#I do remember Isaac holding one at one of his shows last year maybe

[theirloveisgross]

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[mpregandproud]

Isaac II (Part 1)

Twenty years ago my life took a 180 degree turn. After separating from my ex-wife Sandra, Isaac came into my life, and with him an adventure that if someone told you about it you would not believe. In just five years I went through five pregnancies and gave birth to seventeen children, no more and no less. With my husband I had eleven of them, and we adopted the daughter I had with my ex-wife, whom I got pregnant before our separation. And we decided to be surrogates for our friends Lucas, Ray and Tom, six more children. Oh yes, I forgot, I am a man, a man who got pregnant. I know, I'm kind of a weirdo. Although Isaac prefers to say it's a “gift given to me by nature”.

While Isaac and I adore our children and thoroughly enjoyed my pregnancies, we decided to stop making babies. With twelve boys and girls per household we had more than enough. We had dreamed of having a big, happy family, especially since neither of us had grown up in large families. The dream of our lives was more complete than ever. Or so we believe at the time.

After having the sextuplets we decided to leave the city and move to the town where I grew up. There we bought a big house in the country. Isaac and I could work from home, and being close to my parents and sister would help us raise little quintuplets Dylan, Nate, Philip, Edward and Cristina, sextuplets Bruce, Ken, Patrick, Charlotte, Ivana and Jason, and Sandra, the oldest of all our children.

This change allowed me to make a major change in my life. I started to take up sports again and regain a healthier way of life. With Lucas, Gary, Samuel and Frank, my former soccer teammates when I was young, we started participating in the veterans' league. Although I never regained the shape I had before I gave birth, I lost my belly and my muscles started to show after years of being hidden under fat. My ass, two large spheres, and my hips, wide as proof of having given birth to a full soccer team with its starting and substitute players included, were living witnesses that inside me the party of life had taken place.

Isaac and I have strengthened our relationship a lot over the years. He is my soul mate. If I ever had any doubts about our marriage, seeing him day in and day out taking care of our children made me fall in love with him like I did the first day I saw him on that soccer field. Now in his 50s, he is the sugar daddy I once dreamed of as a teenager, when I was still trying to convince myself that I liked women. His athletic body and the gray hair that has slightly whitened his hair is like a dream come true. When he comes home from working in the garden, sweaty and dirty, I have to hold back my desire for him to slam me against the wall and plant his potent seed inside me again.

This is not to say that Isaac and I have stopped fucking, in fact we do it more than ever. The years have made us wilder. And now that our older kids are in college and our younger ones are in high school, we have more time to live our passionate love intensely. Maybe we have too much time, and too much passion for no good.

Yes, as you can imagine, the inevitable happened again. Sixteen years after I had last been pregnant I felt morning sickness and a general feeling of discomfort in my body again. I didn't want to believe it at first. Remember that we had decided not to have any more babies, but Mother Nature had other plans. That's why a condom broke, there was a plan to get us pregnant again. Apparently twelve children was not enough, so a new litter was about to arrive. I was pregnant again.

For the first time in all these years I saw Isaac worried. In spite of having experience in the matter, this was going to be my sixth time pregnant, it was not the same to be pregnant when I was 30 than when I was 50. And I wasn't sure that my body would work the same way either.

“What are we going to do, Isaac, do you want to become a father again?”, I asked him the night after we confirmed the pregnancy.

“Daniel, I don't know. I really don't know, it was no longer in my plans to be a father again. I adore our children and I love you madly, but I have more doubts than ever”, he said cuddling up to me on the bed. “I remember when we found out you were pregnant twenty years ago it was you who had doubts, and me who reassured you. But look at me now, I don't recognize myself, I'm scared of what this pregnancy might mean for you, especially knowing that we tend to have many children at the same time”, he was shaking as he told me, so I grabbed his hand and shook it tightly to try to calm him down.

I gave him a little kiss on the crown of his head. “I didn't expect to find myself gestating a child again either at our age and after going through this so many times. I already felt complete with what we had. But today, when the doctor confirmed that we were pregnant, something changed in me. I have doubts, lots and lots of doubts, but also the desire to be a father again with you”, I told him without being able to look at him because I was so nervous. “I think it's clear to me that I want to have this child, or children. It may be our last chance to be parents again. Who knows. And, I'm not going to lie to you, I love how much the pregnancies brought us together before. So, yes, I want to be a father”. I looked down and saw him crying emotionally, as much as I was. Both with tears in our eyes.

Isaac sat up, grabbed my face and said in a breathy voice, “I love you so much. We're in this together, let's get to it”. We kissed passionately and sealed that night by fucking like animals again.

The following week we got our children together. Taking advantage of the fact that the older ones had returned from college that week for summer vacation, it was the ideal time to tell them all the good news. Isaac prepared a barbecue in the garden. We also invited Esther and her children Svetlana and Boris, the children she had with Yevgeni, who died last year in a helicopter accident.

Our best friends, Lucas and Adam, and their children Daniel and Isaac, the first ones I had as a surrogate, also came. They are also our family, our chosen family. For little Daniel and Isaac, our sons are their cousins, and we are their uncles. Lucas and Adam wanted us to be in their lives from day one. I will be eternally grateful to them, as it helped me cope better with the strange feeling of having given birth to children that were technically not mine. I still have a very close relationship with the other children I had as a surrogate, but they live farther away, so I see them less often. And also, Daniel and Isaac were my first, it's something special, hard to explain.

When they were a little older Lucas and Adam explained to the boys that I was the one who gestated them because they could not. Far from being scared, the children became even more fond of me. They say that I am their favorite uncle. When they tell me that in front of Isaac he gets jealous. I love to see him like that. He looks so sexy in those funny moments.

Before we got to desserts I sat for a while with my sister Esther and Lucas, my childhood friend. She has always been very perceptive, so it didn't catch me by surprise that she was the one who asked me the question, “You're pregnant again, aren't you?”. Lucas was silent and staring at me with wide eyes. “The first time you got pregnant you did something similar in Isaac's apartment in the city. You will have many children, but originality is not your strong point,” she said teasing me as only a sister knows how. I sipped my soda and nodded my head. “But don't tell anyone yet, we want to announce it to all of you today”, I winked.

Both Esther and Lucas were concerned about a pregnancy in my fifties. “Are you sure? You and Isaac have sky-high fertility, so knowing your backgrounds it's possible you're expecting a whole basketball team. Isn't that dangerous at your age?” said a very concerned Lucas. “Yes, we are aware of the complications that may be involved, but we want to give it a try. It could be our last chance to be parents again. It's not a planned pregnancy, but we agree that we want to try. We take all the risks”, I told them.

They both gave me a big hug in that very moment. They are the two people who understand me best. Apart from Isaac, I can talk to Esther and Lucas about anything. Their hug felt comforting, they were giving me their approval and support. I knew that in the face of any difficulty I could count on them in this adventure.

From across the garden Isaac was looking at us. I knew that without explaining anything to him, just by seeing the three of us hugging, he was aware that Lucas and Esther knew about the pregnancy and that they were giving me strength. His smile at the sight of us made me feel even more confident in the decision we had made. It would not be a planned pregnancy, but it would be a desired pregnancy.

After desserts we gathered everyone around the table and Isaac was in charge of telling everyone. “Thank you for coming to our house today. For us it is very important to have the family close to us in all our steps as a couple and as parents. We are about to start a journey with many doubts, but that will once again fill this house with love”. He then grabbed me with his left hand and put his right hand on my belly. In case anyone did not understand his gesture, he proceeded to clarify it by shouting it from the rooftops. “We are going to be parents again. We are pregnant!”, he announced with the same joy with which twenty years ago he told that we were pregnant for the first time.

Everyone started squealing with joy and celebrating. If there were any doubts, our family cleared them all. Our children hugged both of us, some of them crying with excitement as Isaac and I were. Sandra, our oldest, gave me a huge hug, then told me that “mommy would be as excited as I am right now. I can't wait to have new siblings". I think a lot about my ex-wife Sandra, and as my daughter said, I'm sure that on a day like this she would have liked to be with us celebrating. I miss her, I hope she is proud of the family we have given our daughter.

Be that as it may, come what children may, we are on this journey together, Isaac and I. Together about to become parents again. Living the best of our lives.

Go to Part 2

[imaginewarehouse]

Marcus White x Jonah’sSister!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: 

You find out that you are pregnant... with Marcus' miracle baby.

Warnings: Pregnancy, panic attack

🔆  🔆  🔆

Carefully, I pick out one of the pregnancy tests from the shelf. Then grab another... 2 more... and another. Just to be sure.

As I go up to the pharmacy desk, I thank god that Tate isn't working here anymore; I never would've gotten away with this. He would've snitched to Jonah or something, for his own sociopathic enjoyment. Instead, the new guy thankfully rings up and bags my items casually, not really caring what he flings into the white plastic bag- then hands it to me with a soulless customer service smile. If I had to describe it, I'd say its if the man had been working here for years before finally letting the job kill him on the inside- just in time for the wind to change and stick his face like that. Honestly, I never see the guy without this smile. Not even in the breakroom. Its unnerving.

Still, I take the bag and smile back even though I know he for sure doesn't really mean it and turn around so I can walk (The long way around the store, so I don't pass the doors to the warehouse) towards the employee bathrooms... but stop short, jolting into panic mode immediately. Freeze, freeze, freeze!

There's Isaac, standing as tall as a bear in my path behind the aisles, with a scanner in his hand and a surprised look on his face. Or at least as surprised as he would ever convey.

Clearly, though, he saw the tests. And I'm screwed. He is absolutely the well, second last person I wanted to catch me doing this; Buying these.

A nervous smile flickers onto my face and I walk the short ways over to him, hugging the bag to my front. He's still just staring; Mouth half open and eyes a little less dead, then usual. "Oh, hey Isaac! How's is going? You got sent to pharmacy today? That s-sucks... " Honestly I didn't think he was allowed to be assigned pharmacy...

Completely by-passing the option to forget what he just saw and exchange polite chit-chat with me, he instead closes his mouth and his eyes, shakes his head and then opens his eyes again. Then inhales. "Are those what I think those are?"

"Wh-what?"

"Pregnancy tes-"

Shit- Giving him a desperate expression, revealing my true feelings today - being complete and utter panic, - I cut him off. "SHHH! Isaac! No- uh. Yes. Um... Would you believe these aren't for me?"

"Mmm... " His face twists slightly into one of thought, tightening his lips together and sizing me up. "No, I don't think so."

"Well!- " I'm totally ready to make up an excuse... but peter out as soon I try. I could do it. I could string together some kind of half-believable bullshit like 'They're for Amy', but he would still go and tell Marcus and he would find me and... I would still have to have the conversation earlier then I want to. So instead I drop the façade, and my shoulders, and show just how tired I am. "I want to find out myself before breaking the news to Marcus. Okay? He might be unhappy about the idea and then we do the test and it turns out I'm not pregnant and then I just stressed us both out, for no reason! And, on the other hand, what if he wants it and it turns out I'm wrong about this? Please, Isaac, just don't tell him yet. Please, please." I feel like no matter how many pleases I use they may still not change anything. But I'm desperate.

He stands still for a few minutes... so long in fact I think he may be in shock himself, or having some kind of drug induced anxiety attack, and am about to wave my hand up in his face or say his name again, when he finally breathes a little more obviously and I relax back down to earth. "... Well, lets go find out then, right?"

"What- You- you want to come?" Something in me relaxes at the thought- I don't really want to do this alone. I want someone there, like in the movies, to hold the box and just read me the instructions. But I imagined it would be someone I'm actually close friends with, who can hold my hand and wouldn't care that it recently touched a pee-stick. I did not expect that person to be Isaac - Isaac, who likes to watch homeless people kill each other with shopping trollies and sticks and trash can shields like in a horrible, pitiful, modern-day coliseum, - in a million years.

But he nods.

"Yeah, sure." He puts his scanner on the shelf, and we set off the way I was going. He seems to silently understand why we have to go the long way around- to avoid passing the doors to the warehouse. Or he just doesn't care. Either way, I'm thankful he doesn't try to re-rout my course. Or even mention it. "Good excuse to slack off work... besides I should probably get out of this section, anyway. Hey, it is Marcus- right?"

I sigh- I suppose the companionable silence was too much to ask for. "Yes Isaac. If its a thing, in the first place."

"Yeah, right."

___TIME SKIP___

"You're having a miracle baby, you know? He's not supposed to be able to do that- isn't that kinda... good?"

I only whimper in response from |my new home| the cubicle I've been taking the tests in, holding my head. How am I going to do this? I have college, I have this job, I have my studio apartment to continue paying rent for! Marcus and I don't even... there isn't even... we haven't labelled it yet, and... Oh god, I'm shaking.

Isaac heaves a sigh outside, his chair creaking as he shifts. "Well, that's... three positives, so far." Isaac's memorable, slow drawl seeps through the cracks in my cubicle and takes away my thoughts for a moment. And my breath.

3 positives.

3 positives.

Not one, not two... three.

... Then he goes on, a whiny tone in his voice. "Do we really need to do another one?"

I breathe in deep. I don't know what else to do. The next logical step would be telling Marcus or Jonah, but I'm ready for neither of those. So procrastination through pregnancy test, it has to be. "Uh, yes. We do. Um... can you, please?- "

"Ughhh. Yeah, yeah. I'll get you more water. Stay here." Then Isaac, who has surprisingly been very helpful, even getting me tape so I can stick the finished tests up to the door in front of me so that I can compare them easier, disappears out of the women's bathroom, leaving me with my thoughts.

I peak back up at the tests, feeling panic fill up my chest cavity like its anxiety gas and my rib cage is the gas chamber- and my heart's the poor organ at deaths row. I'm... pregnant.

Oh my god. I'm pregnant. There is a human being growing inside me, right now. A human being who will require time that I definitely don't have, money that its parents certainly could not scavenge if we scavenged for used soda cans like Myrtle and sold them in our spare time, effort that I'm terrified might not even be in me at this point... A baby that needs some semblance of a comfortable, stable home, which I do not have for it.

I'm just burrowing my face into my arms and knees atop the toilet seat when the bathroom door opens again. Looking up, I immediately ask for Isaac- because that was really freaken quick, for him.

And get a familiar, confused sounding voice call back "... No, its Amy... Sorry, I just need to pee. Are you going to be long?".

"Oh!" Oops. Immediately, head going empty with panic, I unlock the door and and jump out to let her in. "No! I just finished. Um- go ahead. I'll just wash- wash my hands."

Now seeing each other, I see Amy's forehead crease and her eyebrows furrow in confusion and concern at my pink cheeked/pale faced appearance and the panicky way I'm talking. She reaches out toward me. "... Y/N, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I laugh, the most nervous sounding laugh ever. "Don't worry."

Amy's nose screws up. "... why were you waiting for Isaac?"

"We-we're just having an affair."

... what??

Her eyebrows furrow even deeper. "Okay... I'm just gonna go... pee... now... " She says slowly, gradually disappearing into the cubicle; Not quite sure what to say back to that.

I sigh in relief when her eyes aren't on me anymore and the door locks, thinking flushing some water onto my face might calm me down, when a loud GASP comes from Amy and I i m m e d i a t e l y remember the tests stuck to the wall. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

Amy comes right out of there, looking at me with completely new eyes now- understanding truly why I'm pale, I'm sure, and definitely why I was acting the way I was. "Y/N! You're... pregnant??!" I open my mouth to respond. Maybe say 'yes' seeing as that's the truth and the only proper answer, but I choke on my words and instead say, "Isaacs getting more water so I can take another test."

"I think 3 is a pretty conclusive number!"

"I-" She is not wrong, but I don't want to do anything else but take another easy test, and get defensive instead. "I bought four, I'm doing four!"

"Wh- Is Isaac the father!?"

"God, no." Isaac and I both spit back in offense.

I whip my head around when i realise he wasn't supposed to be there yet at all, and- there he is in the doorway.

... Jonah right behind him looking sicker then me. My jaw drops. "You brought Jonah??!"

"Uh, no, I was just waiting outside for, um," He gestures to Amy and my stomach drops. So he heard the whole thing. Could this get any worse??! Well I mean of course it could, Marcus could be here. Stupid question. Don't ask questions like that; It always summons the worst, in movies. "You're pregnant!? Who- you know what, unimportant right now. Do you wanna sit down??"

I shake my head, taking a deep breath and holding my hand out to Isaac. "No, I'm fine. I have a test to do. Water, Isaac?"

"Here." He hands me the bottle, and I go to disappear back into the cubicle before jumping back away again, remembering that Amy still needs to go and gesturing for her to go, ridiculously enough. She shakes her head and gestures back, like I'm crazy, to take it instead.

I do so and lock myself in, starting to chug the whole bottle.

A blessed silent moment passes... before Jonah speaks. "Is the 4th test really necessary?- "

"For the love of god- Let me take the fourth goddamn test for fucks sake!"

___TIME SKIP___

"... so what is it?" Amy asks 10 minutes later, breaking the deafening silence, as I sit back down on the toilet seat and hold my face in my hands again.

"... Positive... "

Isaac sighs. "Who would have guessed, really?"

No one tells him to shut up. He's right. But also no one agrees, because I'm a fucking 23 year old pregnant girl and I will kill them.

"So... what now?" Amy asks, speaking to the room, but expecting me to answer.

"Well, I'd like less people to be here, honestly." I pipe up, removing my hands from my mouth to speak clearer.

"Done. Isaac, Jonah, get out."

"What? I was here before you... lady." Isaac exclaims, offended, but a moment later I hear the door close, anyway. I assume it had something to do with Amy's signature resting bitch face- cranked up to eleven. "We'll just wait out here, then! Yell if you need us."

"Yep... " Amy responds to him, sounding exhausted and I can totally imagine her rolling her eyes right now. She takes a deep breath, and sighs it out. I hear her rest carefully down into the chair Isaac vacated. For a moment she thankfully says nothing, and I do wonder whether I should... but I don't know what to so say. So I just stay hidden in the cubicle, silent until Amy takes another deep breath and asks the question. "Who is it?"

I take a deep breath, knowing that once I say it I cant take it back, while on the other hand... its done, anyway. He's already the father and I cant change that (Would I if I could, though?) but telling Amy may either make or break my confidence in having him as the dad of my kid. Not that I have a choice... I just know that Amy's going to be worried about it and I don't know if I can handle the criticism right this moment.

Finally I spit it out though. Marcus.

...

"Oh- wow."

Uncomfortable, I shift on the closed toilet seat. "Yeah."

Her voice gets higher, clearly fake and trying to sound like this is better then she really feels it is. My heart plummets into my stomach like a terrible roller coaster. "Well, that's... " She pauses, searching for a safe word to use, assumedly. "Great!"

"... 'great?" For some reason that word, and Amy's tone... hits something wrong, in me. Panic flickers deep in my chest and my stare on the wall gets colder, harder. "... you think this is 'great'? Really? You? No, you don't. Do you hear yourself? 'Great'. Puh! This is Marcus. 'Been to jail' Marcus. 'Ex Con' Marcus. 'Creator and CEO of BOOB CHEESE', Marcus. Marcus who shits in the shower and thinks breastfeeding is akin to whipping your dick out in public, Marcus who has a tattoo of his mother on his back for Valentines day- "

Okay so maybe I'm just picking on him because I'm inadequate, because I don't have the time for a baby, because if I'm trusted with this perfect thing then I will ruin it... I'll pick work, instead of love, and they'll grow up with less of it then they should have and I'll be to blame...

But I don't want to address that yet. I cant.

"Y/N."

"Neither of us even have the money for this." I'm panicking again. "He lives with his mother! And- what if he gets mad... " I suddenly get worried, my eyes go round and I cover my mouth. "I really like him Amy. I cant have him mad at me. Not for this. Not him. Please don't let him hate m- "

"Y/N! Calm the fuck down, okay, right now. Don't speak. Just... take some deep breathes okay? First of all, Marcus is not going to be 'mad' at you. He's sure as hell is not going to hate you. You're spiralling, just take some long breaths." Amy makes it sound like a ridiculous idea with her tone, that he might be mad or he might hate me. I do as she says as she talks; take deeeeeep breaths. Slowly, I start to clam down. "He might be shocked, yeah, but he's- he's not like that. He's an idiot, not a total asshole. Take it from me, I know what I'm talking about here. I promise you. Whether he'll be good at being a parent, is... debatable." Everything she says makes sense. And she would know- you've met Adam. "But he'll be there, at the very least.

And... and you'll be a great mum, anyway."

I feel my heartbeat start to slow down again as I breath. I close my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and rest back against the wall, carefully.

I really hope she's right on that second part.

"... thank you."

___OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM___

Jonah rubs his neck in nervousness at his sister in the bathroom dealing with something like this, pacing around the small hallway area before turning to Isaac. He raises his dark eyebrows. "So, do you know... wh-who?? I mean... the guy, that- I mean, does he work here, or... ???"

"Its Marcus." Isaac pulls out a bag of trail mix from his vest pocket and starts picking through, standing by the bathroom calmly. The brother to whom he just broke such detrimental news - that his sister, has Marcus White of BOOB CHEESEs baby inside her, - widens his eyes until they're more like dinner plates. "Yeah, they've been talking for a while, man. You didn't know?"

"I- I just thought she wasn't interested in... guys... " All her time must be busy with balancing both school and work, plus her friends... how can she possible have had time to... But on the other hand, he realises that its a bit naïve to think that his younger sister still isn't interested in 'boys'. Part of it might have been wishful thinking.

Isaac barks out a laugh. Its a stale, dry sound that makes Jonah really uncomfortable. "She also went out with Tate. Had a bit of a thing for Sayid for a while, too... "

"What!?- "

"Jonah!" At Amy's exit from the bathroom, he calms down immediately and straightens up. She raises her brows at him. She nods into the bathroom. "She wants you."

Yep- it takes him about 2 seconds to fly into the bathroom... to find his sister still hidden in the cubicle. He sighs, pressing his hand against the door. "Y/N? Amy said you wanted me. Do you want me to get you something to eat? Its just, I'm the only one who knows your snack preferences... and maybe we shouldn't eat in here, cuz its kinda gross... but if you want to, that's cool too!"

She doesn't respond for a minute, silent apart from the careful peeling of tape from the cubicle door.

Then the peeling sounds stop. A moment later her voice, sounding small and tentative as if just saying this would open Pandora's box, slips out. "... how're mum and dad gonna react?"

Its a rhetorical question. They both know it'll be bad - and they'll like Marcus even less, - , but its said so he knows what she's worried about. He sighs and leans back on the door. "Well very, very badly. But that doesn't matter right now. I'll take care of them."

"How valiant." Her voice is still small, quiet. But she sounds less scared; She always believes her big brother. Even when she knows logically that he cant protect her from them. Not their parents.

"Well, I try."

"... hm."

___TIME SKIP, BACK OUTSIDE OF THE BATHROOM___

"She is not leaving that bathroom," Isaac shakes his head. Its been an hour, and they've all been in there with her a couple times but she has not left the cubicle. Not even peaked her head out. She hasn't even e a t e n anything while she's been in there. Its starting to worry them. "Maybe we should go get Marcus."

Immediately Jonah looks up from his phone - having been reading up on pregnancy. What is going to start happening to his sister, now?? - and shakes his head, firmly. "No, she'll tell him when she feels comfortable with it. We aren't doing that."

"Yeah, it isn't up to us." Amy agrees, while still looking like on a deep, unsympathetic level that is tired of standing here... she definitely wants to drag Marcus here. But she also knows that Jonah is, unfortunately, a n n o y i n g l y, right.

Isaac heaves a deep, frustrated huff and gets comfortable on the floor.

___TIME SKIP: 3 HOURS LATER___

Finally, Jonah breathes in a deep, exhausted breath and puts his phone away. That's enough of that. He's sufficiently disgusted. He looks down the hallway, out to the store. Then to Amy playing solitaire on her phone and Isaac drawing slowly on the ground. "... Well, I mean, it's Marcus's baby too, right? He should know... right?"

"Mhm,"

"Yep, that's right."

"And... besides, Y/N might need him, right? Maybe he could get her out."

"You make some good points."

"I just wish they weren't points we already mentioned." Amy looks up from her phone and turns it off, flashing an sarcastic, displeased kind of smile. "Earlier."

"Yeah well... " He rolls his shoulders, looking away from Amy's piercing gaze- god, her face is like a loaded gun with no safety. And he's totally into it. He coughs, then whispers. "So, who wants to go get him??"

"Not it."

"I would, but ah... nah. I'm down for the count, down here."

"So... me."

Amy nods, making a 'shoo'-ing gesture with her hand. "Yep, you, Jiminy Cricket. You made us stay here for hours- you go get Marcus."

Looking to Isaac for help, Jonah is just met with the deadest eye's he has ever come upon, so he eventually sighs deeply, wiping sweaty hands on his jeans. "Fff-fine. Wait here."

___IN THE WAREHOUSE___

"Uh, hello? Hi- have you seen Marcus anywhere? Wh- No? Well if you see him can you tell him I'm looking for him? Its about Y/N."

The warehouse worker with the nametag reading 'Nigel' that Jonah's never spoken to before in his life and who prior to his words, had the new deadest eyes that Jonah has ever seen, suddenly beams- a twinkle of evil mischief in his eyes. "Oooooh, cats outta the bag, huh?"

Jonah blinks. "What?"

"You found out about Marcus and your sister, and now you're gonna beat him up? I was waiting for this moment." Nigel clarifies, actively looking around the room for Marcus now as Jonah rushes to explain that no, that is not what he's here for. Please don't say that so loudly- "HEY RICO! You seen Marcus around?? Y/N's brother's here to deliver an ass beating." Half a second passes while Jonah's ears ring from Nigel's screeching before something new apparently occurs to the warehouse worker as his eyes widen and he turns again to who must be Rico. "And you owe me 20 bucks!! Told ya he'd come!"

How often is Y/N in this place? Just seems weird, these guy's saying her name so casually... Jonah's forehead crinkles in thought as Rico rolls his eyes and groans, walking off to assumedly find Marcus. I'm learning a lot about my sister, today... Not sure how I feel about it...

Jesus Christ, has she eaten the cheese, too??!

Jonah doesn't get a moment to panic about that particular bit of nightmare material before he realises Nigel is still standing, awkwardly now, arms straight at his sides and eyebrows raised expectantly, right by him. Watching him, instead of returning to his job. Jonah raises his own eyebrows back; Shrugging. Like, what?? What do you want?

Nigel just just shrugs and shakes his head back passive aggressively, crossing his arms. Like, he doesn't know. Fine, we'll just stand in silence, then...

"Jonah! What's up, buddy? Visiting me in the warehouse- this is so nice! Want me to take my break now, cuz we totally can. Just let me wrap one last thing up and then we'll be back in my car, together. Listening to tunes; Ya know. Guy buddy stuff." T h a n k f u l l y, Marcus seems to rush from wherever he was in the depths of shelf-land when Rico apparently found him and cuts off the awkward stand off between the two men, dropping a hand on Jonah's shoulder and beaming. "What up, man?"

