins spidered from Derek's arms to Stiles' waiting palms. His wounds gently glowed the same golden color as they closed.

"Take what you need." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Derek's head swiveling back and forth.

After his flesh had finished fusing back together Stiles released his arm somewhat regretfully, he liked the contact.

"Who hurt you?" Derek spoke with purpose as he pushed past Stiles toward the living room.

Stiles felt his body flush with panic again. He rushed past Derek and pulled the blanket from the couch with a gust of magic to quickly cover the Kentucky fried crispy man, but he was too late.

Derek was stock still looking at the blanket.  "You did this?" He asked quietly.

A million explanations and excuses flooded through Stiles, but nothing more powerful than the shame. Would Derek think of him differently? He hadn't just killed this man, he had given him an agonizing death. Stiles didn't think about the consequences, he didn't think about the man's pain, and he certainly didn't think about mercy. All he thought about was the fastest way to get to Derek no matter how brutal.

"I-I um, yeah. He came up behind me and I- I just reacted." Stiles' voice was small and he started chewing his lip. Maybe he could wipe his memory of the last half hour. No popcorn, they just finished the movie.  "I had to get to you." Stiles didn't like how pleading his voice sounded to his own ears and he definitely didn't know what he was asking of Derek. Please don't look at the body. Please don't be freaked out by how much I love you. Please don't be concerned with the lengths I'd go to for you. Please. Please just don't think I'm a monster.

And if he was really honest and let the most pitiful of them all have a voice, please don't love me any less for the dark things I'd do just to keep you safe.

"Oh." Derek sounded absent minded in a way he had hardly ever heard him.

His eyes were still on the blanket covered body.

"Wow." Derek spoke pushing out each letter of such a simple word in a way that made Stiles taste bile on his tongue. There were many ways in which Stiles wanted to amaze his husband, this was not one of them.

Stiles took several steps back towards the door creating space between them in case Derek didn't know how to tell him he didn't want him near anymore. "I'm sorry." Stiles held his arms against his torso knowing the warmth he'd leeched while holding onto Derek was still on his palms, and yet he felt only a chill up his spine.

Derek finally snapped back to the moment and turned to face him. "No, don't apologize. I just... all day I've been trying to keep you safe but... you never needed me." Derek sounded impressed.

The tears finally fell from Stiles' eyes. "I always need you." He confessed.

Derek stalked over and pulled him into a hug. Stiles buried himself into Derek's chest and let out a breath of relief.

"I think we have a lot to talk about." Derek said.

"Just give me a moment. I just need to hold you to know you're okay. I thought-" Stiles' words caught in his throat. "I thought they'd kill you because of me." Stiles still felt the guilt pulsing inside, but the waves lessened as he felt the warm body against him.

Derek gently carded his hands through his husband's hair to soothe him.  "Who were they?"

Stiles shrugged while wrapped in Derek's arms. "I don't know. From what Andy said it seemed like they wanted me for my magic."

"How long have you..." Derek unwrapped their limbs to look into Stiles' eyes.

"Been a glowy magical young hot Gandalf? Technically since birth, but I didn't get any of the cool magic till after my mom died."

"So the whole time" Derek nodded with a huffed laugh.

"How long have you been... Craving Scooby snacks?" He cursed internally hoping this wasn't a sore subject for Derek.

Stiles loved the soft affection that leaked out of Derek whenever he tried to roll his eyes at his snark. Derek replied, "Also since birth."

"So the whole time." Stiles laughed. "Damn I missed an opportunity to give you a squeaky toy as a wedding gift. So you're an alpha? Where's your pack?" Stiles asked.

Derek gently pinched Stiles' chin and looked lovingly into his eyes. "Right here."

Stiles looked at Derek's fond smile ready to kiss it when he noticed a smear of blood just to the left of his mouth. He swiped it with a thumb. "I doubt this would taste like cherry." He wiped it off on his ruined shirt.

Derek's lips fully upturned into a grin before he crashed their lips together. He pulled back and rested his forehead against Stiles'.

Stiles pulled his head back to speak to him. "But no really, where's your pack? You can't be an alpha with just one puny human that didn't even know you were a werewolf." 

"My alpha status wasn't planned. Wrong place, wrong time. I never wanted this." Derek gestured to the crispy dead body with an air of begrudging acceptance.

"How long have you been an alpha?" Stiles' tone turned mocking, "Since birth?"

Derek laughed. "Five or so years. I haven't really kept up with it. I never took a pack."

Stiles felt his stomach drop. There had been alphas that went insane without a pack in a matter of months. While Stiles would never experience it the thought made him shudder. To be so very alone only wanting someone to connect you to your life and your purpose had to have been torture. Actually, now that he thought about it maybe their experiences weren't all that different. Having power was nothing without someone to protect. Stiles rested his hand on Derek's chest above his heart. "Derek that's- that's awful. Being an alpha without a pack is a terrible way to live. You have nothing to draw from, nothing to hold you down. It would be like if I didn't have my magic. Pack is a part of being a werewolf as much as magic is a part of who I am."

Derek sighed, "Becoming an alpha was... the worst thing that could've happened to me. It took me from my family. They were my pack. I never wanted another one. But a pack can't have two alphas. It disrupts the balance." Derek spoke with such sadness.