Quick to turn away from Nigel and get to what his mission really is at the moment, Jonah graciously ignores the touchy greeting... despite the awkwardness on his end and the fact that Nigel is still there, watching.  "Actually, I wanted to talk about, uh, Y/N."

Marcus' eyes immediately widen and his eyebrows raise, taking his hand off Jonah in favour of ringing his hands and stepping back nervously himself. "Oh, man... you found out, didn't you? Did she tell you? Cuz like, I know the bro code says its not cool to bone your friend's sister but- "

"Ah, ah, ah!" No, no, no, Jonah does not want to hear those words. No. "No, um. That's fine, whatever. Y/N's sexuality is her own. But- "

"Its a ruse, Marcus. He's here to kick your ass." Nigel insists, still very much there despite everything about this situation having nothing to do with him and instead just freaks Marcus out more as the warehouse head's eyes go even wider and he takes another step back- raising his hands in surrender.

"No, no! Nigel!- That's... no. I'm not here to kick anyone's ass! The asses here are all perfectly safe, I promise. Okay?" When Nigel's expression doesn't change a lick, Jonah gives up and just gestures off in a random direction. "Nigel, could you give us a minute, here?"

"What, so you can jump my boy here alone?"

"Alone?? Who's alone?" Jonah is getting increasingly irritated. "We're literally surrounded by other warehouse workers!! Ones who are actually doing their jobs, by the way. Maybe you should- "

Marcus finally intercepts and pats Nigel's shoulder, getting his attention from looking confrontationally at Jonah and smiles relatively softly at him. "Its okay, Nigel. If Jonah wants to kick me in my junk once- he's kinda entitled to it. Bro code and everything. Why don't you get back to work? I got this. Thanks, though." Nigel leaves, with that, but certainly not without giving Jonah one last greasy look over his shoulder and an 'Okay, Marcus. But call me, if... you know... '. Along with an extra evil squinty look at Jonah. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks bud. I know I can count on you." When Nigel is finally out of the picture, Jonah feels fatigued and just wants to get back to Y/N. At least its just him and Marcus now, though, so they should be doing that very soon. "So! What'd you want? If you really do wanna hurt me, then, can we go outside? By my car ideally, so I can drive the emergency room right after? Or you, cuz I mean... you're small, man. And I'll have to defend myself. Even if its fair. Its instinct, you know? You get it."

"I'm not gonna hurt you?? Why does everyone think- " What is wrong with people here? Do I give off a confrontational aura right now, or something??? "Ugh, whatever. Y/N needs you- she's been in the bathroom for 4 hours. We did try to get her out ourselves, but our attempts have been... l-lacklustre." Lacklustre? Okay, even he is surprised to hear that one come out of him.

"She needs... me? Like, she said that?" All of a sudden Marcus' expression changes. Worry wells in his eyes and his forehead creases, and he glances at the door out to the floor before returning to Jonah, looking restless now as his body fights with him to go, immediately. "Oh, what's wrong with her? Is she sick??"

"Uhh... in a manner of speaking... Look, I just think she needs to see you right now."

That makes the taller man move towards the door, clipboard dropped on a box on his way. "Of course; Right away man. Come on, lets go see her. So you really don't know what's wrong?? Should we pick up some root beer on the way?" Jonah follows behind, hand on his chin as he answers Marcus' questions. Wow... He did not expect such a response from him... He... kinda respects it, in a way. Its a pleasant surprise, at least.

___BACK TO YOU AND YOUR POV. God I hate third person. Its so hard, I want to cry___

"Y/N? You in here??" As soon as that voice registers in my mind, my heart beat skips in the worst way and I almost start to full on panic all over again, but thankfully instead just freeze and only widen my eyes. What the hell? The door to the employee bathroom closes as Marcus shuts himself in and you watch his boots appear under the door to your stall. "What's going on? Jonah couldn't tell me what's wrong with you," Jonah. I glare at the stall door. I'm going to kill him. "But I brought you some root beer for you- a total cure all. I promise. And some (Enter your favourite snack) cuz I know you like them. Here," He stretches up and holds the items over the stall door, and, feeling genuinely touched that Marcus was sweet enough to bring these, I get up off the toilet seat and accept them from him.

"Thank you, that's really nice. I'm... not sure, that the root beer will fix this, though." I speak carefully, sitting down and holding the items in my lap close to my stomach.  

"Course it will! I poured some in Mateo's ear once when he had an infection... I think it worked?"

Probably not. "This is a lot bigger then an ear infection... Kinda permanent, too?"

"Oh god, is it cancer?" He pauses for a moment but before I can put that particular worry at rest... or remind him that cancer is not always permanent... he makes it worse, and I fight not to facepalm. "The plague??! Its still a thing, you know. Jesus, its not that is it? Please tell me its not that! That would be the worst!" I mean... yeah, it would.

"Oh- no no! No, nothing like that!! I'm just pregnant!"

... wait.

Immediately I want to take back my words and say them differently- because is that really the way I just broke it to him?? Oh my god. My hand slaps over my mouth- then pulls back an inch to speak again, but is definitely on guard to slap again and prohibit anymore stupid to come out. "I mean! ... N-no big deal?" My voice gets tiny. "At least its not the plague, right?" I'm just making this worse, so I cover my mouth again.

Marcus does not respond, and I can imagine his face crystal clear, without having to look. He would have his mouth hanging open like a cartoon character, his shoulders have dropped, eyes are blank, and he's pale as hell. Oh god... oh god oh go oh god... I cover my whole face now and just try to breath evenly, and not talk anymore. I was right! He's not going to even like me anymore, this is going to ruin how he looks at me- I cant have Marcus look at me coldly. I really cant.

Finally, a few minutes later the door to the bathroom creaks open again and I know it's not Marcus escaping because I can still see his boots under the door and they haven't shifted in a while. Amy's voice rings out, too loudly in the stock silent bathroom. "... everything okay in here? We haven't heard anything in a while- Marcus?"

He doesn't respond.

I hear Amy walk in now, her heels click-click-clicking on the tiled floor. "Marcus? Marcus, are you okay?" She snaps her fingers, assumedly near his unresponsive face. I slip my fingers down to just cover my mouth, straining my ears to hear any movement from him. "Wake up!" Another snap. "Marcus wake up."

All of a sudden I hear shifting and his boots shift slightly and I squeeze my eyes slowly shut- now he speaks. Now's the part where he speaks. Now's the worst part! He either leaves, or stays. "Uhh... I'm awake, okay?"

...

Amy and I are both startled by the seriousness in Marcus' voice- Amy evidently in the way she responds, backing out of the room. "... Okay! Um, well talk. To Y/N. I'm... just gonna... wait outside... "

Marcus just grunts in response, turning back to my stall door. Then he wraps his knuckles against the surface and I flinch- unsure whether to unlock it and be a grown up or stay hidden away like I really, really want to. Its not like I'm afraid he'll hurt me or anything, not at all! Its just... I don't like to disappoint people and I'm terrified at seeing his face. "Y/N? Can you come out, now?"

"Ummm... no... " I wince, keeping my eyes closed to the world. As if that'll hide me from it.

"No???" He asks, bewildered.

"No... "

Marcus' voice isn't at all as cold-serious as it was when he spoke to Amy, but still. There is still definitely an unfamiliar focused quality about it, and its making me nervous. "What? Come on. What do you think's gonna happen? I'll yell at you? Come on, that's not gonna happen; Come out. "

"I'd really rather stay in here... " I fire back.

"Don't be scared of me." He really does sound trustworthy... but that fear, man; She's one unrelenting bitch.

My voice goes high pitched when I answer, too vehement to be the truth. "I-I'm not! Silly! Why would I be scared of you??" My eyes open up again and I just wince. Such a liar.

"Aghh... " I just listen to him shifting around out there looking for something for a bit, or thinking of what to say next, while I myself sit and think comfortable that there is nothing that will make this worse, seeing as I'm safe and sound in this toilet stall... before his boots disappear from my vision under the door and I hear him disappear out of the bathroom then return again almost immediately, going into the stall beside me and putting something down on the toilet seat in there.

Oh my god- he wouldn't dare! He would not-

Then all of a sudden he's climbing over the wall and I have to jump off the toilet seat and press closely to the stall door, root beer and snack still hugged in my arms like teddy bears. Marcus eases himself over the wall and onto the toilet seat before my eyes, then jumps off it to the tiles again in front of me, while I gape wide at him. "I- what- Marcus!"

"Well you weren't coming out! It was my only option!" He exclaims, and now that I see him I do relax a bit. There's no coldness in his face now, and there is certainly no unfamiliar, unfriendly seriousness, either, seeing as the man just climbed into a toilet stall to get to me. Very Marcus-y. I slowly let out a relieved breath, which is still also a 'calm down' breath as the pressure is certainly still on. I can see him, but he can also see me.

Eager to avoid the issue at hand, I snap. "You might've kicked me!"

"No, I wouldn't have." He makes a defensive 'pshhh' sound immaturely, waving me off with a hand before resting them both on his hips and looking right at me. I give him my own dubious look right back- What makes him so sure??? He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, anyway." Suddenly, a beautiful big smile spreads across his face; the kind that still makes me a little bit weak and almost forces me to smile back. Even now, in this situation. "This is great."

And then I'm speechless, mouth closed and eyebrows furrowed together. ... Great? What? Quickly he moves to clarify, before grinning that goofy grin of his. "The pregnancy! Man, I've seen enough girlfriends get pregnant over the years... its nice to see one having my baby." A moment passes and my system is just registering this reaction - not even relieved, yet. Just in shock and a little less anxiety, - before he drops his smile, raises an eyebrow, and adds: "It is mine, right?"

Still shocked, I answer as if the question was more on the lines of 'That was my cupcake that I just ate, right?'. Meaning, probably too casually. "Oh- oh, yeah! Abs- absolutely." He doesn't seem to mind.

He beams again. "Great! We'll be awesome parents- that is assuming you wanna keep the baby, right?"

"Uh... " All I want to say is yes, right now. Even as the complications of raising a baby right now linger in the forefront of my mind. But at the same time I'm looking at Marcus and I just want to. I want to have the baby, and I want to do it with him... in the moment, he's the absolute perfect person to do it with. I choke out, "Yeah."

He fist pumps the air at that response, and finally the relief starts to settle in my stomach and my heart... a smile grows on my own face. My eyes even get a little watery with the powerful relief. "YES! That's right, I'm gonna be a Dad. Whoo! We gotta tell everyone. But how, do you think? Should we get a cake or something that says it in icing?? Or should we just go out there and announce it over the speakers? Or should we just not tell anyone? Cuz on the one hand, I wanna tell everyone- but on the other... I don't really want Carol to know you're pregnant. That could be bad."

"Um... " I don't even know what to say. I just want to hug him, so I do. I step forward and wrap my arms around his middle, burying my face in his coveralls and the body I've become so familiar with over the past months that smells so uniquely - and not always so pleasantly, but definitely comforting,  - like Marcus and squeeze tight, closing my eyes. He smells like that 'new furniture' smell that's really just 'warehouse', and an unfamiliar home, and a little bit of B.O.

Thank god.

Amy was right. Of course she was. Even when I was stressing, I knew the image I had of Marcus getting mad about this didn't feel quite right, but... you have to prepare yourself for the worst, you know? I'm just so glad he's the way he is though, as he wraps his arms around my shoulders in return and bends his neck to press his cheek to my head. "I'm really happy about this. And I know we haven't figure anything out. With us, with money, with anything actually, but... we will, okay? I'll do my best, I promise."

"... Thank fuck." I chuckle, although its muffled and get a similar sound from him in return. "I'm really happy, too." He rubs my back in that rough, comforting way that guys do and I might as well melt; He's too wonderful. I bite my bottom lip, thinking my next move through before taking a deep breath and deciding to take the plunge and ask. "... hey... um... b-boyfriend?"

Marcus immediately pulls me back and holds me at arms length, a crazy-big grin splitting his face. "Oh, yes! This day just keeps getting better and better; Come on, we definitely have to tell everyone this, lets go." Excitedly, he slips past me and unlocks the stall door finally, but pauses and turns back to me before its pushed open at all. I tilt my head in curiosity- what's up? "Unless... congrats sex?"

...

Oh my god- a snort, transforming into a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. I pull him closer by the front of his coveralls, grinning at both the idea and how silly he is and gently tug him down closer to my level. I close my lips and knit my eyebrows together understandingly. "... How about you come over after work? First we should probably deal with the others? You know, the ones hanging outside right now?"

"Oh, yeah, probably. Oh man- I'll be basically related to Jonah now!" Oh- well- not exactly but... okay fine. If it makes the guy happy. "Ha ha, look forward to seeing this face every Christmas, bro." Oh boy.

I just grin at that - Goodluck Jonah, - before leaning up the rest of the way and pressing a careful kiss to Marcus' lips which he immediately returns with enthusiasm, hands abandoning the stall lock and collecting my waist instead.

This is going to be okay.

It will work out. I hope.

BONUS:

Later in the breakroom while Marcus is busy with talking to some of the other Cloud 9 employees about the news, Jonah takes the seat next to me and I raise my eyebrows at him- he's obviously dying to say something. I know my brother at least that much. He sighs.

"So... you... haven't eaten the cheese, right? I mean, I have but I'm hoping you haven't been put through such, uh, cruel and unusual torture... "

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. I managed to convince him it was cannibalism for women." I grin, returning immediately to my Cloud 9 Caesar salad as Jonah sighs long and hard in relief, relaxing back into his chair.

[princeescaluswords]

Learning the Lesson

Parts of the fandom have often expressed an irrational rage when it comes to the question “why didn’t Scott trust Derek with the secret of Gerard’s cancer and his plan to turn Gerard’s plan to have Derek bite him against him?”  

Allow me to provide some insight on Scott’s motivations.  Remember this scene?

At the beginning of Master Plan (2x12), Scott has been waiting with Isaac for the police, Coach, and the other lacrosse players to leave so he can rip the door off Stiles locker in order to get things for him and Isaac with which to track Stiles down.  So who should show up at that point but Derek and Peter.  

Allow me to reproduce a snippet of that conversation.

Scott: What the hell is this?

Derek: You know, I thought the same thing when I saw you talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station. 

Scott: Okay, hold on. He - he threatened to kill my mom. And I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do? 

Peter: I'm gonna go with Scott on this one. Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous. 

Derek/Scott: Shut up.

Isaac: Who is he? 

Scott: That's Peter, Derek's Uncle. Little while back, he tried to kill us all, and then we set him on fire, and Derek slashed his throat. 

Peter: Hi. 

Isaac: That's good to know. 

Scott: How is he alive? 

Derek: Look, the short version is he knows how to stop Jackson. And maybe how to save him.

In case you forgot, this isn’t the first time that Derek has surprised Scott in the locker room by being in the company of Peter.  Remember this particular scene?

Now, Co-Captain (1x10) may have been a year before to the viewing audience, but to the characters here, Derek’s betrayal and brutal violation of Scott in the very same place the present conversation is occurring with the very same person happened somewhere at the beginning or middle of February of 2011 and this is taking place at the end of March 2011, a week or so after Lydia’s birthday party.  So that scene in Co-Captain took place six to eight weeks before.

So, suddenly Derek is once again teaming up with Peter, the person -- if anyone needed reminding -- who not only threatened the life of Scott’s mother, but also his best friend, his girl friend, and anyone Scott was connected to, but also murdered eight people; savaged Lydia; transformed Scott against his will and violated his mind repeatedly, trying to get him to kill his friends.   But hey, Scott should so totally trust Derek, right?  Right?  Right?     

I also would like to point out a few other things in this scene that just might suggest that Scott was right not to trust Derek with his Master Plan.   See the third sentence in the sample above.  When Derek brings up his realization that Scott was seemingly working with Gerard, Scott explains that he was doing it under duress (which he was!) and he was doing it to get close to Gerard (which he did!).  Let’s compare that to what Derek said when Scott demanded an explanation in Co-Captain:

Scott: You're on his side? Are you forgetting the part where he killed your sister?

Derek: It was a mistake. 

Scott: What? 

Derek: It happens.

There’s a significant difference in these lines, isn’t there?  Scott is working with Gerard to stop him and to protect his mother, and Derek worked with Peter because, well, he can understand how mistakes were made.

But hey, Scott, should so totally trust Derek, right?  Right?  Right?

I also want to point out that Isaac doesn’t know anything about Peter.  Not that this should be a news flash to anyone, but Derek hasn’t been particularly forthcoming with his betas about what happened in the SIX WEEKS before he bit them.   He says he told them about the hunters, but did he give them the full story about why the hunters were in town?   About how he got his alpha abilities?  Did he say “Yeah, my uncle became the alpha by murdering my sister and then I became an alpha by murdering him; this is normal in werewolf society -- promotion by murder.  Wanna join?”   

Isaac’s face on the words “That’s good to know” certainly implies it would have been better for him to know this before he said yes to the Bite, don’t you think?  Is anyone shocked that in a little over six months, Isaac’s going to have to demand that Derek explain why he did this to them?  I’m not.  

On the other hand, contrary to what thousands of Sterek shippers believe, Stiles never had to ask about what happened to Gerard.  He was never surprised by Gerard still being alive and he certainly didn’t demand an explanation about why Scott did what he did.  It’s almost as if he already knew about it and didn’t care.  We can’t be 100% sure, of course, but the fact that Isaac, Scott and Boyd all criticized Derek for not sharing information, but the fact that Stiles never even asked about the Master Plan should mean something.

But hey, Scott, should so totally trust Derek, right? Right?  Right?

So, let me wax dramatic for a moment and paraphrase the last part of that first exchange.  

Scott: You’ve sided with your murderous uncle again?  You asked for my help and then started working with the man who tormented me and everyone I loved the moment he came back from the grave?  Did you lie to me about him being dead?  Did you help him come back?

Derek: I have neither the time nor the interest to explain myself to you.  I’m the alpha, so just suck it up and do what I tell you.   When it is in the interest of the greater good, I don’t have to answer to anyone.

Scott: Is that how werewolves work?  If you have a good enough reason, you can do what’s necessary without even an apology. Thanks for the lesson, Derek.  Keep what you just taught me in mind for about ... thirty minutes, okay?  It might be useful to you.

If Scott was a terrible person for not revealing the cancer and the mountain ash trick as a way of stopping Gerard’s plan to get the Bite and hurting Derek’s feelings, then maybe fandom might want to consider that he learned his lesson at the feet of the master of concealing information and ignoring other people’s feelings, Derek Hale.  He has zero room to complain, which to his credit, he never does.

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

Mistakes Pt.2

Word Count: 1,457

Characters: Derek Hale, Scott McCall (brief), Lydia Martin (brief), Stiles Stilinski (brief), Isaac Lahey (brief), OC Characters (brief)

Pairings: Eventual Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff if you squint, getting drunk TW: near-suicide, vomitting  

A/N: oof part one was way better

Masterlist

“You can’t do this. Please, I’m begging you,” you tried to hold back your cries, your brother nervously sitting in front of you.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), we don’t have any other choice,” the deputy shook his head.

It’s been a month since your mom passed, you had still yet to speak to the pack. But now, your younger brother was going to be put into foster care. You were only a few months shy of your 18th birthday, but that didn't matter to them. You still had no stable job or income, you could barely take care of yourself, and now your brother was suffering the consequences.

“I’ll leave you two to say your goodbyes,” the deputy walked out of the door, while your brother collapsed into your arms.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he sniffled.

“I don’t want you to leave either, kiddo,” you replied softly.

“Can’t y-you call Dad? Won’t he be able to do something?” Sam asked.

“He won’t pick up,” you shook your head.

“I don't wanna go to foster care, I wanna stay with you,” he cried softly.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to control your sobs.

“I promise you, I will try to do everything I can to get you out. W-We’ll be okay,” you said, trying to convince yourself more. This could be one of the last times you were going to see him.

“You keep saying that but things keep getting worse and worse,” he argued.

“I-I know, but you have to have hope,” you heard a knock on the door, the deputy entering once again.

“We’ll be back to see how you’re doing in a month,” you could hear Sam crying as you nodded your head.

“I love you kiddo, don’t forget it,” you kissed his forehead, before watching him being taken away from you.

“(Y/N),” you heard Lydia’s voice as your head shot up.

“They took Sammy away,” you bit your lip.

“Why didn't you tell us what happened? Come here,” she wrapped her arms around your shaking figure, while you cried in her arms.

---

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up,” you heard Stiles say sarcastically as you entered Scott’s house, Lydia behind you.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said softly.

You could feel Derek and Lydia both staring at you, the only ones who knew what really happened.

“Where have you been?” Scott asked.

“I’ve just been busy,” you shrugged.

“She forgot about us,” Isaac said.

“Okay, let’s just… what are we hunting?” you asked.

After the meeting, which seemed like it went on for hours, you were pulled aside by Derek as you were walking out.

“What do you want?!” you clenched your jaw tightly, looking up at him.

“I wanted to say sorry,” he started.

“I really don't need your pity, Derek,” you scoffed.

“I’m sorry I was a dick to you before. I’m sorry that I never got the chance to know you, I’m sorry-” you cut him off once more.

“The only reason you’re saying all of this is because my mother died. You don’t care about me, you just want to pity me and clear your conscience. Leave me alone,” you stuffed your hands in your pocket, before storming off.

---

“No, I understand, Sheriff,” you bit your lip, before hanging up the call from Sheriff Stilinski.

His hands were tied to get your brother back to you. You could hear your ears buzzing as you continued to make your way home before Derek stopped you once again.

“(Y/N),” he started.

“You again? Derek, I don't want your pity,” you sighed.

“This isn't pity. You have to know that I'm sorry. I judged you before I even got to know you o-or understand anything in your life and that’s all my fault-”

“Derek, please stop. Just leave me alone,” more and more tears welled up in your eyes before walking away from him once more.

---

You put your head in your hands, sitting on your kitchen table as you let out a soft cry, going through the papers around you. You just needed a stable job, something you could hang on to. All to get Sam back. But it was nearly impossible.

There seemed to be nowhere in California that hired 17-year-old college dropouts. Out of desperation, you even called your father a few times, going straight to voicemail.

You felt more alone than ever, and you only had yourself to blame. You were too harsh on your mother, you never talked to her and asked her how she was doing, you never tried to help her or be there for her, all you seemed to do was to yell at her. And look where that got you.

Chills went down your spine as you curled yourself into a small ball, rocking slightly as you let out your soft cries, trying to control your breathing. Your hands were shaking, you hadn't slept in what felt like months. It’s only been three months since your mom died, and two months since you lost Sam. You were making no progress to get him back. You were gonna fail your promise to him.

Just another stupid mistake from yours truly 

Your mind thought back to all the times Derek yelled at you or said hurtful things to you. He was right all along. You were unimportant, you were too dumb, you were a mistake. You were a failure. You couldn't even take care of your younger brother.

Your phone was ringing, getting a call from Scott before you turned off your phone all the way, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from beside you.

This night may be your last.

---

Your sobs were louder, your vision and hearing were distorted, you could barely keep your balance. Your eyes were flooded with tears, while you reached for your gun.

You gasped for air, while you rubbed the back of your neck. Tears overfilled your eyes while your sobs died down. You held the gun shakily, putting it below your head.

Just do it, (Y/N)

Sam will have a better life without you

You could feel the cool metal pressing against your chin as you took deep breaths. You cocked the gun, shutting your eyes tightly.

“(Y/N)!” Derek pulled the gun out of your hands, pushing you aside.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” you yelled at him.

“You were about to kill yourself!” he yelled back.

“So?! Let me die in peace, Derek! All your fucking problems would be solved!” you cried out.

“No, this isn't the way to do anything, (Y/N),” he shook his head.

“You don't understand,” you cried.

“Maybe I don’t. But nothing is worth taking your life over,” you collapsed into his arms, sobbing quietly while he caressed your back, trying to calm you.

“I-It hurts… I just want my family back,” you buried your face into his neck while he sat you down on your couch, stroking your back.

“You can get your brother back, (Y/N). If anyone can get through this, it's you,” he said.

He continued to sit with you before you drifted off to sleep.

“(Y/N)?” he said softly.

After realizing you were asleep, he carefully laid you down on your couch, putting a blanket over you before walking to your table, looking at all the paperwork.

---

You shot up, wrapping your arms around your stomach as you groaned loudly. Something didn't feel right. You found yourself running to your bathroom, emptying out the contents of your stomach as Derek held your hair back.

You groaned softly, continuing to hold your stomach as you felt a dull pain.

“Wait… what are you doing here?” you leaned against the wall, while Derek took a seat in front of you.

“How much of last night do you remember?” he asked.

You frowned softly before realization hit you as you sighed, rubbing your forehead.

“I wasn't gonna leave you after that,” he replied softly.

“I’m really sorry,” your voice was low as you spoke.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I’m the one who should be sorry, I treated you terribly,” he shook his head.

“But you saved me last night,” you shrugged softly. You could feel tears welling in your eyes, remembering the events of the previous night, and what would have happened if he wasn't there.

“Thank you,” you said.

He gave you a soft smile, while you felt warmth in your chest.

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you smile before,” you shook your head as he scoffed.

“Don’t get used to it. Water?” he stood up as you nodded your head, watching him walk out of your bathroom, before leaning your head over the toilet once again.

[antihero-writings]

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

 The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun. 