"Then I met you. And I knew I'd never need anyone else." Derek had that look, the one that told Stiles he was genuinely happy and it made his heart flutter at the sweet words.

"You're all I need too, but Derek I don't want you to deny a part of who you are to be with me." Stiles hated that for the entire time he knew him, Derek had to hide from him. He didn't want that to be the future.

"What about you? Where's your coven?" A teasing smirk lit up Derek's face. "Am I gonna find a broomstick in one of these boxes?"

Stiles' mouth dropped open in a baldly offended look. "Do you think I'm a witch?!" Stiles pulled back from their embrace mildly upset. Druids and witches were very different things.

"Well, I don't know what you are." Derek once again gestured to Mr. McCrispy. "You're something."

Stiles had already decided to forgive him and only hold it against him occasionally. "If you ever call me a witch again I'm buying you a doghouse for out back. I'm a druid."

Derek’s expression dropped as he pulled from Stiles taking a stumbled step back. "Do-do you have an alpha?" Derek asked fear and horror blatant in his voice.

"Why would I? I already have one lug trying to tell me what to do." Stiles joked confused.

"You're an emissary though." Derek intently stared into his eyes and at his face like he was expecting a lie.

Stiles squinted at him. He had no idea what confused Derek so much. "I'm a druid... I didn't specifically say I was an emissary. Derek do you think all druids are emissaries? Because that's racist. I'm offended." This time his offended face was an act.

"All the druids I've ever met are emissaries. Only alphas really deal with them. Why aren't you an emissary?" Derek asked.

"Because it's rare for a druid not born into or raised alongside a pack to become an emissary. To be an emissary is to be trusted with the pack's lives at the highest level, most of the time equal to an alpha. It's a huge responsibility, but an even bigger trust is needed. My mom left her pack back in Poland when she came here. I know it was something that she missed and always wanted for me, but I knew it would be too difficult to find." Stiles got a bit sad anytime his mother was mentioned, but nothing made that hollow spot in his heart echo like remembering her last days when she barely remembered their names. If he was honest a bit of that echo was his magic calling out to him.

"I hope I didn't keep you from finding that. You're incredibly strong. You'd make an amazing emissary." Derek looked guilty.

"I gave all of that up when I met you. I had an opportunity out in New York. I almost left with a friend I had helped out. He's a dryad and they had just lost their druid emissary. I realized what I had with you made me happier than that ever would. Sometimes I do miss it, magic will always be a part of me-" Stiles looks down as little blue wisps whirled around his waving fingers. "But Derek, don't think for one second that I'm missing out on what's meant for me." Stiles looked at his husband and he knew every word he spoke was absolutely honest. The love he felt for Derek was like nothing else in the world to him.

"That's why he wanted you." Derek looked at the dead alpha in the hall. "You know, if you- if you wanted to be an emissary..." Derek threaded their fingers together and little blue strings began to swirl around both of their fingers.

Derek seemed nervous and it made Stiles wonder if it was from what he said or the magic still moving between them. He wondered if the chill was getting to Derek's bones yet, a normal human would've had to let go by now.

Stiles let the magic go once again and laughed. "Oh man, two seconds ago you thought all druids were emissaries. Absolutely not." Stiles squeezed his fingers hoping their warmth had returned. To his pleasure his husband's hands were as warm as they always were. How he had never realized Derek's ability to instantly warm a cold bed was supernatural Stiles would never know. "I won't say yes to that until you fully know what it means. If you get sick of me you can't just divorce an emissary. Parting from an emissary is like ripping half of your soul away."

Stiles felt that fading echo in his chest again. This time instead of thinking of the end he thought about the beginning, when the pain was loudest.

He thought about how he had gripped his bed sheets when his parents sat him down to tell him his mom was sick. Then he thought about a little bit later when she told him what he was, what they were. Memories started to resonate inside of his head. How scared she had looked when talking about her pack. How he had always wondered what they had done, done to her, and worst of all forced her to do to make her so very scared. He remembered their happy days and their sad days. He remembered overhearing her telling his dad she felt like they were being ripped from him, that her very soul was torn in two. He would never do that to Derek. He could never. She had fought off her own magic rebelling against leaving the pack as long as she could, but eventually it killed every part of her life in her that she loved. She had left her pack even though she knew what it would mean.

Just the thought of Derek leaving him and then losing himself because of it churned his stomach. He willed away the echo and banished the pain. He would always keep the memories though.

"I'd never get sick of you. Parting from you would already be like having half of my soul ripped away." Derek confessed.

"Well it's good you're stuck with me then." Stiles let go of Derek's right hand to thread their left hands together to kiss their wedding rings. "We can work towards it, but I have a feeling your emissary didn't tell you as much as they told your alp- Oh my god Derek! Oh my god!" Stiles spastically slapped Derek's chest. "Your mom is an alpha isn't she?!"

Derek looked startled. "Yes?"

"Oh my god! At Christmas? At Christmas they were all wolves?! How did I not know? This is insane! Your mom makes such a good green bean casserole and she's an alpha!"

Derek laughed. "You'll have lots to talk about next year."

"Next year? I'm getting brunch with her next week. I'm not waiting for Christmas. This is huge!"