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

[clonecaptains]

can we see the essay????

ajkhkJGHKSGJHKJ omg ok so this is my "why ted lasso is my soulmate" - i made my friends read this, but im tweaking it a little for this post because in my first one i felt like i left out too much! sorry this is long :x

so i started the show because my best bud @clonecaptainrex recommended it to me and i just on a whim started it. i had no idea what it was about, all i'd seen was random stuff about roy (cuz he's every fuckin' where ;) ) and jason sudeikis was in it. ive loved sudeikis on snl over the years but i'd not seen him in much else.

pretty soon after i started watching it - i fell in love w/ ted's character. i was already intrigued because he's an american football coach and ive had this football coach fantasy since i was?? 11? maybe? of marrying a football coach alkgjsgsj cuz i LOVE football (go cowboys!) so that was the first thing that got my attention.

if ur reading this im assuming you've watched the show. or maybe not! but if you do watch it - then you know how SWEET ted is. the overall sweetness and dorkiness and THE PUNS got me good. im the pun queen of my friend group and all of ted's dumb lil puns and dad jokes had me in tears.

there's such a comfort w/ ted tho. warmth. he's like a warm tight hug or a mug of hot cocoa in your hands, sweet to the taste. he's happy, eager, FUNNY. even when ppl are awful and unkind to him he still forgives them and smiles anyways. even when it hurts. and whenever anyone hurt him i was ready to burn the world down for him.

the way he remembers things about people?? the lil treats and gifts he makes? one of my biggest things is i often feel 'overlooked' and he's the type who wouldn't like that happen. and it's like?? knowing that he'd look after me had me emotional. he's such a hype man. and toxic masculinity who?? wearing nail polish to practice cuz he wanted to help rebecca find the right color??? and how when he slept w/ sassy she noted how EAGER he was to please her?? omg every word out of his mouth made me laugh or smile and my face would hurt after each ep just from smiling. he's encouraged me?? and i just. he lifted my spirits so much my therapist even noticed.

and his anxiety issues? omg. that spoke to me and i get him. it made me hurt for him. but i love knowing that he would understand. but even still he's positive thru all the pain he's been thru - and that's why i try to do in my life. this is the more~ personal part but ted makes me feel SAFE. you're not waiting around for the other shoe to drop. and he's NOTHING like my dad who i have tremendous issues w/. ted is so nonthreatening and that's not like brownie points for him - i just love how that makes me feel.

sudeikis is tall and has more of a normal/dad bod body type and i LOVE. ive always been into tall boys and he has hella chest hair which if you know me is like. my thing. yeah jason can get it LOL but this just plays into more reasons why i love ted ya know? w/ like,,, every other fictional character i love - there's always a thirst element. if yall know me then you know oscar isaac is My Dude. and ive seen every little thing he's been in and thirsted over it all (not to say i don't love domestic and fluff hcs just as much as thotty ones) but like when i saw dune i had a full on crisis over duke leto spitting on the table. but w/ ted?? WITH TED?? he makes me feel like im in 6th grade and the guy i have a crush on just said hi to me and i wanna go home and scream into my pillow and talk to my friends about it for an hour. i almost CRIED thinking about holding ted's hand ok. i honestly don't remember the last time i had a crush like this that felt so ?? innocent?? or just like LGKJSKHJGWHJGKJAH about his whole being?? not just how he looks or thirst or whatever. it's like? thirst was an AFTER thought for me w/ ted. it's almost like i couldn't HANDLE thinking about it. something about it feels different w/ him and?? idk how to put it into words.

i wanna do everything w/ ted. idc what it is. i wanna go to a birthday party with him. do holidays or go to the zoo. watch tv. watch football together ahhh. he would make everything fun and he's the exact kinda person i wanna marry and it hit me so hard watching it.

there's a line - i can't remember the exact wording - but he's talking to the players about growing up and ted mentions a girl making him feel squiggly inside. that line was in my head for days. it made my stomach churn. the mere thought of someone like him feeling like that about me??

but here's the real kicker - sweet ted is a southern boy. and im from the south too. hearing his southern accent gets me feeling all kinds of ways. seeing him hold the door open for women and his just general cheery attitude and his southernisms is all such a comfort to me. i KNOW ppl like him. he's what southern ppl should be like, and they do exist.

if youve read all this then hello and thank you LOL. but the point is that ted makes me feel safe and i could see myself being happy w/ him in any capacity. i just wanna be around him. i wanna do anything and everything w/ him.

there's more i could say and some more VERY personal things i could say but maybe some other time.

i suppose for yall to really know how much he's my soulmate you'd have to know ME lol but this is a lot of why im considering him my fictional character soulmate. thank yall for reading~!

[myhockeyworld87]

Ruined - Jamie Benn - Part 5

Word Count: 5,690

POV: Reader and then switches to Jamie

Warnings: Language, but that’s about it, at least from what I can remember

Notes: So I just want to thank everyone for their patience with me as I took some time off. I’ve still been writing, so hopefully you’ll see your favorite stories pop up here and there. Happy reading!

Sidenote: Also (Y/NN) = Your Nickname (Y/LN) = Your Last Name

READER'S POV

 "I'm sorry what did you just say?" you asked Emma, as you had to have heard her incorrectly when she said that you should get under someone in order to get over Jamie. "Because, you were there in high school, that didn't work out the best for me."

"That's not what I meant."

 "But it is what you said, that I should just go hook up with some random guy. Em, I love you, babe, but I am not going down that path again. I do not need to be known as the doctor that sleeps around."

 "Oh my god, would you shut up for one minute?" You went radio silent, after she practically yelled at you through the phone, though you suppose that your voice had gone up maybe a decibel or two. "I didn't mean for you to go fuck some rando at the bar. Actually, I meant…and hear me out before you say anything," she paused and you had a feeling that you weren't going to like what she said next no matter what it was. "I think you should sleep with Jamie."

 "WHAT!?!"

 "Yeah, that was a little loud. I think you might have woken up Caleb. Shh, go back to sleep babe," you heard her mumble to her husband.

 "I'm sorry but are you crazy? Maybe I called you too early and you're not fully functioning without coffee. Or should I call Dr. Kaplan and have him examine you."

 "Your neurologist, friend? No." She sounded a bit indignant at the mention that she needed her brain examined for suggesting a thing, but really what were you supposed to think when she made stupid remarks like you should go sleep with Jamie. "I asked you to listen before you passed judgment on me. God, you think you were a judge instead of a doctor so something."

 "Well, you have my full attention. So please explain, before I have you committed to the psych ward." She scoffed at you, which only made you say, "You know I can medically do that."

 You could almost hear her eyes rolling through the phone. "Yes, but who would you call this early in the morning when you have a problem." She had a point. "Exactly. Now, let me explain. You and Jamie never really resolved anything. He said things, you got upset, he never answered the phone, so you broke it off with him, yadda, yadda, yadda. You get my point." It seemed a whole lot more complicated than a few yaddas. "But there was never any closure for either of you there. It just sort of ended." Emma was right about that, after hearing that he only was seeing you for sex, you didn't want to speak to him at all. "It was obvious then, that he still had feelings for you, even if you didn't want to see it. And don't kill me here, but I think it was obvious that you still had feelings for him as well, and that maybe you still do." You didn't exactly know how you felt about Jamie at the moment, but waking up in his arms did feel right. "Let's face it (Y/N), you've compared every guy you've ever been with to Jamie."

 "I have not." Had you?

 "Ok, we're skipping all the douches in high school, because you and I both know you never slept with any of them. Yes, I know what everyone said, but I was also your best friend and I know you. The worst you ever did was give Carter Williams a blow job behind the bleachers after a football game." Oh, Jesus, she did not need to go down this road listing all your sexcapades from high school or after that. "I'm talking about Bryan, the perfectly good looking, studying to be a heart surgeon, boyfriend that you gave up for no other reason then you said he wasn't tall enough."

 "I did not break up with Bryan because he wasn't tall enough and you know it."

 "It was a factor, along with his hair not being dark enough and you hating his sense of humor."

 "The man made stupid heart surgeon jokes that not even anyone in the cardiothoracic department got."

 "True, but you also told me he was lousy in bed, and I believe that was another complaint you had about Tomas, Dylan…oh and what was his name…you know the one you said that you had to use your vibrator the minute he walked out the door because he couldn't get you off."

 "Isaac," you told her and there was a blush creeping to your cheeks. Suddenly, you were regretting Emma being your best friend.

 "Yes, Isaac. If I remember correctly that happened more than once with him. How you kept him around for four months is beyond me. You're a doctor woman, you can show him where the clit is, you know? Just take his hand and place it…"

 "Thank you, Dr. Emma, I know where my clit is."

 "But he didn't," she let out a bark of laughter that was so contagious you had to join in. Once you both calmed, Emma came right back at you about Jamie. "Look, he was your first love and maybe the sex wasn't as great as your sixteen-year-old mind remembers. Maybe you just fuck Jamie and that's all it is, a fuck, or maybe it's more. At least this way, you won't be holding him on some pedestal like he's a Greek god or something."

 Maybe she was right and you'd been holding on for fourteen years thinking that what you and Jamie had was this truly magical once and a lifetime thing when in reality all it had been was sex. Let's face it, what your sixteen-year-old self thought was love could've been nothing more than lust. "I never thought he was a Greek god."

 "Please, I was always envious about how you had this romantic first time. I mean mine was in the back of Kyle's jeep, and before you say anything he didn't know where the clit was either."

 You both giggled again, but then you had to remind her of how things had ended. "It wasn't romantic when he said those things about me."

 "He was sixteen (Y/N). I'm not making an excuse, but it's time to build that bridge. Maybe he's changed, maybe he hasn't. I'm not saying for you to give him your whole heart. I'm just saying, find out if what was there, was truly that once in a lifetime love or was it just this idea that you've been holding on to."

 "But what if…" you stuttered while Emma waited for you to continue. "What if…I still love him, and he breaks my heart, again."

 "(Y/N), that's the chance we all take when we open our hearts to love. You don't think that I felt that way with Caleb? That sometimes I still don't feel that way." She sighed. You could tell she was struggling with how to put her feelings into words. "He could walk out the door and leave me here alone, and my heart would break into pieces, but the love I have for him is so much greater than that fear." She made it sound so easy, but all you could remember was how completely hurt you'd felt when things had gone wrong with Jamie. "I know you're scared, and that's why you've closed your heart off for so long, but (Y/N) I promise you the minute you open it back up, your life is going to be even better than it is. And maybe it's Jamie that deserves your heart and maybe it's not, but you'll never know if you don't try."

 "I know," you whispered weakly, for you really did know that. If it wasn't Jamie, it was going to have to be someone eventually, because you didn't want to be alone forever. It was just that gnawing fear in the back of your mind that Jamie would hurt you again as he had before. "I just don't want to break into a thousand pieces again."

 "You won't (Y/N), and if you do, I'll be on the first flight to Dallas to help you pick them up." She would be, you knew that for sure because you couldn't ask for a better friend than Emma. "And I'll kick his ass as well." That made you laugh considering that Emma was five foot four, and Jamie was just over six foot. It would make for an interesting matchup, but you knew that Emma would take him down no matter the size difference.

 "Thanks, Em."

 "I just want you to be happy, (Y/NN); happy and in love, and I just have this gut feeling that Jamie can make that happen." There was only one way to find out, and that was to open up more to Jamie. It wouldn't be easy but after this little talk, you were willing to try. "Now, enough about this, because you're going to follow my advice. So tell me how everything else is going? Do you like work? Is it everything you thought it would be?"

 "And so much more." You spent the next fifteen minutes catching up with each other before she kicked you off the phone to go make rounds at the hospital. Despite not having that many patients of your own at the moment, you were still looking after all of Dr. Lundin's. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when your phone rang, Jamie's name popping up on the screen. For a minute, you thought about not answering it, but then you remembered your conversation this morning with Emma and quickly hit the accept button. "Hey, Jame."

 He seemed a bit startled that you answered. "Oh, hey (Y/NN). I was just giving you a call about a couple things."

 "Ok, what's up?"

 "Well, first off, I found your dress in my bathroom this morning."

 "Oh shit, I totally forgot that I left it in there." You'd laid it over the tub last night when you changed, something that you did at home all the time. You had every intention of picking it up before you left, but then you'd fallen asleep and well, it kind of got lost in your mind as you freaked out over possibly having feelings for Jamie.

 "It's no biggie. I hung it up in my closet." He paused as if he'd said something wrong. "Just so it didn't wrinkle anymore." Well, look at him being all domesticated.

 "Thanks, that's sweet of you. I'll stop over and get it sometime from you."

 "Oh, ok or I can bring it over. Whatever is easiest for you. I also wanted to see if there was a good time to reschedule that visit to the AAC? We kind of didn't get to go over my map too much last night. Plus, my artistic skills are a little rusty."

 You'd forgotten all about the tour, but it would be a good excuse to spend some more time with Jamie to see where your feelings were. "Let me check my schedule." You switched him to speaker and flipped over to your calendar. "Oh, I'm headed to Jessi's tomorrow night to take her stitches out, so that won't work. Um, let me see about the next day."

 "What about tonight?"

 "Oh, tonight?" You weren't sure if you were ready to face him just yet, but a little voice, that sounded an awful lot like your best friend, told you there was no time like the present. "Yeah, I can do that. I was just getting ready to leave here in about ten minutes. What time were you thinking?"

 "Whenever I'm free the rest of today, so if you just wanted to come straight here; that's fine."

 This was really not the timeframe you wanted. You hadn't even taken any time this morning to do anything special with your hair or makeup, as you'd spent too much time talking to Emma. Though it wasn't like Jamie hadn't just seen you with drool on your face, wearing his sweats and your hair a complete disaster. Anything would be an improvement over that. It was that thought that had you saying, "Sounds good. I'll see you in about twenty minutes then."

 "Ok see you soon." You hung up and then quickly went to add at least a bit of lip gloss and mascara to your face.

 It was about twenty minutes later that you were pulling into your garage and then walking the short distance to Jamie's. This time foregoing parking at his place. He opened the door before you even had a chance to knock. "Hey, (Y/N). How's it going tonight?"

 It seemed like a loaded question when he was standing there dressed in a pristine white dress shirt, his chest hair peeking out from where he'd undone the first couple buttons. Suddenly, your mouth went dry. When you were sixteen, Jamie didn't have a hair on his chest. Well, maybe there were one or two that he was awfully proud of, but they really didn't count. This was just another sign of how much he'd changed and grown into the man that stood before you today. You'd hoped he'd changed in other ways as well. "Much better tonight. My feet are all ready for you to give me the grand tour."

 "Alright, then let's head out." He had his car in the garage, so you followed him through the house to the SUV. In true Jamie Benn fashion, he came over and opened the door for you. It was something he'd always done when you were younger, as his mom had instilled those gentlemanly courtesies in him. It was weird being in the car with him again. Part of you kept waiting for him to grab your hand and hold it like he used to and you found yourself glancing down every so often at his large fingers gripping the gearshift instead of your hand.

 He pointed out different landmarks as you passed and told you that despite what the navigation system said this was the fastest way to get to downtown from your house. The two of you chatted the whole entire time, while the music played softly in the background. "So, you're going to want to use this gate." Jamie was saying right as his playlist changed to a song from the movie Frozen.

 "So, are you are an Anna or an Elsa fan?" you teased.

 "What?" It was then that he realized what was playing, and quickly changed the song. "I have that on here for my niece."

 He pulled into the players' parking spot, "Uh huh, sure Jame. Admit it you like the movie." He shut the car off and you both got out.

 "I may have watched it with Soph once," he said sheepishly and your heart warmed at the idea of him sitting there with the little girl watching one of Disney's hit movies. You always knew that he would make a great dad, and having that song just proved it.

 You were walking side by side now and you couldn't resist dancing around him, while you sang the lyrics. "Let it go, let it go, can't hold it back anymore." You were walking backward not having a clue where you were going as you continued. "Come on Jame, sing with me. You know you want to…Let it go, let it go, turn away and slam the door."

 "Stop," he chided but had a grin a mile long on his face.

 You twirled around him another time, hands dancing along his arm. "I don't care what they're going to say," you belted out; the words echoing off the cement walls around you. "Let the storm rage on…"

 "The cold never bothered me anyway." Jamie sang finally joining you. You bouncing up and down as he sang with you, not paying attention as your eyes were focused on him and not where you were going. He reached out and grabbed you right as you started to trip on a large cord that was behind you. "Careful there Elsa." Your hands went to his chest, your palm resting where his heart was racing, as his slid around your waist and pulled you in close to him. Pressed up against him, you couldn't help the urge that came over you to kiss him; he was just so close, and his eyes were smiling into yours, and it felt like the perfect moment to test the waters out. So, you slid your hands just a little further up his chest, and you raised up on your tiptoes so that your lips were mere inches from him, and then your watch chimed again; the damn thing reminding you to breathe, and the moment was lost.

 You dropped back down onto the balls of your feet but still kept that smile plastered on your face. "Thanks for saving me Olaf," you said and tapped his chest, before stepping out of his embrace.

 "Olaf? I was thinking more Kristoff."

 You tapped your finger on your chin, looking him up and down. "You're right, I was wrong. You're definitely Sven."

 "The reindeer?"

 "I knew you've watched that movie more than just once with your niece."

 You were finally at the door, and Jamie was entering a code to get into the building since there wasn't anything going on at the AAC today. "Ok, you got me, but really Sven?"

 "What's wrong with Sven? He's sweet, kind, lovable…" Shit the moment the word came out of your mouth you wanted to take it back. Of course, Jamie was lovable too but you weren't sure you were ready to be the one loving him. There was too much uncertainty in doing that just yet. You coughed trying to cover up the slip of tongue and then added, "He's also oddly quiet when there are people around. Kind of like someone else I know."

 He raked his hand through his hair, an action that your fingers longed to do. "I'm only that way around people I don't know…and the media." You knew this about him, of course, because you'd watched a few of his interviews. His answers were always clipped and short, which sometimes gave the impression he was standoffish, but then he would throw a little comment here and there and the real Jamie would come out. "But anyhow, we should be getting on with the tour."

 "Lead the way."

  JAMIE'S POV

 Had she really just called you lovable? Moreover, had she just been about to kiss you? That damn watch of hers kept beeping at the most inappropriate times and it was maddening. Something had changed since she'd practically run out of your house this morning. You weren't sure what, but she'd definitely let her guard down some, and you were all for it. You knew it was going to take baby steps to get back into her heart, but those steps seemed to be coming more and more frequently and you weren't complaining.

 You were surprised when (Y/N) agreed to the tour tonight, for you thought for sure that she'd avoid you at all cost after you had fallen asleep with her on the sofa last night. It was the last thing that you intended but she had felt so right in your arms, that you'd just let yourself get caught up in the moment. God, she looked so adorable this morning, hair messy, with her cheeks all rosy from sleeping on you, and then how she was wearing your sweats; there was nothing that you wanted more than to see her like that every day for the rest of your life. Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

 The tour around the arena went pretty well. You showed her everything that you could think of, ending the tour in the training room, just as you had the other day. She was taking everything in, noticing that Dave and his crew had implemented all the ideas she had talked about the other day. "Everything look ok?"

 "Oh yeah, they did an amazing job." She was opening drawers and checking supplies.

 "Well, I guess that's the end of the tour then." You glanced down at your watch to notice that it was almost six o'clock. You were definitely going to hit rush hour traffic. "If we head out now, it'll probably take us an hour to get home. Maybe a little less, if I hurry."

 "Oh, do you have to be some place?"

 "Um…no. Why?"

 "Well, you're all dressed up, thought maybe you had a hot date or something." There was a tremble in her voice that usually wasn't there, and you had to wonder if she asked the question in hopes that you weren't seeing anyone.

 "No, no hot date. I actually…" Shit, now it was your turn to get all tongue-tied. "Well, I mean…I thought we could have dinner downtown here and really celebrate your big surgery."

 "Oh!" There was a bit of shock in her voice. "I mean last night was perfect. You don't have to take me to dinner, after everything you did."

 You raked your hands through your hair again. It was a bad nervous habit, that served as a distraction while you tried to think of something to say. This time there was nothing clever that came to mind. "What if I want to take you to dinner?"

 The corner of her lip picked up on the right side of her face, that was the first sign she gave, telling you that she liked the idea. It got you excited that she might just agree, to the plan you had, but then it seemed like she was getting into her head, as she took a moment to think about your offer. "You know what?" It wasn't really a question, so you remained quiet. "Dinner sounds amazing, but only on one condition." You cocked a brow at her, silently asking what that was. "I get to buy."

 "Oh no, I asked you out." Oh shit, that came out wrong, you didn't mean it to sound like you'd asked her out on a date, that for sure would scare her away. "Besides my mom would kill me if she found out I let you pay," you quickly added hoping that it would cover up your blunder.

 "Hmm," she mused. "I guess we'll just have to see who has the quicker hands when the check comes then." That sure sounded like a yes to you.

 "You're on, but I plan on winning."

 "We'll see," she said as she headed out the door of the training room. "Now, let me see if I can remember how to get out of here." She led the way out to the car and you only had to direct her one time, which was pretty good considering it took you a week to find your way around the place.

 The restaurant was one of the finest Dallas had to offer, and one of the main reasons why you didn't want (Y/N) paying, though you were sure that wouldn't deter her from trying. Being that you weren't sure if (Y/N) was going to say yes to dinner, you didn't have a reservation, though when you slipped the maître d a hundred-dollar bill and your name; you were suddenly shown the nicest table in the place, one that was quiet and out of the way. Conversation between you and (Y/N) flowed easily, as did the wine, though you made sure not to drink too much as you'd be driving the two of you home. It also helped you grab the check when the waiter brought it at the end of the night.

 "That's not fair." (Y/N) chided as your long arms reached out and snagged the leather pouch out of the man's hands, who looked a bit taken back by the action.

 "You said whoever had the fastest hands."

 "Yes, but I clearly had more wine than you, which limited my ability, and now I'm convinced you did that on purpose." She was always so adorable when she pouted, but right now you just wanted to kiss those pursed lips and you were having a hard time holding yourself back from doing just that.

 "One of us needed to drive home, but you didn't protest when I poured that last glass."

 "Well, it clearly didn't help my motor skills that's for sure. Though please mark it down, that I am paying next time." Next time? So, she planned on going out with you again. You were making more headway than you thought.

 You decided to forge ahead while she was in such a good mood, as you were coming close to running out of excuses for the two of you to get together. "And when would this next time be?"

 "Um, I'll have to check my schedule, but maybe I could cook you dinner next week. You know as maybe a thank you for helping me." She sat there across from you with this shy little smile playing across her lips. The look all too tantalizing, for it was doing things that it shouldn't to your nether regions.

 "Dinner at your place huh? Sounds like an offer I can't refuse." You paid the bill and then the two of you headed out. The drive back was fun, as the two of you continued with your flirtatious banter the whole way home. When you turned onto your street, disappointment reared its ugly head as the night was coming to an end. You wanted to spend more time with her. Hell, if you were being realistic you want her to fall asleep in your arms again so you could hold her all night long. You pulled into the garage, then got out of the car to help (Y/N) out.

 "Thanks for everything today, Jame. Including dinner which I was supposed to pay for."

 "You know I can run some drills with you to sharpen your hand-eye coordination if you want." There were also some other drills you'd like to be doing with her in the bedroom.

 "Well, I may just take you up on that." The two of you were standing in the driveway, not knowing how to end the night. If this was truly a date, you'd walk her home and maybe kiss her, but would she smack you if you tried that now? "I should be getting home. Thanks again for everything." She started down the drive, walking at a leisurely pace.

 "Hey (Y/NN)," you called out and she turned back towards you as you trotted up beside her. "Can I walk you home?" She gave you a curious look, and it did sound rather funny considering she lived only two doors down, but you weren't ready for your time with her to end just yet.

 You were just about to stumble through how it was just for safety, when she said, "Sure." You smiled at her and the two of you started the extremely short walk to her house. "You know, tonight was a lot of fun."

 "Yeah, it really was." You wanted to say it reminded you of old times, but you didn't want to bring up the bad ones that also went with that. "We should do it more often."

 "I'd like that." (Y/N) was shocking you at every turn tonight and you weren't sure what mystical force was in the air but you prayed that it didn't go away and make her hate you again. A comfortable silence fell over you both, it was one that you had with her long ago, though back then it was as if you could read each other thoughts. Now, you weren't sure what was going on in that complex mind of hers but if it continued to lead her on a path towards you; you weren't going to question it.

 You were just about to her front door, and damn if that didn't feel as if the two of you were speed walking over, even though you were strolling at a leisurely pace. Again, you searched for something so that you wouldn't have to leave her company just yet. "Hey, how's your patient doing? The one who's leg you saved."

 "Really great actually. I stopped in right before I left. He's got a long road ahead of him, but he was in really good spirits today."

 "All because of you."

 "I wouldn't go that far."

 "I would." She blushed at the compliment, as you finally made it to the front door.

 "Well, this is me." She said with a cute little smile and a shrug of her shoulder.

 There was really nothing more you could say to keep you at her front door, so you found yourself saying, "I guess my duty is fulfilled…now that you're safe at home and all."

 "So it seems." Was that a hint of reluctance you heard in her voice? Was she as sad to see the night end as you were? "Thanks again, Jame. It was fun." She entered the code to get in the house, unlocking the door and opening it. What she did next almost had you falling over, as she went up on her toes and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek. "Goodnight, Jame."

 A smile so bright, it could've lit up all of Dallas, appeared on your face, and she ducked inside right as you said. "Goodnight, (Y/NN)." As soon as the door closed, you pressed a hand to your cheek making sure that what had just happened was real and not something that you imagined. It had been real alright, and you felt like you were fifteen again, all giddy at the thought that the girl you liked, liked you back.

 Thank goodness, you only lived two doors down as you don't remember how you got back inside your own home, but there you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror grinning like a fool as you looked at the spot (Y/N) had just kissed. Now more than ever, you couldn't wait to see her again. Unfortunately, you had no excuse to call her this time or no definite date of when you'd see her again, just a promise that the two of you would have dinner again soon. While you looked forward to that, you wished that it would be happening sooner rather than later. You'd just have to come up with a plan.

 It seemed fate had your back this time though, as the following evening found her knocking on your door. "I hate to do this, but can I come in?" (Y/N) asked as she stood outside in the pouring rain, looking like a drowned rat. Well, maybe not a rat, but a very cute wet puppy for sure.

 "Yeah, sure." You said stepping aside as a loud crack of thunder sounded in the air.

 "I'm sorry to do this, but the code to the house isn't working and I left my phone, and my bag, at Jessi's when I was taking out her stitches." She stood there dripping wet in your foyer. "If I could just use your phone to call her, I'll run back over there."

 "Run? Where's your car?"

 "Locked, in the garage. I didn't realize it was going to storm and had just walked over there. I was almost home when it started."

 "Let me grab you a towel." You went and grabbed one out of the guest bathroom downstairs, then handed it to her to dry off. "I'll call Jess for you, but you're not running back over there. I'll drive you."

 She gave you a smile, before toweling off her hair. "Thank you."

 You went to the kitchen to grab your phone and call your soon to be sister-in-law. "Hey, Jess."

 "Hey, Chubbs, what's up?" Jess replied.

 "(Y/N) locked herself out of the house and I guess she left her stuff at your place. I was going to drive her over so she could get it if that's ok."

 There was silence on the other end of the phone and you were wondering if the two of you got disconnected or something with the storm. "Hmmm," she finally mumbled. "I'm going to do you a huge favor here and tell you I'm not home, even though I totally am."

 "What?"

 "You know I love you, but you're so dense sometimes." How were you the one that was dumb when she didn't make any sense? "Tell (Y/N) that I had to run to a friend's house and you're not sure when I'll be home with the storm. That way the two of you can spend a little more time together."

 "Oh," you said as you finally caught on to her plan.

 "You owe me one. Tell her I'll call you when I get back, which probably won't be for a while." You'd take all the time that you could get with (Y/N). "If you don't answer, I'll take that as a good sign." You could almost see her winking at you through the phone.

 "Thank Jess. You're literally the best."

 "I know," she quipped back, then hung up the phone.