"You're having brunch with my mom?" Derek looked offended at not being invited.

"Yes yes, they have bottomless mimosas downtown, we're going to go once a month. Not the point. Holy shit, I can't believe it! Wait, when Cora broke her leg in South America and your mom went to get her, was that werewolf shenanigans or did she really fall down a mountain hiking? Oh my god, I have got to call your mother! Actually, do you think she's still up? We could go visit."

Derek put his hands on his shoulders to ground him. "Stiles, we have two bodies we need to deal with. Let's surprise visit my mother tomorrow, yeah?" Derek spoke with a fond look.

"Oh yeah, totally. What do you think we should do with them?" Stiles looked between the bodies.

Derek looked over his shoulder towards the backdoor. "I actually have a spot already."

"What for bodies?"  Stiles snorted.

"Well, I had to do something with the one from this morning." Derek replied seriously.

Stiles smile dropped and he flung out his arms only to rest them on his hips."What do you mean the one from this morning?!" Stiles couldn't believe this.

"Remember the brother I mentioned?" Derek nodded to Andy's body.

"You killed him?!" Stiles was replaying the day and all the moments he thought his husband had acted strange. Suddenly, Derek hadn't acted strange enough with that new context.

Derek slid his arms through Stiles' while he pulled him in. "Isn't it obvious? I'd kill anyone for you."

His heart shouldn't have melted at that. Stiles was blown away with the love he felt for his husband and how their relationship changed so much and yet not at all over the course of one day. They were going to be okay. They were still going to fall asleep in each other's arms. They were still going to watch movies on the couch. They were still going to always figure things out together. They would now hide bodies together. They would now talk about the supernatural. They would now have very different Christmases. They were still going to be okay, even if they would need to start buying a suspicious amount of bleach.

After all, what was a bit of occasional murder in the shadow of domestic bliss? 

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Rough and Rowdy Ways

Day #22 - AU | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Van Tour, Known Destroyers of Hotels, Motel Desk Clerk Steve Harrington, Meet Cute

One more dingy room, one more motel that's just a little more rundown than the last. It's been a long few years on the road, each one getting harder and harder. They have upswings, and downswings, and right now, they're definitely down. Playing smaller venues in the middle of fucking nowhere, more often than not. 

They aren't famous, more infamous than anything, because there's been a few incidents over the years that have put them in the papers for less than flattering reasons.

Damages, lawsuits. 

Rough and rowdy.

Assholes.

That's the name they've made for themselves. Gareth is still on probation from the last hotel trashing, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back, making all the major chains put the kibosh on them staying anywhere decent for the near future.

Most of them have their pictures hanging up, like they're outlaws. 

Eddie sees an old, falling apart neon sign with an arrow promising a motel. He's not sure it'll still be there. It's a toss-up, for sure, as shitty as that sign looks. 

But when they see the gravel turn-off, there is a solitary car sitting in the parking lot. Something that looks too nice, too expensive, for a place like this. 

But, they'll have to try their luck and see if they can slide under the radar, pay cash, give fake names, and go unnoticed. Move on down the road tomorrow. 

There's a guy sitting behind the desk, and he looks out of place in this shitty, unkempt place. He's very kempt. The most kempt person Eddie's seen in days.

Gareth immediately rings the bell, and Eddie wants to throttle him. That's never a good way to make a first impression. And they are the ones needing something here. 

"One room, please," Gareth says. 

The guy looks them up and down, and then shrugs. Pulling two sets of keys off a peg behind the desk. 

He has pretty eyes. Very pretty eyes, pretty everything, really.

"Twenty dollars. Room four," he offers, like he doesn't give a shit if they burn the place down. Maybe he doesn't care. "Name?"

"Edward Jones," Gareth says, mashing their names together.

"Sure you are," the guy says, and they both look at each other, "just sign here."

"What's that mean?" Gareth asks.

"Edward D. Jones? The financial advisors?"

It's not ringing a bell. They carry their money in a duffle bag. They definitely don't have any advisors.

"Coincidence," Gareth says, and Eddie thinks it might actually be, because he's not sure Gareth would know that either. 

"Checkout is at noon," he says, and then picks back up the book he was reading.

Transaction over.

Eddie paces the room, and the rest of them are getting annoyed. Goodie has already kicked him twice as he's walked by, and Gareth is sassing him.

Just. That guy. Steve, his name tag said, but that might have been as fake as Edward Jones.

"I'm gonna go get ice," Eddie declares, and the rest of them all seem to sigh in relief that he and his nervous energy are leaving the room.

Eddie carries the cheap plastic ice bucket up to the counter, "Steve?"

Steve looks up, so maybe that is his real name.

"Where's the ice machine?"

"It's broken," Steve answers.

"Oh. Damn," Eddie says, leaning up on the counter, trying to encroach on his personal space, just a little. Steve doesn't back up, not an inch, which is impressive. This usually works to make people uncomfortable. "I really need some ice. It's so hot."

Steve is looking at him, straight in the eyes, "Is that so?"

Eddie smiles, and isn't sure what he expects might happen, but he'll shoot his shot. There's no harm in it, he'll never see this guy again, come tomorrow.

"I have an ice machine in the back, if you want me to get you some. It's not really for the guests."