 You went back out to where (Y/N) was standing in your entryway. "Apparently, Jess took off to a friend's house the minute you left. She said she's didn't realize you left your stuff or she would've dropped it off. She's going to call when she gets back, but it's going to be a bit with the storm."

 "Oh," (Y/N) stood there a little shocked, not knowing what to do. "Well, maybe if I go try the code again it will work."

 Another crack of thunder, with streaks of lightning, filled the sky. "(Y/N), you are not going back over there in the rain. Just stay here until the storm dies down. They usually pass pretty quick." But then again, sometimes they didn't and this was one you were hoping would stick around for at least a few more hours.

[dailytomlinson]

At the start of 2020, Louis Tomlinson had just kick started his solo career off proper – his debut album ‘Walls’ was released in January and he performed two dates of his world tour before the COVID-19 pandemic hit and every other date was either postponed until next year or cancelled. Fans of the former One Direction star were gutted (of course) but their happiness has been restored as Louis played his first virtual gig last night.

You might expect that a virtual concert consists of just a singer and their band sat in an empty venue, right? With no lights or affects, and in a way it looks ‘boring’? Well this was the complete opposite! The classic Louis red lighting and the strobe lighting almost made you believe that you were actually there in real life!

Louis walked out on stage with his new haircut – it’s a lot longer than what fans were used to seeing. Has he been spending too much time with Harry Styles, who knows? He kept things casual in a laidback £22 Reebok t shirt which is now sold out in every single size due to Tomlinson’s influence.

He then kicked the concert off (15 minutes late may I add – fans are convinced that he wanted to watch the football) with ‘Just Hold On’. This is a song he originally produced with Steve Aoki and is more of a dance record, a bit different to the indie sound he is now leaning towards. But, he adapted the four-year-old record to his new style and it was a great surprise for fans – especially to kick off the livestream.

He then continued to sing ‘We Made It’ and ‘Don’t Let It Break Your Heart’ – two new songs from his album ‘Walls’. He then followed these tracks into a classic One Direction song ‘Drag Me Down’. Fans from all around the world went crazy about this – nothing beats a One Direction member singing a One Direction song in their solo career (well maybe a reunion would beat this).

Later on in the show, he sent fans into a frenzy when he performed two more hits from his boyband days – ‘Through The Dark’ (arguably an extremely understated song) and ‘Little Black Dress’ – a song that Tomlinson has expressed is one of his favourites and as he has previously said: “And remember if it’s by One Direction and it’s a banger I probably wrote it”.

But of course, he did sing his solo songs. Hits such as ‘Habit’ echoed through the screen of thousands of fan’s laptops, phones and TV screens and you can almost guarantee that they were all screaming along to the iconic lyric “Come so far from princess park.” Louis also poured his heart out in the song ‘Two of Us’ – a song dedicated to his late mother Johannah.

He also performed a brand new song which shocked fans when he released the setlist earlier that day. In ‘Copy of a Copy of a Copy’ Louis sings “You won’t be the first or be the last to bleed, every broken heart as far as I can see is a copy of a copy of a copy” and fans are already demanding it is released as soon as possible. He also sang a cover of ‘Beautiful War’ by Kings of Leon and fans are hoping that it will be available to stream soon.

Fans are going crazy for the new song, Twitter user @Jailboyhamirah said: “Cause of death: Louis Tomlinson singing copy of a copy of a copy.” which just shows the light hearted banter the fandom has and it also shows how excited they truly are.

The rest of the songs performed were just as great as the others, you could hear the excitement and happiness in this voice as you could tell he was just so happy about being back on stage. You could just tell he was in his happy place doing what he does best.

In the final song ‘Kill My Mind’, the screen behind Louis showed some lucky fans singing and dancing along behind him. This was a great idea – it gave fans a chance to perform with their idol and it made it feel even more like an actual concert. It was also a great ending to the livestream and made saying goodbye a little bit easier.

We also need to thank his musicians – if it wasn’t for them the concert wouldn’t have been as good as it was and they were all so incredible. His band is made up of Michael Blackwell on the guitar, Steve Durham on the drums, Matt Dinnadge on bass, Isaac Anderson also on guitar whilst the keys are played by Zac Craner. We also need a moment of appreciation for the brilliant string players that accompanied some songs and of course, the brilliant crew that made all of this possible for us fans.

Like always, Tomlinson’s fans don’t do anything by halves. ‘LOUIS TOMLINSON’, ‘THANK YOU LOUIS’, ‘LITTLE BLACK DRESS’ and #LTLivestream was trending worldwide and when tickets were released, the site crashed almost immediately. This is also the biggest show that Veeps have ever streamed before.

The virtual concert has also raised funds for the touring industry along with four other charities that are close to Louis’ heart – FareShare, Crew Nation, Bluebell Wood Children’s Hospice and Stagehand.

Louis shared a message on the screen after the concert that said: “Thank you to every single person who helped make this livestream possible.

“Without my band, my crew and team, live shows just wouldn’t happen.

“The money raised so far from this show will help some important causes, so a big thank you to everyone for tuning in.

“I can’t wait to see you all on tour soon!

“Stay safe, Louis x”

This concert allowed fans to see Louis performing – he was in his happy place and he was able to give fans a taste of what his future concerts will be like, all being well. It also gave a chance for fans to connect and watch a concert all together – no matter what corner of the world you’re from.

[guessimwritingficsagain]

To been seen, part Four (Frankie Morales x Reader)

Summary : You get a text. You freak out.

Author’s note : I am very very soft for Frankie.

Also, I have a few days off and I thought I have been really self-indulgent so : the cheese gift really happened to me (best birthday ever, he got me a Mont d'Or because he knew I had planned on eating one with my best friend to celebrate), the Edward Scissorchands movie thing really happened to me, and the "date" with the grandma too. In France, the Opera is often showed in movie theaters. When I was a teenager, I thought it was quite the event, though. So I got invited. Next thing we saw together with that guy was the movie Black Swan and I made sure someone was tagged along.

The holidays came and went in a blur of laughter, hot chocolate was big sweaters. You were happy. And Jessie was happy too. January came, and went, too. Everything was slow. So you watched the movie you’d bought, and a bunch of others too.

February was over before you knew it, and when March warmed up the air, you found yourself, one morning, looking at the screen of your phone like the message would disappear if you blinked. You turned your eyes to the cupboard that contained the empty box of chocolate that sat there, hidden from the sniggering remarks of Linda, and looked back at the screen. The text message was still there. You put the phone down, abruptly, fingers tingling and burning and went to get a glass of water. Your eyes landed on the bottle of wine, still unopened, and you almost spilled your drink. You went back to your phone in a hurry, opened the chat you shared with your friends and sent

Who the fuck gave Francisco fucking Morales my phone number ?????

You waited, breathing hard, hoping anyone would answer. Nothing came, not right away. Phone on the table again, you slumped on the couch, nervous breakdown on its way. You couldn’t do it, there was no way you could do that, you couldn’t, that would kill you, you wouldn’t survive this.

Time floated for a while, up until your phone vibrated and you jumped. You’d been so caught up in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed everyone had answer, Anna, Jessie and Linda with a simple « not me » but James …

James had sent a

Go get some

And an eggplant emoji.

James, then.

Okay.

Okay.

You were fine. You could answer a text. You knew the drill, by now. You knew how to pretend you were not freaking out every time Frankie did something unexpected and kind, like that time he offered you chocolate and a bottle of wine for Christmas. You had coping mechanisms, now, to hide the fact you had a doctorate in yearning.

You’d replayed the Christmas Scene so many times in your head you sometimes thought you made it up, but the reminders were there, in your flat.

You’re replaying it now.

You’re getting out of your car, with ten minutes to spare before work starts. It’s almost six. You spot Frankie’s truck on the parking lot and you’re a bit surprised but mostly delighted, even more so when you see the man himself jogging towards you. It takes you a minute to see he’s holding presents. By the time he gets to you, you’re confused. He smiles a breathy hello before handing you what he’s got in his hands. You stare at the neatly wrapped packages for a bit, like the dumbass you are, unable to put two and two together. Maybe it’s for Clara ?

It must be for Clara.

You take them. Say thank you. And Frankie answers :

« Open them. »

Your braincells must have left the building like God in Supernatural, gone off to do the Macarena dance somewhere very far away because all you can answer is what and you know you sound like a dumbass and you feel like one too.

The lack of reaction is getting to Frankie, you can tell, because he’s rubbing the back of his neck and you feel bad that he’s embarrassed so you say :

« You got me presents ? »

Well, except you don’t really say it. More squeal it. Or shriek it. You’re not sure. It feels like a repeat of that moment a boy you’d liked but never made a move on offered you fucking cheese on your birthday and was all embarrassed about it and you didn’t know what to do or say because his birthday had been a few days before yours and you didn’t get him anything.

You add, for good measure, because why the hell not :

« But I didn’t get you anything. »

Like maybe he’s going to take them back, or maybe the moment is going to rewind except you don’t want it to rewind because Frankie has gifts for you, just for you.

Maybe he got something for Jessie and Anna, too ? You wonder. And Linda. You know he goes there to buy books. Maybe he showed up and got her some stuff. Not books, you hope. Stupid to buy books to a bookseller.

All of this goes through your mind and in the meanwhile Frankie’s waiting and when you finally put your bag down on the hood of your car to carefully open the first present, your body finally moving, you don’t miss the sigh of relief that escapes Frankie. It’s a box of chocolate, a fancy one at that. You recognize the brand. You hold it for a while, before you set it down with your bag and say thank you in a voice that’s way too small. You open the second one, then. Wine. White wine. Wine that you actually love. Your favorite. You wonder how he knows that.

You’re holding the bottle the way he’s holding his breath : tight. You lift your eyes to meet his and you can tell he’s embarrassed and a bit blushing. He rearranges the cap on his head and announces :

« Merry Christmas. »

You say it back, smile so big your cheeks hurt because Frankie got you presents for Christmas. You put the bottle with the rest of your stuff and then, on a whim, you throw yourself at him for a hug. He closes his arms around you, and one hand comes up right between your shoulder-blades, his thumb just here, sitting on the back of your neck, skin against skin and maybe you’re dead and in heaven right now.

You stay like this way too long and at some point you mumble against his shoulder that you really didn’t get him anything.

« It’s fine », he answers as he lets go, hands squeezing your side briefly.

You get into work late.

And now, you got a text. You opened it, read it again.

Maybe you could do this. Maybe you could take it to the next level. After all, you’d became closer to the boys over the last two months. Santi could have sent you that text, right ? That text didn’t have the word date in it. Maybe you were friends now. Frankie’d gotten you Christmas presents, after all.

So you read the words again, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you sent a yeah, sure, I’m in !

Your eyes went over his message once again, just to make sure the words would be burnt into your brain.

Hey, it’s Frankie. I know Friday’s your day off this week. I got two tickets to that new Marvel movie and one with your name on it. You in ?

You could spend two hours in a dark room with Francisco Morales right next to you. No problem. None at all.

———

He’d picked a screening that ended around seven. Your mind supplied just in time for dinner, and you kicked the two remaining braincells you had. You’d decided to drive there separately and were now sitting next to each other, you explaining the Marvel timeline and him listening intently. You were a nerd, but, him, not as much. You didn’t try to think too hard about the fact that he was doing this for you, because he was not as much into comics or movies as you were.

The whole thing was pleasant and relaxed.

This was not a date, you reminded yourself.

You got dinner after that, dissecting the movie as you ate - nothing fancy, but it was nice. The conversation shifted, at some point.

« Yeah, I get what you mean : movies are not the place to make a move. Especially when there’s a hot guy on the screen. I mean, what chance do you get when you’re watching a movie and Oscar Isaac is right there ? » Frankie laughed.

You nodded, getting another sip of your drink, and, as an afterthought, added :

« You know, Santi kinda looks like Oscar Isaac … »

Frankie grunted :

« Never, ever, tell him that. »

You promised you wouldn’t. After that, the two of you told each other stories about your worst dates, and you remembered :

« You know, when I was younger, before I met James, I hung out with a bunch of guys. I was like, fourteen, and they were sort of … beginning to understand I was a girl, you know. There was this guy, a good friend of mine, who actually told this other guy we weren’t going to see a movie. I remember, it was a special screening of Edward Scissorshands. So, my other friend never showed up and the guy told me he couldn’t make it. »

« Let me guess, the other guy told you later he thought you weren’t going ? »

You laughed.

« Yeah, basically. And then this guy I went to see the movie with invited me to a really fancy thing. It was a Wednesday afternoon, I remember. We got lunch. I didn’t pay for anything because he’d invited to come along with him and his grandma. Let me tell you : after that, I made sure to always have someone with us when he invited me somewhere. »

Frankie’s laugh was something you’d never grew tired of, you knew that.

———

Months went on, like that, with you and Frankie hanging out to see movies, and everybody showing up for Benny’s fight when you could (Jessie and you had to keep James updated, those nights, because he’d gone back to Washington after new year’s eve but wanted to know everything). Jessie had started dating a guy, at some point, and you didn’t find him that great but Will hated him.

« When are you gonna make a move ? » You asked, one evening as you were sipping beers with him at his place.

« When she doesn’t have a boyfriend dull as dishwater » He answered without missing a beat.

You knew this was the moment, then. You had two options : say nothing and let things be, or say something and get those idiots together. You thought hard, about the phrasing of your next sentence, and settled with :

« For you, she’d dump him. »

Will froze at that, just for a second, and quipped back :

« I’ll make a move when you make a move on ‘Fish. »

So that conversation was happening. You’d hoped none of the guys had noticed but obviously, at least one of them had. And you knew, by now, that his ex-wife had left him, had left Maria too. You knew he was available. You sputtered a bit and Will, kind Will, let it be. You enjoyed a nice evening with him, not once wondering why he sought you out, because Will and you didn’t hang out.

The answer came a few days later, with a simple text from Frankie.

Come over please

———

« I need you to take care of Maria », Frankie said as he opened the door. He looked really tired, like he hadn’t slept in days.

Please, he added, begging but you didn’t quite understand what he was begging for.

You complied, never stopping to think that this was the first time you saw Maria, never stopping to think about what might be possibly happening, even as Frankie went to his room, muttering apologies. It hit you when you put the girl to bed, and you remembered Frankie and the way he’d been looking at you that day, when he’d asked if they could throw a birthday party for their late friend’s daughter.

It was around that time, last year.

You walked hesitantly towards Frankie’s bedroom and stared at the white paint in it for a while. You were nervous, and actually turned around to smoke a cigarette outside, the air a bit too chilly for you, but cold enough to wake you up and give you the strength to walk to Frankie’s bedroom and knock.

So you did it.

He didn’t answer, but, feeling bold - or rather, feeling like you needed to do it - you opened the door anyway. The room was almost dark, the moonlight giving you an idea that Frankie was curled up, on his side. You put a hand on his shoulder. He put his on top of yours. You chose - you chose - to take it at a silent invitation, lifted the covers, and got, fully dressed, right next to him. Because friends do that.

———

When you woke up, he was staring at you. While your brain tried to make sense of the situation, you asked, voice heavy with sleep :

« What time is it ? »

Seven, Frankie answered. Maria’s gonna wake up soon, he added. You were too tired to say anything else, because when you’d laid down next to him you’d felt like your heart had been about to burst so you’d just listened to him, his breath steadying as he’d got to sleep. You’d finally got to sleep too, but it was too damn early for you.

Later, you’d blame what happened on your foggy brain : you snuggled closer, and Frankie let you. Then, it hit you. At that moment, right next to him, it hit you : you were not friends with him. You were pretending to be, but you were not and never would.

You couldn’t.

You wanted to wake up everyday like that, to Frankie telling you it’s seven, Maria’s gonna be awake soon. You wanted everything and friends just wouldn’t cut it.

Two things happened at once, then : you were realizing how much you liked - loved - Frankie when he gently took one of your forearm and brought it to his lips. All of the feelings hit home just as he was kissing the soft skin on your wrist and you froze.

He saw it and let go immediately, muttering apologies, while you were still processing what you felt about him. When you reached to grab him, to tell him how good that was and how wanted him to do it again, it was already too late.

[ellewritesathing]

(Un)Requited    V

Summary: Isaac Lahey had gone through many twists and turns in his life, but none of them compared to the whiplash he got when you asked him to tutor you. With a few weeks until the end of the semester and the big dance coming up, he’s hoping to figure out a way to ask you to go with him before it’s too late.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 5

Word-count: 2.5k+

A/N: i’m sorry for taking a literal year to update this fic!! i really suck at endings so this was a little hard for me but i hope you like it anyway 💕

I didn’t know where else to go. 

God, Isaac couldn’t have picked any better words to string together as his last words? Or, better yet, couldn’t he have just died in the street with the smallest modicum of respect? 

No, he thought bitterly, God wouldn’t let him off that easy. 

Isaac’s eyes fluttered open after a few seconds falling face-first in your doorway as he coughed and sputtered up some blood. For a moment, he was too disoriented to remember that he didn’t hallucinate showing up at your house, but then he felt your hands cradling his head and everything came rushing back with the force of a vicious punch to his torn-up gut. 

“Hey, hey, easy,” you whispered, gently lying Isaac on his back. You reeked of fear and adrenaline. Isaac should have noticed it even before he opened his eyes, but he had been narcissistically preoccupied with his attempts not to bleed out. “What happened to you?” 

Isaac struggled to lift his hand to your face. He’d meant for the gesture to be endearing, but his hand was covered in cuts and his nail beds were caked in other people’s blood. He tried to say something to comfort you, but instead of words, blood gushed out of his mouth. You swore as Isaac tried not to choke. 

Eventually, he managed to get out the words “Family game night was a little intense” as you rolled him onto his side. Despite your fear, you managed a weak laugh at his joke. Isaac spat up what he hoped was the last of the blood and tried to pull himself to a seat. 

With a little more air to his lungs and a few more seconds to process, Isaac finally realized that all this blood must stain. When you scrambled back to him with a first-aid kit and Isaac’s heart managed to start again, he said, “I’m, uh, sorry about your rug. I’ll buy a new one, I swear. I just-” 

“Isaac, I don’t care about the rug.” With a breath, you forced a smile at him. Gently as your shaky hand could manage, you reached out to touch the open wound on his forehead. Visibly, you didn’t look afraid, but Isaac knew better. Your heart raced. “What can I do to help you?” you asked softly. 

For some reason, Isaac felt like you knew about him. About his inhuman tendencies. The thought spurred about twenty others just like it, and each one was more unbearable than the last. Isaac couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing he was a monster.

“I should go,” Isaac blurted out. “I’m sorry I ruined your night with Stiles. I’ll go and you guys can-” 

Isaac pulled his head away but stopped fighting when you pushed down on his shoulders to keep him in place. “Isaac,” you said, still gentle but more forceful this time. “Please stop apologizing and let me help you.” 

In the second that it took Isaac to make up his mind, he didn’t need superhuman hearing to listen to your heart beating out of your chest. Or maybe it was his own heart racing. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” You touched his face again and smiled. Your smile faltered when you looked down at how torn apart he was. “Can I take you to the hospital?” 

“No. I, uh-” Isaac closed his eyes and tried to think. There was no way Derek would let that happen. “I can’t go to the hospital. Can I- could you get me some water? Please?” 

It took you a moment but you nodded. You still didn’t move. Hesitantly, your hand hovered over Isaac’s hand on his chest - like you wanted to hold it but couldn’t bring yourself to touch him. Isaac realized that you were afraid of hurting him. “I’m really afraid that you’ll fall asleep while I’m gone and then you won't wake up again,” you confessed. 

Isaac could have laughed. He wasn’t exactly used to people caring if he woke up, and you looked so nervous just at the idea of touching him. He lifted his hand to press your hand to his chest. “I won’t go to sleep. I promise.”

But you still didn’t move. You frowned at Isaac’s blood-caked hand covering yours. “I want you to know …” Taking a breath, you looked up from his hand and to his face. “There’s nothing going on with me and Stiles.” 

“There’s not?” 

“No.” You took another breath and shook your head. “It feels really dumb now. He, uh- he’s in love with Erica and I, um … I have feelings for you,” you said. “He had this idea that if we pretended to date then you guys would get jealous and maybe … I don’t know. It sounded good at the time.” 

“Most of his ideas do,” Isaac mumbled. He moved to get a better look at you and winced again. Still, he had to know if he heard you right or just imagined it. “You really have feelings for me?” 

“I thought it was pretty obvious,” you said. 

“I’m pretty oblivious,” Isaac said. You laughed and Isaac’s heart beat faster - which probably wasn’t advisable for anyone with as many open wounds as he had, but Isaac didn’t care. If he was going to die, knowing that you had feelings for him was better than he’d expected to go. “Do you maybe wanna get dinner sometime? With me, I mean.” 

You let out another short laugh and smiled. “If we make it through tonight, you’ve got a date.” Promising to be back with water, you squeezed Issac’s hand lightly and got to your feet. 

A date, Isaac thought. He didn’t get too long to grin about it before the angriest looking ball of fluff Isaac had ever seen nudged his leg. Magnus made a noise somewhere between a growl and a meow, but at least he didn’t bite him. 

“I’m doing the best I can, alright?” Isaac mumbled. He held a hand out to Magnus but he looked offended by all the blood. Taking a deep breath, Isaac tried to force a shift so he would heal faster. He couldn’t change. Instead, Isaac fumbled for the first-aid kit and started cleaning himself up. 

His clumsy hands didn’t get very far before you knelt beside him and offered him a glass of water. Isaac reached for the glass but his fingers were too numb to wrap around the glass. One of your warm hands covered his cold hand and the other tilted his head back, your thumb brushing the bone in his cheek that his father had embedded with glass. 

The water felt foreign and stolen; a kindness that Isaac had never been gifted before. 

After the last drop of water had been drained from the glass, Isaac closed his eyes and took a breath that pushed at his ribcage. It still hurt, but he could feel his bones mending and muscles knitting together again. You and Magnus were gone when he opened his eyes, but you were back again in a few minutes with a washcloth and bowl of warm water. 

First, you cleaned his hands and face, washcloth as soft as the hands that wielded it. Delicate, precise. Every second that passed peeled back more of Isaac’s tarnished veneer and softened his edges. Then you took off his ruined dress shoes and blood-soaked socks. You unknotted what was left of his tie and lay it in the palm of his broken hand. Slowly, gingerly, you undid each and every button of his shirt to lay his mangled upper body bare. Sucking in a breath, you washed away all the hurt and bandaged what was left. 

Isaac wasn’t sure if there was still a piece of him that hadn’t been broken. 

For the first time in what felt like years, your voice replaced the sound of rinsing, wringing, and wrapping. Your hands knotted nervously in your lap, but the smell of fear disappeared long ago. “Are you okay?”

Isaac was afraid of breaking the moment if he spoke, but he forced himself to try. “Doing better now,” he said with a smile. He wasn’t sure how comforting his smile was. 

You gave him a matching unsure smile. “Good. You had me worried for a second.” 

“Yeah?” Isaac straightened up slightly. His smile felt a little more genuine as he tilted his head to get a better look at you. 

“Yeah, I thought I’d have to get a new algebra tutor,” you teased with a hollow laugh. Isaac laughed, ribs aching, and your shoulders relaxed. You untangled your hands to touch the frayed edges of his tie, his open fingers grazing your wrist. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Twitching his fingers, Isaac curled his hand around yours. The tie was the only thing keeping his palm from bursting into flames at your touch. “Me too.”

---

“Dude.” 

Isaac gritted his teeth and kept packing away his lacrosse gear. Ignoring Stiles Stilinski was a near-impossible task, but it was one that Isaac grew better and better at each day - and one that Stiles made more difficult each day. He tapped on Isaac’s locker rhythmically. 

“Dude,” he repeated. “Don’t ignore me. You can’t ignore me.” Stiles hung on the locker door and forced his head around to peer inside. “I’m unignorable. It’s my superpower.” 

Not taking his eyes off the messy lacrosse gear, Isaac mumbled, “I thought your superpower was being annoying.” 

“I’m sorry, what- what was that?” Stiles stepped closer. “I didn’t hear that over the sound of you completely failing to ignore me.” 

Isaac shoved the last of the year in his locker and slammed the door shut, careful to make sure Stiles’ fingers were out of the way despite his careless facade. “I said,” ignoring Stiles jumping out of the way and his outburst, “That being annoying is your only superpower.” 

“But you admit that I have a superpower?” 

“Dude, do you ever stop talking?”

“No. Now stop complaining and just listen to me, alright?” Stiles said. He waited for Isaac to nod in agreement before going on. “It’s your first date since the whole, you know, bleeding out in her foyer thing. You need a plan. Now, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but-” 

Isaac let out a deep breath and looked at his locker for a second in hopes that would help him come up with the right words. “Stiles, I’ve been thinking about this since I was seven years old. I think I’ve got it covered.” 

Stiles was quiet as he rocked on his heels and ran a hand down his face. “God, you don’t have anything planned, do you?” Isaac was quiet for a heartbeat too long and Stiles smacked him on the shoulder. “Ten years and you’ve got nothing! This because that stupid scarf keeps cutting oxygen off to your brain.” 

“You took Erica to Chuck E Cheese on your first date, dipshit. I don’t think you get to judge anyone.” Despite his snark, Isaac was kinda hoping Stiles would have something in that idiotic brain of his. Stiles, however, was too busy arguing that Chuck E Cheese has something for everyone at very affordable prices to be any help. 

Luckily, Scott finished his talk with Coach and started walking over. He pulled a face when he heard what they were arguing about. “Do you guys ever not argue?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, at the same moment that Isaac said: “No.” 

“Jesus.” Scott sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I think I’ve got an idea. Stiles, think you could keep the Hales busy for one night?” 

Stiles got a smile on his face that could only be described as purely malevolent. “I’ve got a couple of ways to keep them occupied.” 

Scott nodded at him. “Great.” He patted Isaac’s arm and nodded towards the parking lot. “Come on, you’re with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

--- 

Isaac hadn’t gotten sick since his sophomore year. Two years with no cases of flu, no nausea, and no fevers. Two years without the headaches he’d been prone to since Camden shoved him into the sidewalk and his dad wouldn’t take him to the hospital. Two years full of healing from broken bones in minutes. Isaac was so used to being perfectly healthy that he’d forgotten what it felt like to want to throw up, but he was so anxious before your date that two years' worth of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks. 

As he let you into the newly redecorated loft, Isaac was fairly confident that he was having a heart attack. He led you to the faux dance floor and tried to be polite as he rattled off the signs of a heart attack in his head. Pressure in his chest? Check. Nausea? Check. Shortness of breath? Check. Cold sweat? Probably. 

Oh, god. What if you wanted to hold his hand and they were sweaty?

“You did all this for me?” you asked, fingers barely grazing the star-shaped lights as you reached above your head. Isaac would have had a hundred heart attacks if it meant he could see the wonder on your face when you turned to him just one more time. 

“Yeah,” Isaac said quietly. It felt like looking at the sun; if Isaac looked at you for a second longer then he’d be blinded, but he couldn’t look away. He took a step closer. “I kinda ruined our last dance. Thought maybe we could try again?” 

“Well, I think you do still owe me a dance,” you said with a teasing smile. You stepped closer to him and took Isaac’s hand in your own, and somehow, his heart didn’t give out. “And I owe you a very gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.” 

Isaac might have spoken too soon about his heart. “Come again?” 

You laughed and put your other hand on the side of Isaac’s neck. “Before you left to almost die, you kissed my cheek.” 

Isaac did his best not to groan. Not only did he show up to your house when he was on the verge of dying, but the last image you would have had of him was him kissing your cheek like some loser from the 1800s. “I did do that, didn’t I?” 

“I thought it was sweet.” You looked down and laughed. “It was actually the first time I thought that maybe my feelings for you weren’t so unrequited.” 

Isaac would have laughed if he wasn’t so surprised. “Wait, you thought you were the one with unrequited feelings?” 

“Uh, yeah. You’re way out of my league,” you said. You untangled yourself from him to count on your fingers. “You’re on the lacrosse team, you’ve got a 4.0 GPA, popular, extremely good looking, kind of a bad boy but still somehow the nicest person I’ve ever-”

Isaac used one hand to cover yours and the other to cup your face. Before he lost his nerve, he kissed you. He rested his forehead to yours when he pulled away. “Just so that you know,” he said quietly. “Your feelings are requited. Totally, completely, one hundred percent requited.” 

“Totally, completely, one hundred percent requited,” you repeated. You smiled and put your arms around his shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

Tagged: @lettherebelovex​  @britty443​  @ietts  @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane​  @chocolate-raspberries​  @jellybelly-jones  @f1nal-g1rl​  @linkpk88​  @iclosetgeek​  @lyanna-the-giantsbane​ 

[atlafan]

My Everything - Part Nineteen

A Take it Slow Sequel

What happens with Harry and Y/N after he proposes? How will the two navigate the engaged life while also continuing to juggle their jobs, friends, and families? Let’s find out.

Warnings: fluff, slight angst, and smut

Words: 11.5K

a/n: I can’t believe this is the second to last part! 

Masterpost

You always really liked the beginning of November. The leaves had changed, and it was the middle of the semester. You also, finally, looked and felt your best for the first time in a while. Since Jessica was over six months, she was able to go to day care at the college with Jack. Harry really missed bringing her with him to work, but at least he still had Buster. You couldn’t believe that next fall Jack would be going to preschool. There was a nice place in Milton you and Harry found that you’d enroll him in once spring rolls around.

At the end of your work day, you go to pick the kids up from daycare. Jack was coloring with Ryan, like always. You were happy to see they had stayed such good friends. You told yourself you’d do your best to keep them in contact next year since they’d be going to different preschools.

“Mumma!” Jack exclaims.

“Get your backpack, sweetie, we gotta grab your sister from the other room.” You bend down and kiss his forehead. He holds your hand as you walk over to the next room where the kept the babies. “Ah, there’s my sweet girl. How was she Anthony?”

“A doll, as usual. She giggled a bunch, and took a great nap.”

“That’s what I love to hear. Hi, angel.” You cuddle her to your chest. She was very excited to see you. “Let’s get you both in the car, come on.”

Jack is patient as usual while he waits for you to get Jessica situated in her car seat. You pick him up to put him in his. You furrow your brows at your backseat.

“How the hell am I supposed to do this with three?” You ask yourself. “I’d need to get a car with another row of seats.” You sigh and get into the front seat.

“Three what, Mumma?”

“Oh, nothing, baby doll. Mummy’s just talking to herself.” You laugh.

You and Harry hadn’t really talked about another kid in a while. Things in the house had finally gotten into a decent routine. You were almost scared to bring it up.

“Jack?”

“Yes, Mumma?”

“Do you like having a little sister so far?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I just don’t like when she gets loud.”

“Like when she cries for a long time?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t like it either.” You chuckle. “Her bottom teeth are coming in, that’s why she’s been crying a little more than usual. It can be a little uncomfortable on her gums.”

“Did I do that when I was baby?”

“Mhm, we used to freeze carrots for you to gnaw on.” You shake your head at yourself. “Sometimes we’d throw a wet rag in the freezer too, anything to soothe you, honey. You used to bite on Daddy’s fingers too.”

“I did?!”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “It was cute. Jessica hasn’t seemed to want to do that. The teething rings work just fine.”

“I like her.” He looks at his sister and smiles.

“Me too…would you ever want another?”

“Sister?”

“Or a brother…I don’t really get to decide…”

“I want her to get big so we can play.”

“I want the complete opposite. I want you small forever.”

“But I’m a big boy, Mumma.”

“Yes.” You sigh. “A very big boy. Dr. Philips thinks you’re going to be very tall, and your sister may end up a shrimp like me.”

“Daddy’s tall.”

“Daddy’s very tall.” You smile.

You liked your chats with Jack on the way home from work. You’ll miss them a lot once he’s in preschool, but you didn’t need to think about that just yet. You hit a little bit of traffic on the way home. You’re grateful when you pull into the garage. You get Jessica into your arms and Jack out of his car seat.

“Hang your backpack up please when you get up into the kitchen, and then wash up for snacky.” You tell him. “I gotta feed this one too. Are you hungry, darling?” Jessica makes a noise and you nod.

You get jack some cut up grapes and then get Jessica a bubby. Once she’s burped you set her down in her bouncy so you can go use the bathroom.

“Wanna see what I colored today, Mumma?”

“Of course I do!” You plop on the floor with him in the living room so he can show you his many drawings. “Is this our family, honey?”

“Mhm.” He beams. “There’s Daddy, you, me, Jessica, and Buster.”

“Are you riding Buster?”

“Yeah.” He giggles.

“We have to put this on the fridge for Daddy to see. He’s going to love it.” You get up and find a magnet and some space to put the picture up.

A little while later just as you’re preparing dinner while also going over ABC’s with Jack, you hear the door slam downstairs. You sigh heavily, especially when you hear Harry stomping up the stairs.

“Daddy!” Jack exclaims. You also hear Jessica getting excited from her high-chair.

Harry doesn’t even come into the kitchen. He just grumbles and goes right into the bathroom to wash up. He comes into the kitchen when he’s done, and looks at you.

“Hi.” He grunts and opens the fridge to grab a beer.

“Our son is waiting.” You nod over to Jack.

“Hey, buddy.” Harry goes over and kisses the top of Jack’s head. He looks over at Jessica and can’t help but smile when he sees her smile. He gives her a kiss as well. “What’s for dinner?”

“Roasted veggies and rice. Should be done any minute. Are you alright?”

“M’fine.” You roll your eyes at him and turn around to look at the veggies through the glass in the oven. “Shouldn’t do that in front of him, not a great habit to pick up.”

“Neither is coming home angry, and immediately grabbing a beer out of the fridge.” You cross your arms and look at him.

“Touché.” He smirks. “I had a long day. Not something I can really discuss in front of little ears.”

“Later then?”

“Yes.”

You nod and get dinner plated up. Harry helps feed Jessica while you make sure Jack’s veggies aren’t too hot. He really liked when you roasted veggies, and you were thankful he didn’t just want hotdogs all the time.

“Mm, delicious, babe.” Harry says.

“Thank you.” You whistle for Buster. “Come eat, baby.” He barks and eats the food you put out for him.

After dinner you and Harry give Jack and Jessica a bath. You lull Jessica to sleep, but Jack is allowed to stay up in bed a little longer. You come into his room and see Harry reading with him.

“Time for bed.” You say. You kiss Jack on the forehead and so does Harry. “Night, angel.”

You both creep out of his room and go downstairs. You both sit on the couch.

“Alright, tell me what happened.”

“I have two interns this semester, remember?” You hum your response. “Well, I couldn’t find either of them for a hot second, so I go to the back to see if maybe one of them was in the bathroom and maybe the other was in the storage closet. No one was in the bathroom, so I go to check the storage closet, and I see it’s locked. I grab Mariah and ask her why it would be locked during the day, and she had no idea, so I grab my keys and I open the door to find the two of them pulling their clothes back on.”

“Stop!” You gasp. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Full on fuck fest in my storage closet. Even we haven’t fucked in there.” He scoffs. “So, I obviously had to let them both go, but that means they may not get college credit, which I sort of feel bad about…they might be able to get one or two credits since they completed half the semester. I have to come to your campus tomorrow to speak with a dean or something. And now I’m down two people right before the holidays. I’m gonna get super busy.” He sighs.

“What about a paid thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could hire a couple of other college students and pay them hourly or something. It could just be a seasonal thing for the holidays. You’re getting new interns for the spring anyways, right?”

“True…it would only be for a couple of months I’d need to pay them. Do you know any responsible students looking for work?”

“Oh, sure, tons. I can send an email to the film club and see if any of those guys wanna make a quick buck.”

“I can’t believe I have to deal with this.” He groans.

“It’s kinda funny when you think about it.” You chuckle and he glares at you. “Oh, come on!”

“Little rabbits couldn’t keep it in their pants.”

“You remember being that age, Harry. Even in your twenties, you were like that.” You laugh.

“I wouldn’t have risked college credit like that.” He shakes his head. “Morons.”

“Did they at least feel bad?”

“They did, and they were really embarrassed. Isaac spoke to them mostly, I was too aggravated and Mariah had a client coming in.” He sighs. “I just can’t keep them on after something like that, you know?”

“No, it makes perfect sense to let them go. They need to know there are consequences to their actions. You’re doing the right thing, babe.”

“Thanks. Sorry I came home grumpy. Usually I can cool down on the train home, but everything was pissing me off, and then there was traffic from the train station back here.”

“I hit traffic on the way home too. I wonder if there was an accident or something.”

“Who the fuck knows, it’s Boston, there’s always traffic.”

“Poor thing.” You pout at him. “Come here, come lay with me.”

You lean back and rest your head on the arm of the couch, and Harry rests his head on your chest. You wrap your arms around him and rub his head and back.

“How was your day?” He mumbles.

“Good, my students are starting in on their projects. Some of them, uh, are taking bets on if or when I’ll get pregnant again.” You laugh nervously.

“Seems like an incentive thing to make bets about.” He looks up at you. “What if you weren’t able to have more?”

“I’m very honest with them, especially the students that have had me for years. They’re fine. I thought it was sweet. They like seeing pictures of our family and stuff.”

“They just like when you go on your little tangents.” He chuckles.

“What students wouldn’t?” You kiss his forehead. He props himself up to look at you. “What?”

“Your heart is, like, racing.”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? Even after all this time you still make my heart flutter.”

“Y/N.” He sighs with a smile. “Are you trying to tell me something?” He thinks for a moment and then gasps. “Are you pregnant?”

“No! God, no…but…I’ve been thinking about maybe…what if it was time to try again?”

“I feel like we just got a routine together. Everything’s gonna change next year with Jack going to preschool. Our schedules are going to need to adjust a lot, and you wanna add a baby to the mix of that? You were pregnant during our five year anniversary so we couldn’t go anywhere. This April is gonna be our five year wedding anniversary, I was sorta hoping to take a vacation.”

“While I’m teaching? We’d have to go in March when I’m on spring break.”

“Plus, Jessica’s first birthday will be in April. We’re gonna be really busy. Jack’s still too little to help out.” He sighs. “I don’t know, the idea of it just really stresses me out.” He gets off you to sit up, and you sit up as well. “And you’ve been talking about how much you’ve loved the way you look lately, you wanna start changing all of that?”

“I told you before, I’d do it over and over.” You look down at your lap and twiddle your thumbs. “You…really don’t want another?”

“It’s not that I don’t, I just don’t think right now is a good time.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be right now.”

“Y/N.” He puts his hand over yours and you look up at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Even if I was pregnant during our anniversary, we could still go somewhere. We could go away for a weekend or something. I’d still have fun.”

“Not if you were nauseous and sweaty. Been through it twice with you now, I know how you are.”

“I just feel like I’m playing beat the clock or something. Like, I’m thirty-two, so if we got pregnant soon, then I’d be thirty-three probably when the baby’s born, and then I think that would be enough. I feel like three is the magic number. How nice for Jessica to be so close in age with a sibling, and Jack could find little ways to help if he wanted.”

“We’d be giving up our guest room.”

“We do have my office down here that could be converted if we put a small pull out in there.”

“You want my mother to sleep on a pull out?!”

“No, she could have our bed. Plus, those bedrooms are large upstairs, Jessica could share with the baby. We have one of each, so either way two could share as they got older. I’m…a little shocked you’re not jumping at the chance.”

“I just think we need to be realistic. That’s a third college fund we’d need to invest in.”

“The timing’s never going to be good, Harry.” You cross your arms. “And so what if it’s a third college fund? Do you know how much money I’ll be making by the time the kids would even be old enough to go to college? I’m set to teach two courses online this January, you know that money goes right towards those accounts.”

“I just don’t understand why you want to throw off the balance we have right now. There’s four of us, we have one of each…why do we need another?”

“Harry.” Your bottom lip starts to quiver. “I just have so much love to give, and I wanna give it to another baby.”

“You’re already spread so thin! Jack still fights for your attention anytime you hold Jessica for longer than five minutes. Now you want him to compete with two?”

“Are you sure it’s not you who wants to compete for my attention?”

“Oh, please.” He scoffs.

“Besides, I thought you liked me when I’m pregnant.” You pout.

“I like you all the time, that’s not fair.” He cups your cheek. “As much as I love the idea of having a ton of sex to get you pregnant, I just…can I have some time to think about?”

“Okay.” You lean into his touch.

“I know that’s not the answer you wanted.”

“You’re not saying no, so I’ll take it for now.” You kiss his palm and stand up. You stretch a little, really putting yourself on display for him. “Think I’m gonna turn in.”

“Me too.” He yawns. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

You both do your nightly routines and get into bed. You roll over and Harry wraps himself around you. You wanted to have sex right now, but you didn’t want him to think it was just because you wanted to make a baby. You didn’t want him thinking that was the only reason you wanted him. Maybe once he falls asleep you could go take care of yourself in the bathroom or something. No, you didn’t want some piece of plastic to get you off, you wanted him. You roll over to face him and see he’s already asleep. Of course, just like a man to fall asleep so easily. He pulls you in closer to him, but you pry away, flipping onto your back.

“You’re restless.” He mumbles with his eyes closed.

“Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you mad at me?” He opens an eye to look at you.

“Of course not.” You look at him. “I’m just…in the mood.”

“Because of the baby talk?” He smirks.

“No…just…in general.” You roll back on your side to face him. You grab one of his hands and place it between your legs. He grunts when he feels how wet you are. “Just want you, babe.” You whimper as he presses his palm against you.

“I can see that.”

He slips two fingers inside you, and you grind against him. He keeps a slow pace, just enjoying the way you feel around him. His thumb presses circles into your clit. You press your forehead to his chest to try to muffle your moans. Your nails scratch at his shoulders, causing him to groan.

“Fuck it.” He retracts his fingers from you and pushes you to lay on your back. He drags his boxers off and throws them to the floor. He practically rips the t-shirt you were wearing off.

“What do you mean fuck it?” You giggle.

“I’m gonna pump you silly and get you pregnant. I’m fuckin’ done using condoms.”

“Harry…” You cup his cheeks. “An hour ago it didn’t really seem like you wanted-“

He crashes his mouth over yours, and practically rams his tongue in your mouth to shut you up. He had his reservations, but he had such a tough time telling you no or even denying you of something you really wanted. The thought of you being so willing to put your body through this again because you wanted to carry another one of his children drove him absolutely wild. You said you had all this love to give, and so did he. He wanted to turn into another little bundle with you.

He bites your bottom lip before sitting up to give you some air. You look up at him stunned. He had a dark, lustful look in his eyes. One of his hands travels up to grip your throat.

“Got me all riled up now, gonna let me take care of it?” He asks.

“Yes.”

He grins at you and loosens his grip on your neck.

“Will you go down on me?”

“No.”

“What?!”

“Do you wanna know why we had so much trouble with the first two? I kept eating you out like every time we tried, and apparently saliva can, like, kill sperm. So, unfortunately, I can’t put my tongue on you.” He starts kissing on your neck and down your chest. “Well, can’t put my tongue on your there, at least.” He swirls his tongue around one of your nipples.

“Harry don’t suck or bite, I’m still making milk…”

He rolls his eyes as he kisses between the valley of your breasts. He kisses on the area just above your nipple and bites down hard, causing you to gasp. His hand goes back between your legs to spread you apart. He lines himself up and rubs his tip around your folds and throbbing clit before pushing inside. You let out a relieved sigh. He grabs both of your legs and throws them over his shoulders. His fingers dig into your calves as he starts thrusting in and out of you. Your head rolls back into the pillows as one of your hands travels down to lightly rub your clit.

“Christ.” He grunts. “How are you still so beautiful?” Your eyes meet his and all you do is smile at him. “I mean really, it’s just not fair.”

He drops your legs and comes to you so you’re chest to chest. His mouth is on yours again and you wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands travel to his hair as he takes over rubbing your clit.

“Can’t wait to feel your come, Harry.” You groan.

He drops his head to the crook of your neck. He nearly lost it at your words, but he needed to make sure you got yours first, not that it was a race or anything. He wanted you to feel good all over, and for a little while longer. He rocks into you in a way that hits your g-spot, making you arch up into him.

“Like that, baby girl?”

“Fuck, yes, don’t stop.”

He feels you tighten around him and he knows you’re close. He rubs your clit faster, and that’s when you lose it. A cracked gasp leaves your lips. You twitch and writhe under him as he tries to hold you down. You kiss him as his pace picks back up. You can’t remember the last time you two weren’t interrupted or had to be quick, this was amazing.

“Harry.” You whimper. You weren’t making this easy for him at all. He couldn’t hang on much longer. You were too much when you were so needy like this. “Want you to come.”

“Want me to come, angel?” He whispers in your ear and it sends a shiver up your spine.

You smirk to yourself and grab his face so he’ll look at you.

“Come on, Daddy, put another baby in me.”

“Jesus, fucckkk.”

His come shoots inside you and paints all your walls. You moan out from being able to feel it after so long. He nearly collapses on top of you. He was exhausted. He slowly slips out of you and you clamp your legs together. He rolls onto his back and he looks at you.

“That was evil.” He breathes. You look at him and chuckle. “S’not funny.”

“Yes it is. I call you Daddy all the time.”

“Yeah, in front of the kids. Little bit different in the bedroom.”

“Got you to come didn’t it?” You boop his nose.

“Didn’t need that much help, love, I was about ready to explode either way.” He reaches out to stroke your cheek. “So beautiful.” He gets up from the bed to go clean himself up, and after waiting a few minutes you do the same.

“So…you’re really into having another baby? It’s not just me wanting one?” You ask as you both face each other and cuddle up to one another.

“I want it. I was just being silly earlier.”

“No, your feelings were completely valid, honey. Sometimes I need a reality check.”

“I think…three will be enough though. I think anything more would be a lot for us, but a family of five sounds nice.”

“Technically six, can’t forget about Buster.” You chuckle.

“Right, can’t forget about our oldest.” He smiles. “Do you agree though? Three’s enough?”

“Yeah, three’s plenty.”

“As long as we’re on the same page about that, I’m good with doing it all over again.” He kisses your forehead.

“And then you can get a vasectomy.”

“Y/N.” He groans. “I don’t wanna shoot blanks.”

“But then we’d literally never have to worry.”

“Sometimes they don’t take.”

“So you’d rather me go through some kind of invasive procedure when you could just easily get a little snip?”

“Why are we talking about this now?”

“Because it’s something we’ll need to be on the same page about, Harry. I don’t wanna get an IUD or get my tubes tied. I shouldn’t have to when there’s an even easier, low risk procedure out there.” You rub your thumb over his cheek. “Just think it over, okay?”

“Okay.” He kisses your nose. “Let’s get you pregnant first, though.”

“Agreed.” You yawn and wrap yourself tighter around him. He pulls you in nice and close. Times like this it felt like before you were even ever married with kids when you’d just hold each other like this. “I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you too.” He whispers back.

//

Saturdays were for raking leaves. Jack loved being able to help Harry outside a little more now that he was a tad older. You were inside with Jessica making grilled cheese and tomato soup for everyone. She enjoyed watching you cook. Once in a while she’d whine because of her teeth.

“Need a new ring, darling girl?”

You go into the freezer for a teething ring and hand it to her. She happily puts it into her mouth to suck on. You smile at her and kiss the top of her head. You were happy she didn’t fuss when she was in her highchair. You go over to the sliding door and you love what you see. Harry tackling Jack down into one of the larger pile of leaves and them both hysterically laughing. If your ovaries weren’t ready to explode already, there sure as hell would be now. You slide the door open and step out.

“I hate to ruin the fun boys, but lunch is ready!”

“Grilled cheese!” Jack shoots up and runs towards you.

“Wash your hands please.”

He groans, but does as you say. Harry comes strolling up to you.

“You as well, Daddy.” You grin.

“Sure thing, Mummy.” He pinches your bottom and goes down the hall to wash his hands with Jack.

You cut up Jack’s sandwich for him in to long quarters. He looks at it funny.

“Why’s it like this, Mumma?”

“So you can dunk it into the soup if you want.” You blow on his cup of soup for him. “Should be cool enough.”

“Hey, do that to mine.” Harry smirks.

“Blow it yourself.” You shake your head at him. “It tastes good, Jack, see?” You dunk your own piece of sandwich into the soup. “Mm, so yummy.”

Jack watches Harry do the same, and that was enough for him. He dunks his sandwich into the soup and takes a chomp out of it. His eyes grow wide and he smiles which makes you and Harry laugh.

“Mm, that’s good, Mumma.”

“Knew you’d like it.” You smile and look at Harry. “Got much left to do out there?”

“Just need to bag it all up and drag the bags out front.”

“Do you need my help for that?”

“Nah, I should be able to manage.” He shrugs. “But thanks.”

“Mumma, Daddy said we have enough twigs for a fire later.”

“Oh, did he?” You tap your chin. “Hmm, I guess that means I’ll have to go to the store and get some marshmallows.”

“Yes!”

“You can take him while I finish the yard if you want.”

“Sure, that’ll work out well. Jessica can nap while I drive around.”

“They both can.”

“No naps.” Jack pouts.

“If you don’t nap then we can’t have a fire.” Harry says firmly. Usually you didn’t like when he would get so stern with Jack, but right now it was working for you.

“Daddy’s right, Jack. We can’t have a fire if you don’t nap.”

“Fine.” He huffs and finishes up his lunch.

Harry helps you get the two of them in the car and kisses you goodbye before getting back to work in the yard. You had Jessica strapped to your chest and Jack in the little seat in the shopping cart. You kept wondering how you might do this with three kids, but by the time a third would be born, Jack and Jessica could both sit in the shopping cart.

“Can we have s’mores, Mumma?”

“Sure, we could do that, honey.” You smile.

You walk around the store and grab all the items. Jessica was absolutely passed out, and Jack’s eyes were getting droopy. You needed to get them both back in the car stat. You just needed to grab the graham crackers.

“Shit.” You say to yourself. You couldn’t really reach the brand that Harry liked. You probably could’ve just lifted Jack up to grab them, but a man standing near you saw your dilemma.

“Need some help?”

“That would be great, thanks.” You smile as he grabs the box and hands it to you.

“Cute kids.” He smiles.

“Oh, thanks. They’re fading fast.”

“I didn’t even know they made gluten free graham crackers.”

“Yeah, my husband prefers them. They actually taste pretty good.”

The man nods as you start to walk away. You get in line and notice that he gets in line behind you. You smile at him again and he returns it. You feel his eyes burn into you as you put everything up on the belt. You were starting to feel uneasy, but you weren’t sure why. You pay for your things, and hang back a moment. You pretend to check the receipt as the man walks by you and out of the store. You notice that he doesn’t walk out to a car. He was just standing near the door. You take a deep breath. It could easily be nothing, maybe he was waiting for a ride, but you were starting to freak yourself out.

“Mumma?” Jack says sleepily.

“I just need to…” You look around. “I need to call Daddy.” You take your phone out and call Harry.

“Love? Everything alright?”

“No…this guy at the store is giving me the creeps, and I’m afraid to walk out to the car.”

“Gimme ten minutes, I’ll take an uber so I can just drive you home.”

“I’m sorry, I just-“

“It’s okay. Ten minutes, honey.”

You couldn’t believe that the man was still there, standing outside. He was definitely waiting for you. You see Harry’s uber pull up and you feel a wave of relief. Harry looked very rugged today. His scruff was due for a shave, he had his bandanna on to keep his hair back, his work boots, loose jeans, and a sweater.

“Hey.” He smiles when he comes in. “Is it the guy that’s right out there?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, gimme the keys.”

“Hi, Daddy.” Jack yawns.

“Hi, buddy.”

Harry takes your keys and grabs the couple of bags out of the cart, and also lifts Jacks out. He keeps him on his hip while he walks out with you. You don’t look at the man as you walk by, and out to the car. You get the kids in their car seats, and Harry drives you home. You were shaking slightly.

“He had to have been waiting for me.” You whisper. “I can’t even go to the grocery store now?”

“You have your pepper spray in your bag, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I showed you how to stab someone with the keys if need be.”

“It’s different when the kids are with me. If I was alone…I don’t know I probably would’ve been fine, but if something happened to me…”

“Don’t think like that.” He puts his hand on your thigh and gives it a squeeze. “What happened, did he interact with you?”

“He helped me grab the graham crackers off that top shelf. You know I can never reach those. I even mentioned I had a husband. Then he ended up in line behind me. I stayed back to see if he was planning to follow me, and he just stood there.” You shake your head and put your hand over his. “Don’t know what I would do without you.”

//

You and Harry got Jack and Jessica inside for a proper afternoon nap, and the two of you cuddled on the couch for a bit yourselves. You had calmed down from the little scare. You thought to maybe call the store tomorrow to have them check their tapes to see if that man had come in and done anything weird like that before.

“Should we invite Sarah and Niall for the fire tonight?” Harry asks, stretching out to sit up.

“Sure! I’ll text them now.” You take your phone out and text in the group chat you have to let them know they’re welcome to come by. “Probably gonna be one of the last ones. It’s starting to get too cold at night.”

“Can’t wait for Thanksgiving break. Love when we get to be home together for a few days.”

“I know, only a few weeks away now.”

“I’ve lined up a couple of interviews with those students you sent my way. I’m gonna see ‘em Monday. Hopefully they’ll refrain from fucking in the storage closet.” He rolls his eyes.

“How was your chat with the dean?”

“Fine.” He shrugs. “I tried to come see you, but I think you were teaching, and I didn’t wanna disturb you.”

“Since when do you not wanna disturb one of my lectures?” You laugh.