"Well, I appreciate that. I won't tell any of the other guests," Eddie says, a little sarcastic, because he's pretty sure nobody else is here.

Steve rolls his eyes, and grabs the brown bucket, pulling it across the counter and disappears through the open door behind him. 

Eddie follows.

He's pretty sure he's not supposed to, but Steve didn't tell him to wait at the counter.

Steve lifts the lid and grabs the metal scoop, filling the bucket. When he turns, he catches sight of Eddie and the bucket goes flying, ice spilling all over the floor.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" Eddie says, holding his hands up, just realizing that he may look threatening. He forgets that sometimes. "I'm not, I won't. Fuck. I'm sorry."

And then Steve laughs, a nervous giggle that makes Eddie smile, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn't thinking. I'm a musician. Eddie."

"Jones?" 

Eddie laughs, "Munson. That's my best friend, Gareth Jones. A coincidence, I think."

And Steve smiles, just a little, "Okay, just. This place brings in the freaks and weirdos," Steve says.

And Eddie points at himself, eyebrows raised.

"Little bit," Steve teases, and Eddie grins.

"Let me help you pick up the ice," Eddie offers, getting down on his hands and knees, swiping it all towards himself. Then Steve is standing over him with a broom.

"This might be more efficient," Steve says, sarcastically and Eddie laughs as Steve sweeps up the mess.

Eddie's palms are black from the floor. And somehow it's not the dirtiest place they've ever stayed.

"Is there a sink?" Eddie asks, showing Steve his palms, and Steve nods towards the little bathroom off the breakroom.

There are personal items all over the sink, and a small, corner shower. Does Steve live here? Eddie suspects someone does, if it isn't him.

Steve is leaning in the open doorway, watching him, but in a curious way, not in a suspicious way, Eddie thinks. Which is good. Great.

"Do you live here?" Eddie asks.

"Unfortunately," Steve says, smirking.

"Wanna run away and be a roadie?"

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[sgiandubh]

Caitriona didn’t mention Tony. Seems the ‘reporter’ utilized Google. 😂

Dear Didn't Mention Anon,

It's always a sarcastic pleasure to see tension climbing for literally nothing across the street. Some other Brazilian Anon, just like you (best way to convey your thoughts was, in proper English, 'the reporter used Google' - not the Portuguese semantic calque 'utilized'...), even speculated we must be hiding this shattering press article, since no reaction and/or discussion happened as of yet.

Brazilian Anons would certainly have made better use of their time and grey cells if they simply presumed that in another time zone people really have other (simple and boring and prehaps even endearing) things to do. While Brazilan Anons were probably sleeping or having breakfast, someone else was just about to end a shorter Friday work schedule, buy Chinese takeaway on the way home, have a light lunch, take out Baby the Lab for a short pee stroll around the block. And mercifully collapse in flannel sheets for a blessed siesta, waiting for the first snowy day of the year. But enough about me, Anon, you are not here for this: you are here for that article - https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

It is also an amusing factoid that C's PR and/or *** very often seem to favor second-tier media outlets in order to keep spreading around the Narrative Word. Pinoy regional gazettes, borderline clickbait/gossip websites and now Mindfood, a vanity/hybrid press magazine based and edited in New Zealand and Australia by McHugh Media Group, which main activity, at least in Oz, is (🥁🥁)...paper mills and paper manufacturing - of course.

[Source: https://www.dnb.com/business-directory/company-profiles.mchugh_media_australia_pty_limited.6ded585ed8e21b347589059682b44143.html]

Within that group, the Mindfood project is but an apparently lucrative subsidiary ('integrated media company', LOL), despite some dire client reviews ( 2 out of a resounding global 3, how odd!) on Google:

'Rank amateur's' [sic!] (...) What sort of magazine publisher doesn't have a manned office? (...) They'll go broke very quickly like that.' '(...)pretty shabby treatment of a customer.'

😱😱😱

But let's assume I am twisting again the plot (I don't, I do not need to). Let's assume I am evil like that and I give credence to two very negative (but brutally clear, too) user reviews only. Perhaps I am wrong, you might say. So, let's also have a look at some company figures, shall we?

Nay contest, it's them.

[Source: https://rocketreach.co/mchugh-media-profile_b5d2097af42e3bbb]

Now, my lovelies, how can I put it without offending anyone? What we are looking at, here, is a small company with 5 (five) employees, few web hits (164.480 hits is ridiculous, when we are talking about press/media!), but a comfortable revenue (7 million AUD - about 4.5 million USD). May I remind you that a company's revenue is roughly its gross income, before subtracting operating costs, wages and taxes. But given they have only 5 employees, wage expenses & operating costs must be marginal and taxes are rather friendly in New Zealand, where their HQ is (to the point there was, three years ago, an ongoing debate in order to determine if the country was a tax haven: https://thespinoff.co.nz/business/06-10-2021/is-nz-a-tax-haven-for-the-rich-and-dodgy-the-pandora-papers-reignite-the-debate), you do the maths. Therefore, how can this rather substantial profit be explained, otherwise than by a very friendly editorial policy towards paid and/or sponsored content and product placement galore (Lifestyle, anyone)?