“Well, it’s one thing if it’s at the end of class. Those kids are paying for a proper education, you know?” He smirks.

“How considerate of you.” You crawl into his lap and straddle him. “You know…those two should be asleep for a little while longer.” You lean down to his ear as he wraps his arms around you. “When was the last time we fucked on this couch?” Your words send a shiver up his spine.

“What if he comes trotting down the stairs?”

“Buster will distract him. You know how he loves to pet and play with Buster when he first wakes up.”

“True.” His hand slide into the back of your jeans so he can grip your ass. You roll your hips down on his. “Just gotta be quiet though.”

You nod your head in understanding. You stand up briefly to take your pants and underwear off. Harry undoes his belt and zipper to take his dick out. You grab the blanket and wrap it around your back so you weren’t totally exposed, just in case. You get back on his lap. He rubs your slit to make sure you’re wet as you pump his dick.  

Once you’re both ready you slide down on him. You both grunt and moan. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck. He moves you up and down on him and you whimper into him. You bite down on his soft skin and it makes him thrust up into you harder. You grip at his shoulders and make fists with the material of his sweater.

“Oh, god.” You moan and move your face too look at him. You slot your mouth over his as he continues with his movements. You rock against him to give your clit some much needed friction. “Harry.” You gasp. “Shit, oh my god.” He had you panting already, and with another sharp thrust up he had you coming around him. Your lips find his again to help capture the noises you were making.

It didn’t take him long to come after that. He lays you down puts a pillow under your knees to prop your legs up a bit. He covers your lower half with the blanket.

“Gonna have to wash that.” He chuckles and kisses your forehead. He sees your phone light up and looks at it. “Sarah and Niall are in for the fire.”

“Oh, great! This’ll be fun.”

“Daddy!” You both hear Jack call from his room.

“He must need to shit.” Harry chuckles and you swat at him. “What? You don’t think it’s funny that he only wants my help with that?”

“He gets embarrassed when I help him, and I feel terrible about it.”

“He’s just too polite to shit in front of his mum, it’s cute.”

Harry goes up the stairs to Jack’s room. He was doing a dance like he really need to use the bathroom. He had been using the actual toilet more and more, but he had a tough time going number two alone. You eventually get up and get yourself situated. You go up to check on Jessica who was making babbling noises in her crib.

“Oh, someone’s awake.” You coo. She smiles up at you. “Hi, angel. Mummy change you now.”

You lift her out of the crib and set her on the changing table. You get her all fresh and cozy in a change of clothes and carry her out of the room. You take her to the living room and sit on the floor with her. You watch as she slowly gets herself to her feet.

“Good job, Jessica! Now, walk to Mumma.” You hold your arms out for her to balance on. Harry comes down with Jack and Buster. “Come on, you can do it.” She takes little steps. She wobbles a bit, but she makes it and you scoop her up in a hug and tons of kisses.

“Hey.” Jack pouts and runs over to you.

“Oof!” He nearly knocks you down.

“Jack, that’s too rough.” Harry says and gets on the floor with everyone. He takes Jessica from you and snuggles her close. “Hi, darling girl, did you have a nice nappy?” He boops her nose and she giggles.

“Jack, why do you get so jealous?” You laugh.

“I walk all the time, and you don’t give me kisses.” He pouts.

“Oh…well, I did when you were her age. I’m sorry.” You hold him close to you and give him tons of kisses. “All better?”

“Much.” He smiles.

//

“Everyone have enough blankets?” You ask the group as everyone’s sat around the fire.

“Think we’re good, Y/N.” Niall says and pulls Jack into his lap. “Now, let’s get this marshmallow roasted.”

You had the baby monitor on your hip so you’d be able to hear if Jessica needed anything while you were all outside. You snuggle up with Harry and he hands you a s’more.

“Thank you.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“Uncle Niall?” Jack asks.

“Yes?”

“How come you and Auntie Sarah don’t have a baby?”

“Jack.” You say. “Not an okay question to ask.”

“Why?”

“It’s personal.” Harry says. “Not all adults have babies.”

“It’s okay.” Sarah says and takes Jack into her lap. “Jack, I work with lots of little kids all day long. I have so many kids that I love and that I care about. So, Uncle Niall and I didn’t really feel the need to have one of our own. Besides, we like just being an Auntie and an Uncle. We get to give all our love to you and Jessica.”

“I thought all married people had babies.”

“Not the case, bud.” Niall says.

“How come Mumma and Daddy had us, then?”

“Because your Daddy likes getting your mum pr-“

“Niall!” Sarah swats an arm at him and he starts laughing.

“Jack, come here.” You chuckle and he walks around over to you with a gooey marshmallow in his mouth. “What’s with all the questions, hm? People like to express their love for each other in different ways. Daddy and I wanted to turn our love into babies, and Sarah and Niall wanted to turn their love into, uh…” You look at them for help.

“Vacations.” Niall says. “We get to travel and see the world, and show everyone around us how much we love each other.” He grabs her hand and kisses it.

“And, we give back to others in need, Jack. Niall and I use the money that we’d spend on babies to donate to different causes. That’s another way we show our love.”

“See, honey, there’s lots of different ways to show love out there.” Harry says. “But I do like getting your mum pregnant.” He grins.

“Okay!” You stand up with Jack. “I’m taking him to bed because you two are idiots.” You shake your head and carry him inside. The three of them laugh.

“Sorry ‘bout that, hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. It’s sorta rude to ask someone why they don’t have kids.”

“It’s okay.” Sarah shrugs. “Unfortunately we’re used to it. I can’t tell you how many of the parents, even some of the other teachers at school have told me that I’d change my mind.” She scoffs. “I don’t have those motherly instincts. I can babysit no problem, but doing it 24/7? No thanks. I’ll leave it to you guys.”

“I truthfully don’t mind just being an uncle either. I like that we can pick and go as we please, and just do things spontaneously without having to worry. I feel completely fulfilled.” Niall says.

“Me too.” She kisses his hand. You come back out shortly and pinch Harry’s arm as you sit down.

“Ow! What the fuck?” He rubs his arm before throwing it around you.

“He kept asking me why Daddy likes getting me pregnant, you fucking moron.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’m lucky he was tired. Thank god Buster likes cuddling with him or he’d never sleep.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “Guess I shouldn’t have been goofing like that.”

“Y/N, has Harry told you about our little plan for spring?” Niall says.

“No, what’s that?”

“We were thinking of becoming soccer coaches, getting Jack started on a team and all that.” Harry explains. “Lots of kids in this neighborhood, could be fun to start a league for the really little kids.”

“Yeah, get some skills early on.”

“But Harry…you’re not very good at soccer.”

“True, but Niall is. Gotta have a kid on the team to be a coach, so he could be my assistant coach, but do all of the actual coaching, while I would bring the snacks and make up the rosters.”

“Does Jack want to play soccer?” Sarah asks. “He really likes to draw.”

“Yeah, he’s told me a couple times, especially when we play in the backyard. He likes kicking the ball around.”

“Then I think it’s a great idea. You could pick him up from daycare and take him to whatever field the practices would be at. It would be fun to see him play on the weekends too. He’d look so cute in his little uniform.” You pout.

“It’s settled then, we’re puttin’ a soccer team together.” Niall smiles and looks at Sarah. “And you can be the cheerleader.”

“Oh, please.” She scoffs. “Y/N and I will be off to the side sipping wine in inconspicuous bottles.”

“I like the sound of that.” You giggle.

//

You were in the middle of one of your lectures when there was a knock on the door. You go to open and it see it’s one of the workers from the daycare.

“Hi, Dr. Y/L/N, sorry to disrupt your class, but you may want to come get Jack. He’s not feeling well.”

“Oh no! Has he thrown?”

“No, but he says his stomach definitely hurts, and we took his temp. He has a little fever.”

“Alright, um…shit, I have two more classes today. Let me call my husband and see if he can grab him quick.”

“We’ll need him to take Jessica too, she could also easily be sick.”

“Okay.” You go back into the classroom and grab your phone. “Kids are sick, talk amongst yourselves for a moment.” You tell them and step back out to call Harry. “Hi.”

“What’s up?”

“Jack’s not feeling well, can you pick them up from daycare? I’d just take them home, but I have two more classes today.”

“Uhh…oi! Isaac!” You take the phone from your ear at how loud he yelled. “Yeah, I can step out for a bit to get them.”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” You hang up. “Harry will be there soon to grab them.”

“Awesome, thanks! Sorry again for disrupting.”

“No, I’m glad you came to tell me. Thank you.”

You go back into class and get on with your lecture.

Harry gets to the daycare. He frowns when he sees how pale Jack is. He scoops up Jessica and gets them both into his car.

“Don’t feel good, Daddy.”

“I know, buddy. We’re almost home.”

Luckily Jack didn’t puke in the car, but Harry was nervous he might so he sets him up on the couch with him so he could properly watch him. He puts Jessica in her bouncy. She didn’t have a fever, but he knew that could easily change. Harry gets his laptop once Jack is settled and comfortable, and answers some emails. He felt terrible for leaving, but it was nearly the end of the day anyways.

You get home around four, a little later than usual, but you had a ton of students come during your office hours. You run right upstairs to the living room. Harry was stretched out on the couch. Jack and Jessica both laying on his chest. Both curled up and comfortable on their Daddy.

“Hi.” You whisper.

“Hi.” He smiles. “He puked a couple of times. Think he has a little bug.”

“Oh no.” You frown and sit on the edge of the couch to stroke Jack’s back.

“Gave him some children’s Tylenol. She’s been fine, but she could easily get sick too.”

“I’m gonna go change his sheets. How’s Buster?”

“Been an angel f’me all afternoon. Love being able to just let him outside when I can’t really walk him.”

“Okay, let me take care of his bed and then I’ll get us all fed.” You kiss Harry’s forehead. You start to walk towards the stairs, and then you turn around and look at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You smile.

“I know that look, and you’re nuts if you think there’s gonna be any baby making tonight.”

“The thought never occurred to me.” You scoff. “You just look so cute with them.” You pout. “It’s hard not to want a dozen little babies.”

“Go change his fuckin’ sheets, will you?” He chuckles.

You get Jack’s bed settled, and come back down to feed Buster. You decide that vegetable soup would be a good idea, so you get to chopping and throw everything into a pot with some broth and let it cook. You come back over to Harry and smell Jessica’s bum.

“Oof, she stinks.” You laugh and take her from him.

“I was afraid of waking him up.” Harry sits up slightly and keeps Jack curled up in his arms. “Poor kid. Cried after he puked. I think it made his stomach feel worse.”

You take Jessica upstairs to change her and put her pj’s on, and then bring her back down to get her to walk a little. She balances on your forearms as she takes her little steps.

“She’ll be doing it on her own in no time.” Harry says.

“Eight months, she’s growing so fast.” You sigh. “I love the little curls that are coming in on her head. Gonna have another mop like with him.”

“Must have strong genes.” Harry chuckles. Jack groans, but Harry rubs his back to soothe him.

“I’ll be able to stay home with them tomorrow since I don’t teach. I can just work from home.”

“Are you sure? I could probably stay home.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll take care of them.”

“Mumma?” Jack adjusts in Harry’s arms and opens his eyes slowly.

“Hi, honey. Having a nice snuggle with Daddy?”

“Mhm. Don’t feel good.”

“I know.” You pick Jessica up and carry her to the highchair. Harry carries Jack into the kitchen. “Wanna try eating some soup?”

“No.” He pouts.

“How about some toast?”

“No.” Tears nearly form in his eyes.

“I think he’s afraid of spewing again.”

“He needs to eat something. You know what they say, starve a cold, feed a fever.”

“Toast is probably better, but I’ll have soup.” Harry says.

You nod and fill up two bowls. You give Jessica a bubby for dinner while Harry gets Jack to have some toast. After you clean up, you bring them both upstairs for bed. Buster snuggles up with Jack.

“Baby, we’re leaving this bucket here, if you don’t feel good you can just use that, okay?”

“Wanna sleep with you.” He whines.

“Daddy and I aren’t going to sleep yet. I put nice new sheets on your bed a little while ago, isn’t it cozy?”

“Got her down.” Harry says, coming in. “Buster will make you feel better, buddy. You like sleepin’ with him.”

“Wanna sleep with you.” He pouts.

“Jack, just try to sleep in here, and if you really can’t then you can come in with us, okay?” Harry says. You both kiss him goodnight and leave his room.

“I need a shower, gotta make sure we both don’t get sick too.”

“Oh, good idea. I’ll bring the baby monitor into the bathroom.” You say.

“You’re joining?”

“Why would we shower separately?” You scoff and go down the hall to your bedroom.

You hadn’t wanted Harry this much in a long time, or that’s at least how he felt. It sort of annoyed him that you had basically been fucking a lot just because you wanted a baby. He walks into the bedroom and starts taking his clothes off.

“Actually, I’d like to just have time to myself if that’s alright. They were on me all afternoon.”

“Oh…okay.”

He turns to go into the bathroom, only wearing his boxers. He sighs and turns around to look at you.

“Are we only fucking so much because you just want to get pregnant?”

“What?”

“It would just be nice to feel wanted because you want me, and not because you know I can give you another baby.”

“Oh my goodness, Harry.” You stand up and wrap your arms around him. “Have I been making you feel that way?”

“Yes.” He mumbles.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what it’s been lately, I feel like my sex drive has just really come back in full swing. I mean, I want this baby, but I also just…want you. We’ve been getting interrupted less. I feel like we both have been able to figure out the good times of day to be intimate. I do just want you because I want you. I’m sorry if you’ve been feeling…used.”

“So…you really just wanted to take a shower with me?”

“I thought it would be some nice alone time, but if you want some time to yourself, that’s fine too.”

“No, let’s go in together. I want to now.” You smile and kiss each other before going into the bathroom.

You take your clothes off as Harry gets the water going. You both step in and sigh once the warm water hits your skin. You take turns washing each other, and then he pulls you close to him to kiss you. He backs you up to the wall and pushes you against it. His tongue felt so good against yours and you loved the way his hands were gripping your cheeks. He reaches between your legs to finger you.

“Jesus.” He groans. “So fucking we-“ He looks down as he pulls his fingers out. “Um…love?” He holds his fingers up and you frown when you see the all too familiar reddish color.

“Sorry.” You slip away from him to finish rinsing off.

“Babe, we can still…”

You turn to look at him with tears in your eyes. He pulls you in close and lets you cry into him. This was always the worst part of trying. He kisses your cheek and you look up at him.

“Sorry, um, I can just suck you off or-“

“If you’re not in the mood now, it’s okay.”

“No, we just talked about this not being about making a baby, so-“

“You’re getting upset. You got period, and that sucks, but maybe next month you won’t. We only just started trying again, Y/N. It’s gonna take some time.”

“Right.” You nod. “We should get out in case Jack needs something.”

Harry nods and turns the water off. You get yourself situated and dressed and crawl into bed with Harry. As if on cue, Jack comes walking in with his thumb in his mouth, and his blanky in his other arm. Buster follows as well and plops on the floor.

“C’mere, darling.” You say to Jack. He crawls up on the bed and gets between you and Harry. You put your arm around him and hold him close to you. “Poor thing, Mumma’s gonna stay home with you tomorrow and we can snuggle all day if you want.”

“Really?”

“Mhm, anything you want.” You kiss the top of his head as he closes his eyes. Harry was on his side looking up at you. “What?”

“I get it now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why you always get so…in the mood when you see me with them. You’re such a good mum, makes me wanna make more too.” He smiles.

“And you’re the best dad.” He leans up to kiss you goodnight, and then he turns the light off.

//

It took Jack a few days to feel better, but once he did he was back to his old self. Jessica caught a small fever herself, but she was fine. You were just happy that neither you nor Harry got sick. The second your period ended, it was on.

Jack and Jessica would be having a cousins sleepover at Erica’s after Thanksgiving dinner, and you may or may not have been excited to have the house all to yourselves for the night.

“Do you think Michael will have fun with so many little ones?” Harry asks on the drive home.

“Oh, sure. He likes being the big cousin. I still can’t believe Erica even offered it up.”

“Her and Mike can handle it. I think she was excited to snuggle up with Jessica.”

“I feel terrible she couldn’t have more…she always says I keep having them for her.” You laugh. “My Nannie used to say the same thing to my mom.”

“Speaking of Nannie…I was thinking for your spring break we could take a little family trip and go see her.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Yeah. She’s only seen Jessica once, it would be nice for her to spend some time with them. Plus, she always comes here. Florida’s beautiful in March.”

“You don’t need to convince me. We can start looking at flights soon. The kids are gonna be so well traveled when they get older. Once they get a lot older when we take them to the U.K. we could start taking them to some other countries.”

“That would be fun. It’s so easy to just take day trips and what not. They’ll be nice and well-rounded.”

“But I don’t want them to be spoiled. Gotta keep them humble.”

“Gem’ll keep them knocked down a peg, she’s really good at that.” He chuckles.

You both get into the house and kick your shoes off. Harry scoops you up and carries you up to the bedroom. Once he sets you down, you’re being pressed up against the wall harshly.

“You’re not too full or tired?” You ask between kisses.

“Nope, are you?”

“Nope.” You grin.

His lips find yours as you wrap your arms around his neck. You tug at the curls on the nape of his neck. This was very exciting. You could be as loud as you wanted, hell, you could leave the door open if you really felt like it. His hands were all over you, groping you wherever he felt like it. He fiddles with the zipper on the back of your dress, but finally gets it unzipped.

“Want you.” He mumbles into your neck as he sucks on your skin. You giggle on him.

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Don’t be cute.”

Your dress falls to the floor. You help him get his clothes off too. You’re just in your underwear as he hoists you up, bringing you over to the bed. He didn’t want his lips to leave you at all. He nipped where he felt like it, leaving behind little marks. He gets your bra and underwear off, and soon his fingers are rubbing around your folds.

“You obviously want me too.” He smirks, holding up his now slick and sticky fingers. He sucks them into his mouth before pressing them inside you.

You groan as you feel him curl them up. His thumb rubs circles into your clit as he pumps in and out of you. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth but you tug his head up.

“I’m still making milk!”

“So?! S’not like I’m fucking sucking on it to grab a quick drink. You pumped before we left, you should be good.”

“It’s just weird…some could come out.”

“You really think I of all people give a fuck?” It was true, Harry didn’t care about anything of the things you thought would be gross for a guy, like hair and periods. 

“Fine, but if you taste anything you have to come off.”

“Deal.”

He goes back to sucking on you, more so just swirling his tongue around your pebbled nipple. He kneads the other one with his free hand has he continues to finger you. You tug at the blankets as your body begins to feel hot all over.

“Oh my god.” You moan. “Harry.”

“Gonna come?”

“Yes, fuck, oh shit!”

He works you through it until you can’t take it anymore. It felt so good to just let your little cry out instead of having to bite it back. He retracts his fingers and sucks on them again.

“Look at you.” He strokes your face. “So flushed.” He smiles. “Was that a good one?”

“Very good.” You giggle.

“So beautiful, my sweet angel.” He leans in to kiss you. “My amazing wife.” He kisses you again. “Love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

He adjusts himself so his tip his playing with your clit. You grit your teeth as he pushes inside you. Your nails scratch down his back, causing goosebumps to raise on his skin. He rocks in and out of you as his tongue finds yours. He just couldn’t get enough of your mouth tonight.

“Have you been, ngh, using a new lip balm or something?” He asks as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “So soft.” He leans in and bites down on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before letting it go.

“I exfoliated them with, shit, this, ugh Harry, I’ll tell you later.”

He chuckles as his thrusts quicken. You wrap your legs around him to pull him closer. His hands find yours and he pins them to the sides of your head, fingers intertwined.

“You feel so fucking good, babe.” He grunts.

Your heart’s racing as his tip starts to brush against your g-spot. Your head rolls back into the pillows, and he kisses on the now exposed part of your neck.

“Harry.” You moan.

“Say it louder.” He says into your ear.

“Harry!”

“Again.”

“Harry! Oh fuck!”

You come undone just as he’s coming inside you. You felt like you were swimming. You raise your hips to meet his over and over to really ride it out. He pulls out of you slowly and rests beside you. He pulls you close and kisses your hairline. It was quick, but so good. You imagine it wouldn’t be the only time you’d be making love tonight, and you were right. He was inside you again before you knew it.

//

Jack was finally old enough to understand Hanukkah a little more, and it was the cutest thing in the world. You had a menorah on the kitchen table, and a very small tree in the living room. Your home was decorated with snow men, and other winter scene things.

“Look at this little kippah Nannie sent him. His name is on the inside, so cute.” You show Harry as you get some gifts together.

“He’ll love it.”

“He’ll probably ask why Daddy doesn’t wear one.” You giggle.

“I’ve worn one at more of the formal events.” He defends himself.

“Very true.”

“Mumma! Is it time to light the candles?!”

“Look outside and tell me if it’s sundown.” You chuckle and shake your head as he pouts at you. “Got about an hour, baby doll.”

“Will we get to do it at Grammy’s?”

“Of course we will.” Harry says as he picks his son up. “Grammy has lots of menorahs for us. Are you excited to go on the plane in a couple of days?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “I told Jessica it’s not scary.”

“Well, that was very nice of you.” You kiss Jack’s cheek as you go to pick your daughter up. She’d been crawling on the floor. “Come on, darling, you can stand up.”

“I wonder if she’ll babble a bunch on the plane. I always feel bad for the people around us.”

“Oh well.” You shrug. “Babies make noise.”

An hour or so later, everyone gathers around the menorah. Harry holds up Jack so he can watch you like the two candles and he mumbles along the prayer as you chant it. You were happy he thought it was so much fun.

“Can we have latkes?” He nearly whines.

“We’re going to make them at Grammy’s.” You tell him. “We can stink up her house.” You laugh.

//

You were incredibly nauseous on the plane. It was rare for you to not feel well with how often you travel this way. You tried to just keep your eyes closed, and focus on your music, but it was difficult with Jessica in your arms, and Jack complaining that he wanted to cuddle with you too.

“Let Mummy rest, Jack, you can sleep with me.” Harry says, lifting the armrest between them. “Come here.” He puts his arm around Jack and holds him close.

“Why does Jessica always get Mumma?” He pouts.

“She doesn’t, Mummy and I take turns with her just like we do with you. Mummy might have to feed her quick, so it’s easier for her to hold her right now. What’s wrong? Don’t wanna snuggle with Daddy?” Harry pouts at Jack and it makes him giggle.

“You’re silly, Daddy.”

“Course I am, Daddy’s are supposed to be silly.”

Harry catches you smiling with your eyes closed, and it makes him smile more. Jack settles into Harry, and then he slowly drifts off. You reach your free hand out for Harry’s, and you’re able to hold hands. Sometimes you missed when it was just the two of you so you could cuddle on these long flights, but you also loved what you had now.

Once you’ve landed, you had to rush to a bathroom. Harry was a bit frantic since Jessica would definitely need to be changed. He hated changing her in the men’s bathrooms because they often didn’t have changing tables. Normally you would take the kids in with you to get them in fresh clothes, but you were so nauseous. You get into a stall and throw up.

“Please, fuck, don’t tell me I have the flu.” You say to yourself as you wipe your mouth. You get up and go out to the sink to brush your teeth. You come back out and wait for Harry.

“Are you alright?” He asks as he hands Jessica over to you.

“Yeah, I just don’t feel one hundred percent.” You didn’t want to say you got sick so Jack wouldn’t be scared. “Jack, hold my hand, baby.”

Harry gets all the luggage, and you both make your way to your rental car, which was a minivan this time around. You get the car seats settled, and get the kids strapped in. Harry holds your hand as he drives to Anne’s.

“I’m sure mum has some pepto you can take. You were nauseous right?”

“Yeah, usually I’m fine, it’s so weird.” You shrug. “I can always go to the drug store if need be. I feel better now.”

Anne was delighted to see her grandbabies. Jack attacked her with hugs and kisses, and Jessica babbled on to her.

“She can sort of walk now, Mum, look.” Harry helps Jessica stand, and she toddles over to Anne’s legs.

“Oh my goodness, growing up so fast! Wait until Auntie Gem sees you! Come in, you must be tired.”

Anne had lunch ready to go for everyone like she usually did. You felt hungry now, but as soon as you sat down you felt nauseous again.  

“I’m so sorry, I think I need to lay down for a bit.”

Harry stands up but you put your hand on his shoulder.

“Stay here with everyone, I’m fine.” You smile and go upstairs. You lay down on the soft bed and fall asleep immediately. Why were you so tired? Later, you’re woken up to the sound of Gemma’s voice.

“Y/N?” She whispers.

“Hm?” You sit up. “Oh, hi Auntie.”

“Hi, Mummy.” She smiles and sits on the edge of the bed. “Harry said you weren’t feeling well.”

“I think I’m coming down with something.” You frown. “I spewed at the airport.”

“Interesting.” She smirks, and tosses you a pregnancy test. “Need to pee?”

“Did he tell you to get this?” You chuckle.

“No, but when he texted saying you didn’t feel great I figured…”

“I suppose it would make sense.” You think for a moment and look at the period tracker on your phone. “I haven’t gotten my December period yet.” You furrow your brows.

“When was the last time you two…”

“Um.” You blush. “Well…I mean…”

“Right, right.” She blushes as well. “Think you two are the only married couple with kids that actually make time for that.”

“I do need to pee…I feel bad, usually he wants to be in on it, but how cute would it be if I am, and then I give this to him on Christmas?”

“It would be very cute! Go on, take a wee.”

You go into the bathroom and take the test. The two of you sit in the bedroom until the three minutes is up. You gasp as tears form in your eyes.

“Congratulations.” She says, hugging you.

“Can you hide this in your room? I have a really fun idea for how to give it to him.”

“Of course!” She wipes some tears away. “This is amazing.”

Christmas was wonderful, and it wrapped up Hanukkah perfectly. Jack got to have his latkes. You couldn’t wait to give Harry his surprise. That evening as you were settling in for dessert and pj’s, you grab Jack before he sits with his new toys.

“Honey, I have one more gift for Daddy, could you give it to him for me please?”

“Yes, Mumma.” He beams, excited he’s been given a task. You hand him the small box Gemma had picked up for you, and watch as he goes over to Harry, who was sitting with a cup of tea on the couch while Gemma held Jessica. Anne was sitting on the floor setting up one of Jack’s toys. “Excuse me, Daddy.”

“My polite little boy.” Harry coos. “Yes?”

“This is from Mumma.” Jack hands Harry the small box. Harry looks over at you and you gesture to open it. “Hmm…” He shakes the box and hears some rattling. “What else could Mum have gotten me?” Harry genuinely had no idea what else you could have bought for him, but he was excited nonetheless. Gemma props her phone up to record his reaction. He opens the box and his mouth falls open. He looks at you immediately, who was biting back a smile and tears. “Are you serious?” His voice cracks as he smiles.

“Mhm.”