Its immediate competitor is a supermarket chain in-house bulletin/leaflet, Campbell's Cash & Carry. The kind of thing that always lands somehow in your shopping bag and then directly in the kitchen trash:

This is enough to show their real reach and place on the market, I believe.

All this for what, Madam Knife? All this to say that paper is probably paid by the talent's PR/***. I will not go into useless detail, because there is very few new-ish/relevant information (e.g.: 'With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. '). But I will, gleefully even, point out two tiny details, all of you patiently read this long rant for, in fact.

As always, McGill doesn't even deserve a quote, only reported speech that is, in fact, snowballing prior reference (this is exactly where copy/paste comes in very handy, you see). And a clumsy one at that, sugar on top - hence the copy/paste certainty and this is so, so rude, I could cry (nope...):

But... but... such a nice, thoughtful touch for her Stans, who spent DAYS in a row proving he was not a music producer, but the Night Media Manager (and I have to say, delivered actual quotes - still No Face, No Name, No Number, though):

[Tait rhymes with hate, alright - I know, darlings, it pisses you off to no tomorrow 😉.]

Copy paste/Goes to waste. Finally, I had to snort (not a pretty, nor feminine sight) when I realized Mindfood takes its readers for complete, amnesic idiots:

So she became 'a mother in August of 2021', but she did film 'the sixth season of the drama while pregnant'. Granted, this paper is written for casual OL viewers, the kind of people who did find C interesting/beautiful/clever/extraordinary, but who don't remember her name when prompted on candid camera, for example. The kind of superficial audience who will never do the maths and never question the fact a pregnant actress was filming beautiful (but steamy) scenes with her... ahem... with her co-star she is now 'consciously uncoupling' from.

ROFLMAO.

Not even sorry for the length, Anon. There you go, let's say good bye with a merry little song - I am told I have the best tunes on Tumblr (SMH). Really, Mindfood's client could have curated and tailored better the Retconning Operation - but perhaps even PR has trouble taking that man and his narrative role seriously?

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

A repost of something that I wrote, and put on my second account before here :)

Eddie was crouched on the curb of the building when one of the back doors to the mall suddenly flung open. He was behind the mall near the dumpsters, so it wasn’t uncommon for people to slam the door with their legs while their hands were full of garbage bags. What was not normal, however, were the tiny shorts on this guy's ass.

There were no shorts that needed to be that short. Though it was the eighties, crop tops, and short shorts on men were a trend. That didn’t mean Eddie had to enjoy it. If anything, he enjoyed it so much that it did a full one-eighty into a bad case of loathing.

But this sailor, in his short blue shorts, maybe one in a million because Eddie's enjoyment was doing a full three-sixty on repeat. He’s pretty sure his eyes were doing that silly animated thing too, where they continuously popped in and out of his skull.

As he kept watching this fine-looking sailor, he noticed the other man struggling to carry three garbage bags in his two hands. His arms were visibly straining from the weight. The man was also purposely stumbling to the dumpster to avoid one of the leaking bags, leaving a trail of melted ice cream behind him. He was a walking disaster just waiting to happen and Eddie found himself slightly more into that than he had previously thought.

What can Eddie say? He has a thing for dumb men and nice asses. And this gorgeous, gorgeous fool in front of him was the epitome of dumbassery.

Eddie was so distracted by this man that his cigarette burned to the nub, and he wasn’t paying attention to the heat slowly beginning to reach his fingers. Not until it was too late did he notice the tiny lit flame against his skin. Some of the ash landed on his pants, hands, and even his favorite ‘Ride the Lightning’ tee.

“Fuck,” he yelps as he hops up and purposely drops the nub under his show to put it out. His right hand, which got burnt, was doing a dramatic jazz hand skit, while his left made a feeble attempt to brush off the ash. He then looks back up to see the sailor, who had been two-thirds of the way to the dumpster before Eddie did his small fire dance, was now looking at him.

From where he stood, Eddie could hear the other chuckling at him. Embarrassment washed over him before it slowly turned to anger when he finally comprehended who he was looking at.

Standing almost ten feet away from him was Steve Harrington, the same Harrington who was a complete douchebag in high school. Now, said douchebag was holding back soft laughter. The asshole even opened his mouth, probably to give Eddie shit, when the bag that had been leaking the entire way to the dumpster finally broke.

Ice cream and trash go everywhere, most landing on Steve's shoes and hairy legs.

Eddie doesn’t hold back the laughter that catches him by surprise, his anger leaving him before he can say anything too stupid. However, he quickly stops when the other boy's gaze falls back on him.

He’s afraid he’ll have to run away from a trash-covered king, but that fear quickly dissolves when he hears Steve's laughter slowly join his.

“I suppose that's what I get for being an asshole.” Steve comments, scrunching his nose in disgust as he steps out of the puddle of sour milk at his feet.

He looks back up, about to say something to Eddie, but the door he exited less than five minutes ago flings open. This time, a disgruntled girl with a slight bob and matching sailor suit emerges.

“Hey, asshole-” She stops mid-sentence, her expression morphing into disgust as she processes the mess surrounding Steve.

Eddie glances back at Steve who is now frantically moving much faster than before. He throws the garbage over the dumpster and quickly begins to pick up what he can, which isn’t much before he runs back to the girl at the door.