“Oh my goodness.” He chuckles and stands up to walk over to you. You wrap your arms around each other. “When did you find out?”

“Took it the other day. I have no idea how far along I am, could only be four weeks. I’ll go to the doctor when we get back later in January.”

He cups your cheeks and kisses you.

“Wait…” Anne snatches the box and sees the pregnancy test. “You’re?!”

“Yes.” You giggle. She stands up and gives you a hug.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks.

“Well.” You rub your lower tummy. “I got something growing in here.”

“Another baby?!”

“You bet.”

Jack rushes over to you and gives you a big hug.

“You’re excited?!”

“Yeah! Jessica needs someone to play with too. She’ll be a big sister, and I’ll be a big brother again.”

“He’s smart.” Harry laughs. “You’re the best brig brother there is.” He kisses you again. “Wow, a third baby.”

“And then you’re done, right?” Anne asks. “I love grandkids, but you two wanna be smart about this.”

“Once I know this one’s gonna stick, he’s getting snipped.” You say.

“Oi, I still haven’t agreed to that.”

“Harry.” His mother says. “You’ll do it, and not put up a fuss about it.”

Later that night, as the four of you settle into bed, yes the four of just slept in the same bed while at Anne’s, Harry was beaming at you. You had put Jack and Jessica on one side of the bed for a bit so you and Harry could cuddle.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whisper.

“Can’t help it, you’re just so beautiful.” He puts his hand on your lower stomach. “Got another one in you, can’t believe it. Do you think it was Thanksgiving?”

“Could have been.” You giggle. “Does this mean you’ll go back to eating me out? Really been missing that.”

“Honey, I promise once Dr. Johnson really tells you you’re pregnant, I’ll go down on you for hours.”

“That sounds nice.”

He leans down to kiss you.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

[hlupdate]

At the start of 2020, Louis Tomlinsonhad just kick started his solo career off proper – his debut album ‘Walls’ was released in January and he performed two dates of his world tour before the COVID-19 pandemic hit and every other date was either postponed until next year or cancelled. Fans of the former One Direction star were gutted (of course) but their happiness has been restored as Louis played his first virtual gig last night.

You might expect that a virtual concert consists of just a singer and their band sat in an empty venue, right? With no lights or affects, and in a way it looks ‘boring’? Well this was the complete opposite! The classic Louis red lighting and the strobe lighting almost made you believe that you were actually there in real life!

Louis walked out on stage with his new haircut – it’s a lot longer than what fans were used to seeing. Has he been spending too much time with Harry Styles, who knows? He kept things casual in a laidback £22 Reebok t shirt which is now sold out in every single size due to Tomlinson’s influence.

He then kicked the concert off (15 minutes late may I add – fans are convinced that he wanted to watch the football) with ‘Just Hold On’. This is a song he originally produced with Steve Aoki and is more of a dance record, a bit different to the indie sound he is now leaning towards. But, he adapted the four-year-old record to his new style and it was a great surprise for fans – especially to kick off the livestream.

He then continued to sing ‘We Made It’ and ‘Don’t Let It Break Your Heart’ – two new songs from his album ‘Walls’. He then followed these tracks into a classic One Direction song ‘Drag Me Down’. Fans from all around the world went crazy about this – nothing beats a One Direction member singing a One Direction song in their solo career (well maybe a reunion would beat this).

Later on in the show, he sent fans into a frenzy when he performed two more hits from his boyband days – ‘Through The Dark’ (arguably an extremely understated song) and ‘Little Black Dress’ – a song that Tomlinson has expressed is one of his favourites and as he has previously said: “And remember if it’s by One Direction and it’s a banger I probably wrote it”.

But of course, he did sing his solo songs. Hits such as ‘Habit’ echoed through the screen of thousands of fan’s laptops, phones and TV screens and you can almost guarantee that they were all screaming along to the iconic lyric “Come so far from princess park.” Louis also poured his heart out in the song ‘Two of Us’ – a song dedicated to his late mother Johannah.

He also performed a brand new song which shocked fans when he released the setlist earlier that day. In ‘Copy of a Copy of a Copy’ Louis sings “You won’t be the first or be the last to bleed, every broken heart as far as I can see is a copy of a copy of a copy” and fans are already demanding it is released as soon as possible. He also sang a cover of ‘Beautiful War’ by Kings of Leon and fans are hoping that it will be available to stream soon.

Fans are going crazy for the new song, Twitter user @Jailboyhamirah said: “Cause of death: Louis Tomlinson singing copy of a copy of a copy.” which just shows the light hearted banter the fandom has and it also shows how excited they truly are.

The rest of the songs performed were just as great as the others, you could hear the excitement and happiness in this voice as you could tell he was just so happy about being back on stage. You could just tell he was in his happy place doing what he does best.

In the final song ‘Kill My Mind’, the screen behind Louis showed some lucky fans singing and dancing along behind him. This was a great idea – it gave fans a chance to perform with their idol and it made it feel even more like an actual concert. It was also a great ending to the livestream and made saying goodbye a little bit easier.

We also need to thank his musicians – if it wasn’t for them the concert wouldn’t have been as good as it was and they were all so incredible. His band is made up of Michael Blackwell on the guitar, Steve Durham on the drums, Matt Dinnadge on bass, Isaac Anderson also on guitar whilst the keys are played by Zac Craner. We also need a moment of appreciation for the brilliant string players that accompanied some songs and of course, the brilliant crew that made all of this possible for us fans.

Like always, Tomlinson’s fans don’t do anything by halves. ‘LOUIS TOMLINSON’, ‘THANK YOU LOUIS’, ‘LITTLE BLACK DRESS’ and #LTLivestream was trending worldwide and when tickets were released, the site crashed almost immediately. This is also the biggest show that Veeps have ever streamed before.

The virtual concert has also raised funds for the touring industry along with four other charities that are close to Louis’ heart – FareShare, Crew Nation, Bluebell Wood Children’s Hospice and Stagehand.

Louis shared a message on the screen after the concert that said: “Thank you to every single person who helped make this livestream possible.

“Without my band, my crew and team, live shows just wouldn’t happen.

“The money raised so far from this show will help some important causes, so a big thank you to everyone for tuning in.

“I can’t wait to see you all on tour soon!

“Stay safe, Louis x”

This concert allowed fans to see Louis performing – he was in his happy place and he was able to give fans a taste of what his future concerts will be like, all being well. It also gave a chance for fans to connect and watch a concert all together – no matter what corner of the world you’re from.

[missorgana]

invisible string

pairing: scott mccall/isaac lahey, background kira yukimura/malia tate and lydia martin/stiles stilinski

fandom: teen wolf

rating: mature

word count: 8924

warning: swearing, alcohol, past child abuse, minor character death, referenced homophobia

summary: When your soulmate gets a tattoo, the same one appears on your skin. And Scott McCall fears that they don't have one. (soulmates au, nonbinary Scott, they/them pronouns)

(hello my loves, i’ve been working on this project for @augustwritingchallenge for ages and it’s finally done! i missed scisaac and self projected on scott so yeah. thank you to my beloved Kaz for beta-reading, you’re life saver!!! i hope you all like this <3)

read on ao3

Scott McCall doesn’t have a soulmate.

*

They talk about it on television, in school, on the playground, in the supermarket. Scott hears their mom talk about it, and their classmates, and their teachers.

This is why they ask their mom late at night before they go to bed, at eleven years old. “How will I know who my soulmate is, mom?”

Their mother looked confused, but with her soft, familiar smile. They love her smile.

“Didn’t your teacher tell you, sweetheart?” she asks, and Scott has to concentrate, think back to every class and every word and every question. They bite their lip as they think, and their mom laughs in fondness, ruffles their hair. They push her hand away, even though it’s not that annoying, really.

“She said you get drawings on your body…” they begin, but frowns at themself, “But I don’t understand how. Will my soulmate’s name be in the drawings?”

Scott likes drawing, a lot. They don’t really understand how drawings would show them who their soulmate is, though, unless it’s their face.

Their mother chuckles again, but sits quiet for a minute. Scooby-Doo is still running on low volume on the TV, and the crickets have begun to chirp outside the window. And it’s windy, but Scott isn’t cold.

“They’re called tattoos,” she tells them, resting her head on top of their own as she hugs them, “I mean, it’s just something that happens. Your soulmate’s drawings, when they get them, you get them, too.”

Scott’s eyes widen, “Oh. Did they see what Stiles doodled on my hand in class today?”

Their mom plants a kiss on their hair before pulling away. Her eyes get all crinkled when she smiles so big, it’s very pretty. “I think so, yes.”

They chew their lip in some sort of contemplation, if they understood what that meant, yet. They can leave messages for their soulmate, then. They like that. But…

“When can I meet them?”

Scott’s mother sighs quietly, but doesn’t look angry or sad or disappointed, just tired. She turns off the TV and starts clearing up the coffee table while she replies, “Somehow you find them. Everyone finds theirs differently, different times. Their drawings tell a lot about them.”

They don’t like that answer that much. Ugh. They huff impatiently, “But I want to meet them! Now!”

And, of course, their mom is already picking them up, carrying them upstairs while chuckling quietly. The house seems bigger without their dad here. And more peaceful.

They like it much better like this. Hopefully it stays this way. Just Scott and their mom, they don’t need anyone else, they can’t even bring themself to care about where their dad might be or might be doing.

Okay, they need Stiles, though. His dad is nice, too.

“You’ll meet them, Scott,” their mother says while tucking them, “I promise you will, one day. But you have to be patient.”

They hate waiting. But their mom knows everything, she knows all the little beautiful things about the world, so Scott knows she’s right. Patience.

“Okay. Pinky promise?” they ask.

She hugs them again, for good measure. “Pinky promise.”

Scott has to be satisfied with the answer. But although their mother turns off the lights and leaves the door to their room just slightly ajar, they hide under their duvet with the sketchpad she gave them for their birthday last year.

Maybe this soulmate thing is like… a string. A string connecting them and whoever’s made for them, even though they’re miles away, at the other end of the world, even. They can’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Like air.

They like that. An invisible string.

Scott draws two hands, connected by the string tied on their pinky fingers. They use the gold pen for the string.

*

Lately, the thought of their soulmate has moved to the back of Scott’s mind.

It rests there, because after months of worrying and thinking and crying and what they now recognize as  gender dysphoria , Scott is about to tell their best friend that they’re nonbinary. They’re so fucking scared, they almost want to cry again.

They’ve already told their mom, which took them a month alone to decide on. Because what if she suddenly saw them differently? What if she didn’t love them anymore? What if she kicked them out?

It’s always been her and them, against the world. That couldn’t change.

And luckily, thank the stars and heavens above, it didn’t, and Scott’s never been so relieved in their life. They didn’t expect her to be close-minded or bigoted, they’ve always thought the highest of her, but the possibility, the fear still nagged there. They were so fucking glad to put it to rest, finally.

So here Scott is, in their bedroom on a late Wednesday afternoon, waiting for Stiles to finish his homework before he comes over to play video games, as they always do, twice a week, even though their parents eagerly want them to wait for the weekend.

Scott’s heart feels like it’ll jump out of their chest at any second.

They finally know who they are. They only assume the last puzzle piece of their whole self, of their soul to be completed by their soulmate, but the sense of peace they felt when they finally thought…  this is who I am. This is who I’m meant to be .

What if Stiles doesn’t understand? No, what if he doesn’t accept them for who they are? What if his love is conditional?  Fuck . Scott almost wants to scream.

Their heart is still clawing its way out of their chest when their best friend finally knocks on their window and lets himself in, a huge grin plastered on his face and carrying his own selection of games for them to compare with their own.

Stiles is always so happy. Well, not always, but he’s the rock Scott so desperately needs right now, like he’s been so many times before, and like they’ve been for him. They’ve drawn him many times before, and he always says he likes the drawings. And they let him doodle on their arm and hand when he’s anxious, because somehow they both find comfort in this.

They know the two of them aren’t soulmates, they think of each other as family rather than romantically, but they’re still meant for each other, they think. They hope. Stiles knows them better than anyone else, even their mother.

“You ready, Scotty?” he asks, chipper as ever, already turning on the playstation, and the nickname calms their ever painful heartbeat, just a little.

Here goes nothing.

“Yeah, uhm… Stiles?” they speak around the lump in their throat, “Can- can we talk first?”

Their best friend looks up at them from the floor, a slightly confused look on his face, but the smile intact. He returns to seat himself on the couch, not grabbing the remote. That makes Scott smile.

“Of course, Scotty. Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes. Uh, no. Shit, sorry-” they’re already stumbling over the words, fuck, but Stiles puts a hand on their shoulder, tentatively, but his precense calm and assuring.

“Don’t apologise!” his smile is crooked, and he crosses his legs before continuing, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, take your time!”

Scott nods. They take a deep breath, the seconds ticking by. Closes their eyes together just for a moment. Opens again.

“Stiles, I…” they’re trying, calming their heartbeat with breathing in through their nose and out through their mouth, like their mom taught them.  You can do this. “Please don’t freak out. I’m still me, like… I don’t wanna lose you.”

Their best friend frowns. “You’re not gonna lose me, Scotty.”

Scott gulps, nods. They’re trying. Really trying. “I’m nonbinary.”

They keep their eyes squeezed shut when they say it. It’s out there now. They don’t want to see his face change, if his reaction is bad, but they have to. They have to look. A beat passes. And Scott opens their eyes to find their best friend looking at them, smiling so hard his dimples are visible and nose scrunches up.

Oh, my god. That’s good, right?

“That’s great!” Stiles almost shouts, practically jumping in his seat. He does realise his volume, though, particularly since Scott’s mom is sleeping before her night shift. He clears his throat, “Scotty, oh my god. Sorry, I got excited. Thank you for telling me.”

Scott could almost fucking cry, again. But it’s happy tears this time, the nerves vanishing ever so slowly.

“You’re not… upset?”

Their best friend almost looks offended at the question, “Why in the world would I be upset?”

Scott bites their lip. God, they love Stiles so much, “I don’t know, uhm. I was scared you wouldn’t wanna be friends with me anymore. Because I’m not a boy.”

The brunette next to them goes all soft and gooey in his eyes, Scott would know that look anywhere. He also looks like he wants to jump them with hugs, but holding himself back, “Scotty, we’re ride or die, remember? I love you. You’re my best friend and that won’t change. What kind of asshole would I be to leave you like that?”

Scott laughs, Stiles is urging to hug them they can tell, like an oversized puppy.

And they’re speaking around the newly formed tears now, “I love you, Stiles. Like, so much. Thank you.”

Their best friend is grinning like an idiot. “What pronouns do you want to go by? Oh, and should I call you something else- like, not Scott?”

“I still like Scott,” they tell him, not bothering to cover the crying, because whatever. They’ve cried in front of each other plenty, “I’d like they/them pronouns, though, I think.”

Stiles nods eagerly, “Got it!” Then, “Can I hug you now?”

Scott rolls their eyes. Of course. “Yeah, come on.”

Their best friend practically tackles them in the hug, but it’s so bloody welcome, and so warm. Thank God they’re already sitting down.

*

“I want to be a tattoo artist,” Scott tells their friends at lunch, career day still settled in their mind from weeks ago, and the arguments roaming in their head on how to convince their mom to let them go for their first tattoo next month. It’s for their birthday.

Feels natural when they’ve always been fascinated by art as much as them. The galleries their mother took them to, they’re endlessly grateful for that, honestly.

And art summer school, and art elective, one thing leads to another. And tattooing is just art with skin as a canvas, they can’t stop thinking about it. Little works of art on your body, to carry around with you every day. It feels so special and with so much meaning - or with no meaning, they’re just as fun.

Stiles already knows - of course he does - and he’s excited about it, still, while Allison smiles as sweetly as ever, Malia’s eyes widen and she’s already convincing Scott to make her first one, and Isaac… is smirking?

It’s shy, but it’s there, they’re sure of it.

He was transferred to their high school six months ago, and frankly fits perfectly into their group, Scott thinks, even though their best friend doesn’t exactly get along with him. They’re idiots, but oh well,  their idiots.

Isaac was nervous at first, they could tell. But when Scott gave him a smile in class, he gave one back, tentative, hesitant, but it couldn’t be mistaken. And once they started talking to him, questioning the red haired boy about games and lacrosse and his schedule, he opened up, slowly and surely.

Even though Scott did much of the talking at first, Isaac didn’t seem to mind. They apologised, knowing how fast and excited they can be, much like Stiles, but he still accepted the offer of having lunch with the gang, and he’s witty, and smart, and a good listener. Well, Stiles disagrees, but you know. They bicker just for the hell of it, at this point.

The two girls missing from the table quickly join them and Kira’s eager to catch up, “What are we talking about?”

Scott likes Kira, a lot. Maybe… maybe she’s their soulmate. God, they don’t know.

Her smile is very pretty, she knows so much cool stuff about astrology and is like, easily the best player on the lacrosse team, by a mile. Jackson’s always on her ass because he’s a douche, and definitely power-hungry after being named the new captain, but Kira rolls her eyes at him and brushes him off like it’s nothing. Scott admires her.

The two of them can talk for hours about music and other shit that Stiles only rolls his eyes a little bit at, but even though he calls them nerds, he also joins them way too often and unashamedly.

And he’s just acting uninterested to seem cool in front of Lydia, usually.

But at the same time, Isaac’s smile is also very pretty, and his jokes are the best. He always laughs at Scott’s jokes, too, which they really like. He keeps whispering sarcastic comments in their ear during class and rolls his eyes when the teachers aren’t looking, which makes Scott laugh. 

And he’s an expert at texting in secret, always sending them pictures he took over the weekend of graffiti tags around town and puppies on the train and bumblebees, all because those reminded him of them.

Isaac’s nose gets all scrunched up when he laughs and his eyes squeeze shut.

The boy also loves zombie movies, which is a huge plus in their book, and wears big floppy sweaters that are excellent for hugs. Isaac is already a really good hugger, he’s always… warm and soft and safe. 

Maybe he’s their soulmate. Stiles would be so upset if that were true, ha.

Scott’s listened to their mother, though, they know patience is a virtue, and maybe neither of them are their soulmate. None of them have found their soulmate yet, anyway, so they shouldn’t stress, right now, they should just look forward to the future.

“Scott’s gonna give me my first tattoo!” Malia exclaims excitedly, Lydia only seeming mildly surprised, “Right, Scott?”

They laugh, they love the brunette’s undying loyalty and curiosity a lot, “I gotta practice first, but yeah, of course.”

“You’ll get us all tattoos, right?” Allison winks at them, “We can be your guinea pigs.”

Lydia chimes in, “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh, come on Lydia!” Stiles gasps, “Don’t you trust my best friend?”

He’s so giving her heart eyes, right now. Scott’s used to it by now, and it’s adorable, only slightly annoying, given that his plan of asking her out has yet to be set in motion. They wonder if the redhead has noticed.

Lydia sends a crooked smile in their direction after flipping their best friend off, “I’ll trust them when they’re trained. No offense, babe.”

They shake their head, patting Stiles’ back. Love the defense of their honor, even when unneeded. “I feel the same way, Lyds.”

The support is unwavering and overwhelming with all of them, even Lydia. The most surprising and pleasant thing of the day, though, is when Isaac purses his lips as they walk to P.E., then smiles at Scott in a way they know is only meant for them, “You can practice on me, even though I’ll probably faint from the needle. Maybe I could get a turtle.”

Scott can’t hide their grin, “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*

When Scott gets their first tattoo, Stiles holds their hand - before he faints, that is. He recovered quickly, it was endearing, really. They felt fine however; maybe the excitement filled up too much of their being to be worried about the pain.

Thankfully their mother approved of the tattoo and what they wanted to do with their art. She’d always been supportive, but, you know… sometimes, they worry too much. About everything.

She liked the drawing they chose, too.

Two rings around their bicep, simple black lines, but it meant a lot to them, and far, far from the last. It’s like them and their mother, they think: constant orbit with each other. She’s always protected them. They always want to protect her. Stiles called them a big old sap for it, and he’s right.

Scott planned it on their birthday, making sure to have the whole gang out for the fair, and roller skates, and showing off their tattoo with buckets of pride.

And if their stomach soared a little whenever a certain tall red haired boy smiled at them, that’s for themself to deal with. They think their best friend might be getting suspicious, given the half fond, half intensely weird looks he’s given them lately, when the whole group’s gotten together, but never said anything.

God knows if they knew what they would do about it. Scott doesn’t understand it, but… Isaac looking at them just feels right. It’s probably a little dangerous crushing on one of your close friends. Especially when you don’t know if they’re your soulmate, or who they are at all.

But apparently the universe finds it appropriate to sort this maybe or maybe not issue for them, after the fall break, when Scott finds Isaac’s seat strangely empty, and suddenly, the teacher’s shocking them to their core when she lets the class know the red haired boy’s been pulled out of the school and his family’s relocating.

In Paris. What… what the hell?

Scott doesn’t understand it. They can’t.

Isaac hasn’t said anything about this, they don’t remember, neither to them alone or to the whole group. Even Stiles looks at them with wide eyes, and Allison’s frowning from the back row.

The whole week the group doesn’t quite… work. They try to process it. Fuck. It just feels weird, unreal, not real at all.

Why would the boy just leave like that, unannounced? They would’ve hoped he would say goodbye. Scott doesn’t find themself wishing for an explanation, they just wanted to say goodbye. And ask if they did something wrong. Anything.

But the gang tries, of course, the routine returns piece by piece, even though Stiles and Lydia still argue about their possible theories on why Isaac left.

Scott just feels so, so guilty, for absolutely no reason. He seemed different after their birthday, somehow, which they’re only just thinking about now. Maybe they’re making it up, to rationalize it, somehow. They’ve got no fucking idea.

He didn’t come to school for a few days after their birthday party, that is, but… he was sick, he said. Just a fever. It was fine, he said.

Scott should get out of their own head. And Stiles says he’s the overthinker of the two.

And while their little world seems to circulate, still, Scott just feels numb, until three weeks later. Until their mother drops down on the couch while they’re watching reruns of Jeopardy and suddenly Scott has tears trickling down their cheeks, without even realising it.

Their mom seems just as confused, and upset, as themself, but she wraps her arms around them without even asking, of course she does. She tries to protect them.

But there’s nothing to protect them from, really. Just sadness. And a broken heart, maybe, one that they’re not even sure how to mend.

God, they wish Isaac was here. Guess he’s not their soulmate, after all.

*

Kira’s the first one of the group to find their soulmate. Actually, Kira and Malia, because it turns out they’re meant for each other.

It makes sense immediately to Scott, knowing of the brunette’s crush on the other girl, one she’s made vocal to them and Stiles since sophomore year. Wide eyes, making excuses for Kira to help her with her homework, grabbing extra dessert for her. Scott’s been rooting for them ever since they realised.

It’s just before senior year; where Malia proudly shows off the rubber duck tattoo Scott gave her on her ankle, after much discussion of how it should look.

“Like a rubber duck,” she told them, “But you know, with legs. Like a real duck. But not real.”

Scott had furrowed their brows while trying to follow, “Like a cartoon?”

And since she nodded, absolutely ecstatic, they got to work. They were so lucky to find an internship, and a mentor, and their mother looked so proud, almost near the verge of tears. She’s so dramatic sometimes, they love her for that.

Malia was a bit squeamish at first, which Scott doesn’t blame her for in any way, obviously. The ankle is a brave place for the first one, they’ll admit, but their friend insisted relentlessly, and they had to give in.

She put on a brave face soon enough, and took Stiles’ hand as much as she refused and called him a dick. And it turned out cool as hell!

Scott concentrates, hard, as they practice, and they’re still getting used to skin as opposed to paper. Softer, and they have to reangle their hands from time to time, even though they’re still stuck on smaller pieces for now.

They’ve been chewing their lip so much in concentration that it started bleeding once, a reminder to work off that habit. Maybe they should get Stiles to call them out on it. Like, do an eagle scream, or something, as he does whenever he wants to get their attention already.

Speaking of their best friend, he’s gotten a little better with it already, not afraid to look at the process now.

“It’s fascinating, I’ll admit,” he tells them on yet another one of their traditional game nights, “But way, way too painful, Scotty. How do you put yourself through several of them?”

Their own first was on the arm, of course, which isn’t too bad, and they kept the second one on their arm as well; Kermit the Frog. It’s funny. They like the Muppets. Sue them. Stiles loved it, too, so they’ve already got approval. Lydia definitely loves it, too, despite her initial skepticism.

But as Malia lifts her foot to show everyone on the bleachers, tradition as they wait for Kira to get off lacrosse practice, the very same girl nearly chokes on her water, prompting concerned looks from everyone, until Kira sits down and reveals her own ankle. The duck.

Needless to say, Malia becomes a blushing mess.

Kira, however, doesn’t look surprised at all. “I knew it was you!”

“Y-you did?” the girl stammers out, her foot still hanging in the air, probably out of sheer shock.

The dark haired girl giggles, wiping the sweat off of her forehead, before crossing her legs. She looks near bliss, Scott thinks. They’ve never seen an expression like that before. It makes them crave meeting their own even more.

The group stays in a strange, light, peaceful sort of silence until the coach calls Kira back, Malia’s face practically looking like a tomato at that point. Stiles is laughing hysterically at her, leaning on Scott’s shoulder, and she punches him several times until he hides behind them, almost using them as a shield. Almost, because Malia would never hit Scott, obviously, that’s reserved for the boy cowering behind them.

Their friends are such idiots.

The brunette freezes on the spot when her soulmate gets up, planting a kiss on her forehead before running off, saluting the group.

“We’ll meet at the ice cream stand!” she yells. Scott salutes back. Malia waves awkwardly.

“You okay, Mal?” they gotta ask, to reassure themself she hasn’t mentally shut off.

“Oh my god,” she squeaks, “Oh, yeah. Yeah!”

Stiles laughs even louder than before. Allison joins him. Malia may chase them both across the field, until the coach has to break them up, and now, the girl easily jumps into her soulmate’s embrace for protection.

Lydia shakes her head at it all. All in all an outstanding day for them, Scott thinks.

*

Straight out of graduation, tearful goodbyes to their friends even though they’ll see each other the week after, Scott’s got so far they’re taking clients. Their boss is proud of their progress, and they were a nervous wreck before the evaluation, but God, they feel a little proud of themself, too.

Of course, this means their friends are eager for them to practice on them and save money.

Kira’s the first in line; she wants the solar system, on a line down her spine. Scott isn’t surprised when she eagerly tells them about the planet symbolism, and she intensely stares at them drawing up the design, Malia sharing the excitement.

It’s her second, actually, the first being the one she got last year, in honor of her mom. She also seemed profusely apologetic for not going to Scott for her first, which they found adorable.

And yeah, they have to break it up in two sessions with a large piece like this, luckily the both of them are staying in town.