“Sorry, I didn’t see the bag was ripped until I was like five feet away from the exit, and I was hoping to get it all mopped up before you noticed, but the bag broke and–” Steve’s words were flying a mile per minute, each hitting his coworker in the face all at once.

Once again, Eddie is surprised by the boy's behavior and so is Robin, whose name tag he had managed to catch when she takes a step back from Steve. Who now reeked of garbage and seemed oblivious to this fact along with what personal space was.

“Ok, ok, I get it, dingus.” Robins's hand moves up in a stop motion. Both she and Eddie watch as Steve’s anxiety train slows down to a halt before it goes too far off the rails.

“We can get a janitor to clean it up or something, but I need you to get back in there before I piss myself. I’m having one of your kids watch the booth while we are away and I don’t think we have enough time to piss and get you cleaned up before they start robbing us clean.” Robin rambles out.

Eddie can’t help but think that the two were perfect for each other because they sure did ramble a lot.

Eddie’s existence is again ignored as the two sailors head back in. Before Steve is completely gone though, he sends a small finger wave Eddie's way.

And at that moment, Eddie decided he was going to loathe that boy's ass forever.

[undead-merman]

Day Twenty One: Teacher Telepathy

Eden and GN Pc

This idea was from @inkyquince's professor Eden. Yes, I wrote this for Inky and Necro

Contains student and teacher relations, thoughts of kidnapping, abuse and extortion of reader, stalking, adoption with the intent to lock you up and fuck you

Fucking coffee grinder broke right on his first day. Snapped right in his hands before he could even make a cup. Normally he’d fix it, but this one was a welcoming gift from Sirris, some electrical hunk of shit instead of an old school mechanical one like he prefers. He doesn’t know how to fix this fucking thing.  He’s not even sure what happened to the old one. So now he’s without coffee and a grinder for it. He’d have to stop by that little run down place right at the forest edge to pick up another.

He grabbed his ham and cheese lunch, wrapped in a brown paper bag, a bottle of filtered water, and house keys before heading out. The sun had yet to rise, leaving the shadows as thick as dark as the thoughts of people passing by.

All of them, fucking disgusting.

Each one echoed in his head like a chamber. Disturbed and deprived thoughts from everyone, though a few thoughts resonate fear when he walked by. Fearing his face, his build, his walk, or even his scars. Some even … Lusted after him, thoughts they believed to be private were loud about what they’d do to him.

It just made his mood worse.

When he got to school and managed to get some coffee from there, it was watery, tasted like trash and some kind of cleaning chemical. He dumped it after the first drink and decided to opt for his water to settle him over as he sat in his room and looked over each class roster. Nothing special, not surprised.

So before everyone filed into his workshop, he took the time to start whittling and enjoy the rare silence.

-

The classes were as loud as he expected. Not just out loud, he could quiet them down in a second, but their thoughts were all over. It gave him a migraine instantly.

Some of them thought this class meat they could fuck around, either with each other or. He made sure to nip that idea right in the bud. It was a hassle just dealing with everyone. Though there was you. You minded your own business, you were particularly cute, not rowdy/ but one thing that stuck out was how calm your thoughts were. They weren’t as foul as the others in town. Sure you weren’t focused entirely on the task assigned but the thoughts about the dog you saw at the orphanage made him smile to himself.

His eyes hardly left you. He studied every part of you. The way you carried yourself, talked to your peers. He didn’t even realize till the end of class that he’d been completely enraptured by you. Even by the end of the school day, his thoughts lingered on you. Even when he got home and took a shower,

he found his thoughts lingering on you still.

Looking down, he saw his cock twitching to life, the dark head began to swell and leak. He ran a hand from his stomach down to his mess of pubes as he thought about your face. The heat of arousal just builds as he adds more kindling to it. Thinking about if you were a virgin or not. You seemed like it. His hand grabs his dick and began pumping.

How tight would you be around him? Were you a quiet moaner or a screamer? You seem like the type to like it rough, and he could provide that. Ram into your hole and until you see stars.

He spills on his hand, and he takes a moment to look at what he’s done. There's shame, though not as much as he’d thought there’d be. His contentedness outweighs anything else. He could do this again and have no problems with the fact that you are his student.

-

It’s been a few weeks now, he’s gotten used to the schedule, he knows almost everyone’s names now, even if he didn't really did not care for most of his students.

But you, he likes you. He keeps an eye on you in class. Watching you as you work and being one of the rare student’s he comes up to help instead of telling them to pay more attention in class before kicking them off the machines for the day. He would have been fine with simply having perverted thoughts about you and jerking off in the shower every night. He really would have, but you saw one of his whittled pieces and smiled looking over it.

Those soft hands of yours gliding over the carved out wolf, your head filled with nothing but genuine awe. Shit, he wanted to ruin you now. You were too docile and sweet for this damn town. He built a cage under his bed for you. It was a spur of them moment thing on a weekend after Sirris dragged him along for drinks. He hated drinking, he wasn’t even sure why he agreed. But the buzz in his stomach and head had him trying to busy his hands and lead to a half finished cage. And when he woke up to see it, he made sure to finish it. The idea of you under there had him just staring, picturing you inside, as he stroked his cock a bit harder this time around than normal. Grumbling when he realized his cum flew and he had to clean the bars.

He’d made his coffee for the day, sat at his seat waiting for the morning to start when he heard a knocking on the door. He frowned, sat up from the chair and swung it open, expecting some snotting idiot to ask him for an extension on a project. No, it was you. Project in hand.

You sat in with him making small talk that he strangely found himself enjoying as he gazed at your project. You did well. Surprisingly so, most students just turn it in for a grade with stuff he’s seen a dozen times before, but you added your own flair and seemed to work hard on it.

You’d be good as a house spouse. Fixing his clothes, taking time to sew up that rip in his nice cable knit sweater. He let one question out, just to test the waters and masking it as concern for you. You answered and seemed happy he was asking something more personal than just to put your name and date on your paper. He asked more, and before he knew it, his watch went off, five minutes before the first bell. You gave him a smile and a wave.

‘Mr. Eden looks handsome today.’

His heart went into his throat as you went out the door. He locked the door and fucked his fist. Cumming all over his hand with two minutes still left.

-

You came into his room more frequently. He could hear your thoughts. You found him safe, even nice. He couldn’t have been farther from those things. In fact, he was the most dangerous thing to you at this school. But he loved that. He loved how safe and secure you felt when he simply was just in the room with you. Would you feel the same way he sat you on his lap during class? Skull fucked you while there was a test going on?

“Mr. Eden are you married?”

He could be. He’d marry you. Not only that, but he’d take excellent care of you. Make sure you never felt lonely, the bed was always warm, He’d even make dinners for you if you made breakfast and coffee. He answers. No. he doesn’t elaborate. And you were content with that, just the way he likes it.

Though your fist catches his eye. Bruised, just ever so slightly, probably even covered up with some kind of make up. He studied you more as you looked at his news carving. Just under your school shirt right at the neck, rubbed off by the collar, was a bruise, one from a rope. He shouldn’t be surprised. You lived at the orphanage. He’d heard about your debt, he was acquainted with Bailey, after all.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d give Bailey a call about you?

-

Sure enough, he was right. He’d been getting you to pay over four thousand a week for the past few months. Figures. Bailey asked if he was interested in you, already sniffing out the reason. He didn’t fully respond, though that was because he didn’t have to.

“The brat hasn’t been able to make their payments. Probably won’t even have this week's either.”

Bailey still owed him that favor… He mentioned it, and he heard a very rare laugh come from him.

“You want them?”

That alone caused him to rub the front of his legs, feeling his trousers becoming tight.

-

It was faster than he expected. Bailey made a comment he was getting soft when he requested it look like an adoption, even though he didn’t actually care about signing it. It just had to look that way to you.

When you had gotten the news, you’d busted into his room blabbering and pulling him into a hug with big wet eyes. Your thoughts were loud today, like new year's celebrations. It was cute, he found himself petting your head and when you calmed down he could hear the thoughts you were trying to push out of your own mind.

‘He’s going to be my dad now… I shouldn’t think about that kind of stuff.’

He’d never dug into thoughts. Not like this. He chased after what you tried to bury. Fantasies about you and him. Not as filthy as what he had in mind, but the fact you saw him in that light had him clenching his hand so hard his nails were digging into his callouses. What was stopping him from pushing you onto the desk and fucking you, just like you both wanted? Tying you up and dragging you home to lock under his bed until you couldn’t do anything but drool over his cock and beg for him to claim you as his own.

He moved closer. Slowly dragging his hand-over your knee and working over your thigh. He could hear you, even though you weren’t talking. He adored the little conflict running through your mind. Even more so with the fact you didn’t move away. Your mind ran a muck, and he kept pushing. You didn’t stop him. Eternally, you were hoping for more. And he gave it to you. Large hands pushing into your underwear to grope you. His middle finger rubbing against your hole.

Soon enough you were in his lap, his fingers inside you, sloppy and wet. The sounds of your hole being abused, and your heavy breathing were loud in his empty classroom. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his arm as he watched you like a predator. You were just as tight as he hopped, if not more so.

Your toes and legs curled as you came from his hand alone. You were gasping for breath. He simply unfastened his buttons and pulled down his zipper. Slowly pulling out his fingers before pulling another confiscated packet of lube out and squeezed it onto his cock.

And he was going to have you all to himself when he finally got you home too.

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Slave” PT2

Jinx x F!Reader

Sevika x F!Reader (PLATONIC)

WARNINGS:Cursing, act 2 spoilers I think??,SELF HARM

WORD COUNT:1329

NOTE:I am writing another part. I really never meant for a pt2 so sorry if it is a bit confusing. NOT PROOFREAD

PT.1 PT.3

The next couple of weeks are a blur. You feel like shit. Absolute shit. You are being shit at being a girlfriend, a mother, and a human. You feel like failed as a human. Why? It’s because the last couple of weeks have been going in this order:

-Wake up with a hangover

-Get Micheal from Sevika’s house

-Drop him off at a friend’s house

-Go to work

- pick up Micheal

-Drop him off at Sevika’s house

-Come home

-Drink till you pass

You feel like you failed as a mother. You never spent time with your son. You deemed yourself as a hazard to him. So you drop him off at a friend’s house then he sleeps at Sevika’s.

Sevika supported you through this. Like she supported you when you were just starting to work. Managing your job and Micheal. She sometimes babysits him when you were too busy. She never admit it but she adores him. You could see it.

But now you really need her and she is here. She takes care of him at night make him food, put him to sleep, make sure he was clean. She knows you were going through a hard time. She just wants to support you like how you supported her when Silco died.

When you pick him up Sevika tries to get through to you, but you are too tired to care.

After about 3 weeks of this she was done and so were your friends. Sure they would babysit Micheal. They had no problem with that. But you ignoring your son for a whole month and a half straight. Now that was new.

They all know you are struggling. They tried to help you. They really did, but you never seem to reciprocate. You are numb. Like nothing matters anymore.

So they call collectively decide if you weren’t going to try and be better, they would stop babysitting Micheal. They know you either had to stop drinking or find a daycare to take him in. Which in Zaun, a safe daycare was impossible.

Usually you would drop him off at Jinx’s house when you had missions. But you obviously can’t do that. So you are helpless.

So when Sevika asks you about what’s going on with you and Jinx, you spill.

She only knew that you were unstable and you and Jinx broke up.

But now she’s getting the full blown details

Everything.

Your past, how you were treated like a slave. Why you broke up with her. How inactive she had been before you broke up. How you are done with life.

To say she was piss, not only at your family but also Jinx, is an understatement.

But she has to compress those feelings. She has to take care of you first. The next day she’s at your house with a a couple trash bags and cleaning supplies. When she enters she’s shock. The house is a mess. Like so messy.

She always known you as being “too clean” but now? She can’t even get to your bedroom without so many objects in her way.

She cleans your house. From top to bottom. She cleans the bathroom, your room, Micheal’s room, living room, and the kitchen. She does all the chores. Laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming, you name it. She does it all.

You wanted to help her but she pushes you on the couch and tells you to spend some time with your son. Which you desperately need. You realize how much you missed out in his life. You feel like shit. You are a shitty mother.

Eventually you and Micheal fall asleep on the couch cuddled together. You can’t deny you miss this and so did Micheal.

The time Sevika was done cleaning she saw that both of you were asleep. She carry’s you both to your fresh new sheets in your bed and tucks you both in. Then falls asleep on your couch.

-

When I wake up all of my emotions hit me at once. The alcohol wasn’t there to numb it. So I’m desperately trying to find it. Anything. Even just a drop.

“You’re not going to find any alcohol in there” A deep voice said.

“…where is my alcohol?”

“Where do you think?” Sevika points to the trash bags in the corner.

“…”

“You need to face your emotions.”

The was the last thing I hear before I walk to your room then shutting the door, locking it.

She just thinks you are going to go back to sleep so she decides to make food for Me and Micheal. But I’m wide awake.

Sevika forgot to check on place in my room. Under my bed.

I grab my trusty knife and did what I always did. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to face your emotions.

I want out.

After about 20 minutes give or take Sevika goes to my room and tries to open the door but it is locked

“[Name]? Can you open the door? I made food for you and Micheal”

“No…go away” I’m currently on the bed with you hand in your hair. Blood on my arms. The knife is now on my bed side table.

“[Name] I am not leaving. Open the door now.” Sevika starts banging which wakes Micheal up.

“Mommy?” I freeze and turn to him. I forgot that he was in the room.

“Go back to sleep baby” I am trying to sound like I’m currently not having a panic attack right now.

“[Name] let me in” She keeps banging.

“mommy what’s going on?” Micheal asks pulling on my shirt.

The screaming that I’m are hearing from the door to let her in and the questions from my kid asking what is going on, drives me to the edge.

I start sobbing, grabbing the knife from the table impulsively and slashing myself.

Micheal is frighten, he starts moving away from me and runs to the door opening it for Sevika.

“Mommy is hurting herself.” He says hugging her leg.

Sevika looks at me bawling your eyes out and taking my breakdown into my body, and moves quickly. Picking up Micheal carrying him to the couch.

“Stay here. Whatever you hear do not move.” I hear.

She moves quickly and efficiently. Taking the knife from my hands and tosses it across the room then taking me into a hug.

“It’s ok. You’re safe.” She keeps repeating that till I calm down.

I am sniffing, trying to process what happened.

“I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to be here. I can’t even take care of my kid. I’m a bad mom.” I cry into her arms.

“Hey…Hey. Look at you. You badass job at raising a child that isn’t even yours and managing a hard job at the same time.” She says.

“You’re not a bad mom. You are not a failure. You made it this far. Most people would have gotten this far this young. Thanks you that child was able to have a life. A great life that you provided. Thanks to you. He is lucky to have you in his life and you are lucky to have him into your life” She tells me while hugging me.

“Really? You think so?” I say, now smiling.

“Yea. Lemme bandage those wounds” She takes my arm carefully cleaning then bandaging my ankles and arms.

Sevika knew about my history of self harm. How I used to do it when I needed an outlet.

“I’m going to get Micheal” She says walking to the living room.

I’m getting out of bed when I hear her scream.

“Micheal!”

I run to the living room to see Sevika frantically looking for him.

“Where is he? Where is he?” I say.

“I don’t know.” I hear her mumble.

Micheal, where did you go?