When Kira sees the finished result, she almost cried, they swear. “The colors are amazing, oh my God,” she tells them, already spinning around excitedly and hugging them tightly, “Thank you babeeeee. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Scott always finds themself giggling along with the girls, it’s only natural, “Don’t mention it.”

The two of them gasp, as shocked as in a Greek tragedy. “Keep mentioning it, dummy.” she tells them, and Malia adds, “You gotta book me for next week. I want a wolf!”

Allison’s the farthest away from the group, three states over; of course, they keep the promise of monthly reunions, more than once a month, even, which makes Scott feel impossibly warm every time. They still kind of wish Isaac was there. Damn.

It’s in April when Allison brings them a drawing she wants tattooed on her forearm. A portrait of a woman, with a bow and arrow, a stag at her side, and the moon looming over them both. It’s gorgeous.

“Obviously you’re a better artist than me, but this is my general idea,” she says sheepishly, as they hand her her bubble tea, “It’s Artemis.”

Greek goddess of animals and nature, that childhood obsession with mythology wasn’t for nothing. Allison’s been doing archery since she was thirteen, so it practically screams her. Scott gets seriously nervous about it, to be honest, like anxiously sweating kind of nervous, but luckily, she loves it. Thank God. They’re always scared to fuck up, especially on their friends.

But it’s way, way easier now, like they could do it asleep.

And that’s sort of put to the test, actually, because Stiles and themself decide to get drunk off their asses one Friday night, it’s been ages. And fuck it, they’re allowed to have fun. And enjoy cheap, horribly tasting beer at that.

Once they get home to Scott’s flat (taking the subway of course, even though their best friend had to be dragged away from his truck, they really dodged a bullet there, Jesus), Stiles gets to that point of his drunkenness where he starts getting philosophical and a little sad.

“What if I never meet them, Scotty,” he whines, in reference to his soulmate, that is. Scott themself gets extremely jumpy and bubbly under the influence, without failure, but they still know that frustration all too well.

“You will, honey,” they tell him.

“You promise?!”

“Prooooomise.”

They both contemplate his soulmate’s tattoos for a while. A flock of birds on his ribcage, a Sylvia Plath quote by his shoulder, a tree with its roots circling his wrist.

Neither of them has anyone they know in mind, but anything is possible! Scott still hasn’t spotted any of their soulmate’s tattoos. They’ve been thinking about it for some time now, and well. It’s disappointing, but they have plenty of time. They’ll get plenty more tattoos themself to their already growing sleeve, so they try not to worry about it  too much.

Their best friend suggests they play Mario Kart, which can only end in disaster, but then, “You should tattoo my ass, Scotty.”

Scott blinks twice, the statement shocking their drunk brain just a bit, “What?

“My ass!” he exclaims, now happier than ever, yearning for his soulmate forgotten in a split second, “Babe, pleaseee. Wait. Wait, wait, draw Harrison Ford.”

They can’t even process the request before their best friend pulls a headshot of said actor up, and starts clearing the sofa, “Indiana Jones is his best role, like… like… yeah.”

Scott laughs long and hard, this is insane. Of course, their judgement is clouded by the alcohol, right now, so what the fuck, why not.

This is why Stiles ends up lying on his stomach with his jeans halfway down, Scott sitting by his feet, the light of the iPhone glaring both their eyes at 4am.

“Ow!” he yells, like, thirty times, each time they have to laugh and then shush him, because they really can’t deal with noise complaints as sleep deprived as they are right now.

“Stop moving!” they tell him.

“But I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Stiles drags out the two-letter word to the greatest extent, “Nooooo.”

“Yes,” they laugh again, “I believe in you.”

“Love you, Scotty,” their best friend proclaims, still yelling a bit, but finally lying relatively still.

Scott rolls their eyes, “Love you too, idiot. Won’t be long now.”

“Make sure you capture his eyes right, babe! It’s extremely important!”

“I know, I know.”

*

To Scott’s great surprise, the tattoo turns out incredibly detailed.

In fact, it might be some of their best work yet. They’re not quite sure if they should be proud that they can work while intoxicated, or ashamed that their best work is, well… when they’re not sober.

Stiles laughs for almost two hours straight, then gushes over it.

“I’m sorry, man,” they had to say, “It was stupid.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” he tells them from where he’s admiring his own ass in the mirror, “This is incredible. Holy fuck. You captured his DILF-yness perfectly.”

Scott rubs their eyes, they have slept till 2pm, and the sunlight still isn’t doing wonders for them, “His what?”

Their best friend returns to their bed and burrows his face in the pillow. “He’s a DILF! Dad I’d like to fuck!”

That’s definitely an explanation that wakes Scott right up. They’ve never heard of that acronym, but fair enough. They’re also rather speechless, which the boy next to them senses, when Stiles looks up and shakes his head, “Scotty, Scotty. Aren’t you lucky you have such an insightful best friend as myself?”

The morning ends in a pillow fight, naturally.

*

It’s no more than a day after their night out that Scott finally,  finally  convinces Stiles to call Lydia and ask her on a date.

He’s sworn to his ten-year plan for ages now, with little to no action on his part, so this is major progress. Their best friend spills all his worries to them, but honestly? Scott isn’t all that worried.

They can’t say for sure what the outcome will be, but judging by Stiles’ retellings of the late night text conversations and smiles the red haired girl shoots in the boy’s direction when she probably didn’t realise people were looking, Scott’s got some sort of feeling that their friend might feel the same.

Okay, they haven’t talked to Lydia about it, admittedly. They swore secrecy to their best friend, and they intend to keep that promise.

But Scott recognizes that gleam in her eyes. It’s much like Malia’s looking at her soulmate, they think. Or maybe they’re completely in the wrong. They probably shouldn’t doubt it, or Stiles will only doubt himself more.

“She’s  way out of my league, Scotty!” he exclaims for the fifth time on their FaceTime, as he’s listed pros and cons to the proposition.

They smile at the boy on their phone screen, trying to look as assuring as possible, “Lydia’s awesome, I know. But you shouldn’t put yourself down as much as you do, you know that, right?”

Stiles huffs, “I know.”

“You do?”

“I do!” he almost whines.

Scott nods, “Alright. Babe, the worst thing that could happen is that she says no. You won’t know unless you try.”

“But what if it ruins everything?” their best friend worries again, “Maybe she won’t… want to be friends, then. I don’t wanna upset her-”

“Stiles,” they feel the need to interrupt, readjusting themself on the couch, “She likes you, I know it, even if it’s just as friends. If she says no, then you’ll know and you can get over her. I don’t think she’d cut you off completely. She cares about you.”

Stiles sighs, deeply and dramatically, but the look on his face tells Scott that he knows they’re right.

“If you say so.”

And not even an hour later, their best friend calls them up again, flimsy camera and nearly screaming, because Lydia Martin said yes. Stiles looked like he was near tears.

Later that night, Lydia texted them, asking if he would find a picnic in the park too boring for a first date - clearly, she was nervous, and Scott’s never seen, or heard her nervous before. They think the two of them will be just fine.

Granted, neither of them know who their soulmates are, but when they’ve liked each other for as long as they have, to hell with it, right?

Scott spends the night and next morning thinking about it. Less about their friends, who already arranged the date today, as much as they’re excited for them. They just… now there’s two couples in their friend group. They’re so happy for their friends, they really are, but this soulmate thing is looking a bit frustrating, sometimes.

When Allison came out to the group as aromantic and asexual in the beginning of junior year (and after Scott hugged their friend so she nearly feel over on the grass, the nerves disappearing from her laugh much the same way that they had felt when they came out to Stiles, and the rest of the group) Malia blurted out a question, “Do you have any soulmate tattoos?”

“Mal!” Lydia gave her a pointed look, but the dark haired girl chuckled.

“It’s fine,” she told her best friend, and all of them, “I don’t. Either the universe knows what’s up and hasn’t given me one, or whoever it is just doesn’t have tattoos. Fucked if I know how it all works.”

Scott hates the fact that it created a nagging little thought in the back of their mind. It’s still tiny, but still living there, showing its ugly head late at night when their anxiety gets at them.

Maybe they don’t have a soulmate at all.

Shit.

Fuck.

What if?

They don’t have much time to worry about it that evening, though, when some stubborn knocks sound on their door, and they open it up to reveal Lydia and Stiles. They’re holding hands, Scott can’t help but grin.

Stiles has much the same expression on his face. Lydia looks a bit furious.

“Did you tattoo Harrison Ford on his ass?” she asks, voice impatient.

Their eyes widen, and look back and forth between them, but their best friend just looks lovestruck and a little confused.

“You showed her?” they ask, and the redhead sighs, “No. I’m asking because I have a picture of Harrison Ford on  my ass.”

The shock takes the both of them aback.

Lydia’s upset about the tattoo, not them being soulmates, thank God, because Scott was rooting for them a lot. She rolls her eyes hard as they explain their drunken mishap, crossing her arms, but they’d know the fond smile anywhere. She doesn’t hide it anymore.

“Sorry,” Stiles says over and over.

Needless to say, the boy freezes on the spot when Lydia rises and shuts him up with a kiss, “You’re an idiot, you know.”

He nods eagerly, “I know.”

“Yet I love you,” she states, and Stiles looks like he’s about to faint.

“You-you do?!”

Lydia looks content, and takes his hand again. She also ruffles Scott’s hair with her other hand, commending them for bringing them together, evidently, “Obviously.”

*

It’s the first day of December, a little after midnight, that Scott comes to a conclusion.

They’ve been lying awake in bed for two hours now, tossing and turning, and since they can’t sleep their brain starts going into overdrive.

The group is gonna have a get together before they return home to their mom. Stiles constantly gushes about Lydia, of course. Kira called them on Malia’s birthday and confessed that she’s thinking about proposing to her girlfriend on New Year’s Eve.

They… are happy for them. So very much. They’re not lying in any way.

But why the fuck do they feel so lonely?

They’ve been paying more attention to their skin, desperately keeping their eyes out for tattoos that aren’t their own. Maybe they could’ve missed if it blended into their now fully closed sleeve. Or… or maybe it’s in a place they didn’t think of before.

But days have been going on and on, and Scott has been counting every single one of their pieces, and every single one they recognize.

The lavenders and forget-me-nots, the Millennium Falcon, the pac-man, their mother’s favorite song, the  idiot #2  tramp stamp that matches Stiles’  idiot #1 .

Nothing unfamiliar, nothing’s out of place.

This is why the thing that’s been worrying them sick ever since that day their tall, red haired friend had mysteriously dropped out, and almost vanished into thin air, finally sneaks out of its hiding place and hits them with full force.

It must be the only liable explanation.

Scott probably won’t get any sleep tonight. Scott’s also pretty sure they don’t have a soulmate.

*

They’ve been living with the fact that they don’t have a soulmate for, hm, well - almost two years now. And it’s fine, really. They’re slowly getting used to it, anyway.

Scott told their mother after Christmas when they realised, and she almost worries out of her skin, but they were a bit too embarrassed to cry in front of her then. Hopeless romantic and all.

Stiles also reacted to the conclusion by cuddling them for a whole weekend, letting them win every video game they played and buying them so many snacks it’s shocking neither of them passed out from that heavy of an amount of sugar.

All their friends shared their frustration, and sadness, in their own way, and so they never felt alone about it. Always and endlessly supported. They love them so much.

But yeah, they just had to carry on with life. What else is there to do?

And although they still think about it in both good and bad moments, they’ve distanced themself just a little bit from it all, worrying just an inch less, working hard and spending time with their best friend and gang whenever possible.

It’s getting easier, more peaceful.

Scott’s set up an Instagram dedicated to their portfolio, and clearly their friends got the word spread back to Beacon Hills, and around it. And lots of other places. Kira and Malia became their unofficial promoters last summer, when the couple went on a road trip around Europe, to celebrate the engagement.

The wedding is this summer, also, which Scott cannot possibly contain their excitement about. They love those girls.

Their best friend is joint best man, of course, Allison joint maid of honor, and the reception playlist is already piled upon with Dolly Parton and Megan Thee Stallion. They love their friends’ music taste, for real.

So all in all, they’re doing pretty great. Well, February is filled with a bit too much of the Valentine’s Day ads and hype for their taste, but they’ll come to not mind it eventually. Hopefully.

And right now, Scott’s headed for the tattoo parlor (they got a permanent position, holy fuck) to draw up some designs and check out the bookings for next week. It’s a quiet afternoon, after the weekly morning call with their mother, and the group chat is ever so chaotic as always.

They’ve already got, like, sixty missed messages since they left the flat, Jesus.

And so they’re stood on the train station, train arriving in five minutes, checks their phone and then-

Then. Holy fuck.

Is this real life?

Are they imagining things?

Or is it… is it him?

On the opposite side of the tracks, Scott spots a tall figure, with curly red hair and dressed in a green turtleneck and black jeans. They must be confusing them.

Except the person turns around, and, oh my God.

It’s Isaac. It’s Isaac Lahey.

And Scott doesn’t know what to fucking do, except their jaw drops like an idiot, staring until the boy-uh, man on the other side widens his blue eyes, looking directly into their own brown. This is real.

About twenty agonizing seconds pass by as they both process what’s happening before the redhead waves, a small, hesitant one. So naturally, Scott waves back.

That’s that. Then Isaac points in the direction of the exits. They nod immediately.

He leaves. They leave. Oh God, oh god, oh god.

*

When Scott ascends the stairs out onto the bustling streets, it seems like they’ve been waiting forever. Their brain is such a drama queen.

And there the red headed man stands- he’s tall, still, half a head taller than them. When he spots them going in his direction, a smile forms on his lips, and it’s soft and shy and all too familiar.

This could easily have Scott in tears, but they hold it in.

When they’re finally face to face with their old friend, they can’t help returning the smile. Isaac keeps moving his gaze from their eyes to the ground, back and ground, like he’s scared to look at them too long. Scott swallows around the lump in their throat, unsure of what to do.

They never, ever, in a million years expected this to happen. They never thought they would see him again. Yet, here he is.

Scott clears their throat in an attempt to sound cool and collected, although they fail horrendously, “Hey.”

“Hi,” the taller man answers.

Well, that’s a start, right?

Yet again they’re processing, thinking, they can almost see the cogs in Isaac’s brain turning, until their mouth decides to speak before their brain can decide on the words, “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Thank their lucky stars, Isaac nods instantly.

And it’s when they’ve gone to the nearest café, Scott nursing a café latte while Isaac settles with his iced coffee, that they start talking. And talking. And talking.

The conversation flows immediately, and so easily, almost like they were never apart.

It’s surprising, yet safe. Scott has to ask what they could only wonder about all these years.

“Why did you… why did you leave?” they get out, before they can lose their courage. And when their old friend’s mouth twists into a frown, and his eyes fill with something like a pained memory instead of nostalgia, they instantly regret the question.

Isaac speaks before they can apologise, though, “I’m sorry.”

“I was about to say the same, I didn’t mean to-”

“Scott, no,” he interrupts, with a small sigh, “I want to tell you. It’s, uhm… maybe it’s easier if I show you.”

They find themself furrowing their brows in confusion, “Show me?”

The man nods and takes a sip from his coffee before he rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie. And then… there’s a Kermit, there, on his wrist. The lavender branches travelling up his arm, right up to the two black bands, encircling his bicep.

Scott feels like the world is moving in slow-motion. It’s just Isaac, in front of them. And he’s got all their tattoos.

They realise they’ve been quiet when the man in front of him starts looking worried, and so they say the first thing they can think of, “You’re my soulmate?”

He nods again.

Scott has a soulmate. They’ve got a soulmate and… he’s right in front of them. 

The boy they’ve been harboring feelings for since they first became friends. The tall, clumsy stranger who’s overly critical of zombie lore and talked in his sleep whenever he stayed over at their house, and… the boy who hugged them in the queue to the go-karts, just because he could.

Holy shit.

Scott doesn’t even realise the tears falling from their eyes before Isaac’s confusion intensifies, and they try to wipe at their cheek, a little embarrassed. But fuck that. “Sorry. Oh my God. Isaac, I thought- I thought I didn’t have one. Shit, I was terrified. I never got any tattoos… that weren’t my own.”

And so, the redhead’s smile starts getting a little teary as well. He chuckles, his voice breaks, but he looks  so happy. They’ve missed that smile beyond belief.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “Still not good with needles.”

They smile at each other in the silence for a moment. Scott doesn’t want to keep questioning if Isaac doesn’t want to tell them, so they just… look at him for a moment. He still is just as pretty as last time they saw him, but he’s grown his hair a bit longer, his arms more defined, he’s wearing tighter jeans than he used to.

The bustle of the other residents and the baristas busy behind the counter goes on for a beat, before Isaac speaks again, “I didn’t leave by choice. I-I would’ve said goodbye. If it was my decision.” Scott nods. They know.

“It’s my dad,” the redhead continues, “Uhm… ever since my mom died, he… became violent. He beat me. And when he didn’t, he, uh, locked me in the basement. Those were my sick days.”

The man in front of him winces, wipes at his eye in defiance and Scott does, too.

Fuck.  Fuck . And they never fucking knew.

“Isaac… I’m so, so sorry. Fuck,” they feel they still have tears threatening their way, and they don’t know how to stop them, struggling with their words. “I should’ve been there for you, I should-”

“Don’t,” he tells them, “You didn’t know, Scott. None of you knew.”

“But I should’ve known-”

“It’s not your fault. Please believe me when I say that.”

They nod again. Isaac still has that timid smile on his face, as teary as it is, as their smile probably is as well. The thought of their friend being abused, and… going through it  alone , not being able to reach out for help, that no one fucking stepped in, it pains Scott in an unspeakable way, right now.

The redhead swallows before speaking again, “After your birthday, after your tattoo, well, I got it as well. And it didn’t take long for him to piece together that it was you. He monitored my phone. And he was a fucking bigot, so his reaction wasn’t exactly positive.”

Scott feels the urge to hold Isaac’s hand, and in fact, before their brain can stop it their hand already touches his on the table.

When they realise, they take it back, “Sorry, I didn’t-”, but Isaac grabs their hand back again, his lying on top of their own. He sniffles, wipes at his eyes again, but the warmth radiating from him is immediate.

“So he forced me to France, cut me off from everyone, and we stayed there, and I cried myself to sleep every night,” he tells, his frown deepening, “Until Camden was discharged.”

His older brother, Scott remembers. He signed up for the army.

“He lived with us for three days before my dad threw a glass at me over the dinner table, right in front of him. My brother knocked him out on the spot. We got the hell out of there.”

Isaac smiles again, breathing a little easier. Scott feels the same.

“I’m glad,” they say and squeezes his hand. Their heart flutters when their friend squeezes it back.

“So…” Isaac starts again, a sigh escaping his lips, “Now I’m here. That was two years ago, and, uh, yeah. We roamed around for a while, too scared he’d try to find us. Camden got us a place out of town, though, it’s too… loud in here sometimes.”

He runs his free hand through his curls and takes another sip of the coffee. Scott’s practically forgotten about their drink by now, it must be cold.

“And a therapist,” the redhead says, “I got a therapist. I need one.”

His smile grows, little by little. It’s still the shy one, just like Scott remembers, screwed up by tears and the rain. He looks happy in their company. They hope so, at least. They hope he’ll be okay, that he gets to be happier. They want him to be happy.

“I’m so happy you’re out of there, I…” their voice breaks halfway, and they both chuckle at it, “I worried myself sick about where you were. I just want you to be okay.”

Isaac bites his lip in the smile, “I will be.”

“Good.” A thought hits Scott, though, “Your dad, he doesn’t know you’re back, right? If that fucker finds you-” “He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

Isaac nods, “Neighbours in Paris called my brother about four months ago. It feels morbid to say, but honestly… Camden bought champagne.”

“I would’ve done the same,” Scott says, with zero hesitation. The redhead’s peacefulness has an effect on them, like a warm embrace. However, when a customer in the queue yells at the barista, Isaac flinches, and they’re just about ready to take him by the hand and get out.

They’re still wondering about their friend’s feelings towards them, because… they’re soulmates. But people don’t always stay together. People don’t always get together.

Scott knows they’re just as much in love with Isaac as they were back then. It’s come back in full force, and the longer they look at the man, it just makes them want to wake up to the sight of him, every single morning. Listen to him rant about zombies for two hours straight and eat McDonalds at 3am and kiss in front of Stiles until he tells them to get a room.

Their best friend probably already knows about their feelings towards the red haired man. They never told him, but he’s scarily knowledgeable sometimes.

“Isaac,” they start, trying to figure out how to ask, Isaac still grazing their hand with his thumb, “About the tattoos. I’m in love with you. I hope that’s not too blunt, but… I’ve liked you since we met, I think. If you don’t feel the same, I understand-”

“I love you,” he states, immediately, and surely. He squeezes their hand again as both their smiles almost turn to grins, “Sorry. I could yell it at the top of my lungs, if you want. Soulmate.”

This might just be the best day of their fucking life.

“Want to get out of here, soulmate?”

*

In the little parlour at the corner, the gang’s all crowded up, even though the shop’s supposed to be closed. They closed two hours ago.

Yet, Scott’s friends have formed a small circle around the chair, where their soulmate’s taken his shirt off to allow them to tattoo his collarbone.  Masterpiece , the piece says, but it’s mirrored, so he’ll be able to read whenever he looks in the mirror.

Isaac’s facetiming his brother, too, who’s already given Scott the big brother talk; secretly, he loves them, the redhead told them so.

“You ready?” they ask him, planting a kiss on their soulmate’s hand, and he nods.

“Ready.”

“Tell me if you need a break, okay?”

“I will, baby,” he says with a chuckle, but Scott  needs to be sure.

“Seriously, whenever-”

“I know,” Isaac laughs, and kisses their cheek, which never fails to make them blush, despite the many, many kisses they’ve had until now. In all places. And more than kisses. Their soulmate is the most incredible person they know (sorry, Stiles), and they just want to keep learning, discovering everything about him.

He still talks in his sleep. He found a much better therapist than the first one, and he has fewer nightmares now. Sometimes he wants to talk about them, sometimes he just wants Scott to hold him. He likes to be the big spoon. He  hates the smell of coffee and eats excessive amounts of bacon. He likes to wake Scott by tracing their tattoos with his hands in the morning, and if that doesn’t work, he’ll steal the comforter and jump in the bed. He’s still such a nerd.

Every moment with him is unbelievably peaceful.

Their soulmate takes a deep breath, nods and so Scott gets started on the tattoo.

“Want me to hold your hand?” Stiles asks with a laugh, but they’re pretty sure the offer is genuine. Those two have been taking a liking to each other, after all, no matter how much they deny it.

“Absolutely not,” Isaac fires back, and the brunette gasps, making their soulmate smirk, “Lydia can hold it.”

She does, no matter how grumpy her soulmate looks. Malia’s nearly on the floor laughing.

This is safe. This is home. They’re all soulmates in a way, meant to be tied together, no matter where in the world they might be. And they’re so bloody happy to have him, and them, in their life.

*

Scott McCall has a soulmate.

[doyelikehaggis]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Sciles | Scott McCall x Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @childofsquidward & anonymous

It's a lot colder inside the ice rink than Stiles remembers. He can't even take his jacket off, and his fingers are practically numb trying to do up his skates. But he's not letting that stop him. 

Well. Mostly. He's just warming up a bit before he actually skates, staying seated in the stands, eating a Reese's cup. For energy! 

Of course, when he tries to use that on Scott, he just gives him a look and a smile.

"Come on," Scott says, holding out a hand. "Neither of us have skated since Sophomore year. We're both totally out of practice compared to everyone else here."

"Not inspiring much confidence, buddy." 

Stiles glances out at their friends, already on the rink as Scott laughs. Allison and Kira gliding along, both laughing as they try and hold onto each other. Malia carefully edging along the side, a hand firmly gripping the barrier while Erica tries to be encouraging while laughing. Even Boyd and Isaac are doing their own thing on the ice. And Lydia and Jackson, skating along perfectly together. Doing little twirls and practically dancing—this isn't a competitive tv show! 

But he'll admit… they do look happier than they have in a while. That breakup, moving away, being with other people for a while thing then reuniting really seemed to help.

"I meant that it'll be fine, because we're both… not great at it," Scott says.

Stiles glances from their friends to Scott, to the hand he still has held out to him. 

"Fine," he groans, with a theatrical roll of his eyes, taking his hand. Because actually, he doesn't mind. Especially when Scott's holding his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

He allows Scott to pull him up off the bench and stumble their way to the ice. 

"But if we fall and I break something—" Stiles starts.

"I will carry you to the hospital," Scott says, his smile widening.

"Promise?"

"I absolutely, one-hundred-percent give you my word," Scott promises, stepping closer. "I'll even do it bridal style if you want."

"No, seriously, because my jeep broke down from the cold when we got here and I don't even know how we're getting home, you'd need to carry me," Stiles says. 

Scott laughs, rolling his eyes. But he's nodding and saying, "We'll take a look at the jeep later, but yeah, I promise."

"Then lead me to the death trap!" Stiles says. 

"You" —Scott leans forward, lips inches from Stiles, pressing a kiss to them with a barely contained smile— "are the biggest dork."

"And you only enable me with your love," Stiles quips back, quickly stealing another kiss. 

Scott just shakes his head, his smile making his eyes crinkle slightly. The look he gives him has been the same for the fifteen years they've known each other, not once changed from when they were four. And yet somehow it still never fails to bring a fluttering warmth to Stiles' chest.

He thought that he would become more immune after the first couple months of being together, but if anything he's just softened to it more. And to Scott.

"Come on," he says, pulling himself of his daze with a gentle nudge to Scott's shoulder and a tug of his hand.

"Before we start to annoy all of our friends?" Scott asks, grinning as he complies and allows Stiles to guide him onto the ice.

"Oh, no, we've been annoying them since the day we met," Stiles replies, turning slightly to face Scott, taking the other hand he holds out to him to keep them both balanced. "We are sickeningly in love and they knew before we did."

"I can't disagree with that one," Scott says, and he looks utterly delighted about it. 

Stiles misjudges his control and nearly flies backwards when he goes to move his foot a little too far. Fortunately, supernaturally quick reflexes on Scott's part keeps him upright. Except he's also fumbling to keep himself steady, and they're both yelping as they go down. 

So, falling on ice hurts. Quite a bit. 

"Okay, we're definitely not good at this," Scott groans, and Stiles grunts in agreement. 

There is most definitely laughter coming fron somewhere, as well as a few concerned people asking, "oh god, are you okay?" 

But after a beat, the laughter takes over in all of them, espscially when there's another yelp from across the rink, followed by, "I'm sorry! I was distracted, I thought you were holding on!"

Scott and Stiles push themselves up into sitting positions, still trying to catch breath from the fall and the laughter that hasn't quite died down yet. 

"Why did we think ice skating was a good idea?" Stiles asks.

"Because it's Christmas Eve and Boyd had the keys?" Scott says, shrugging. He's laughing even as he winces and rubs the back of his head. "It's fun!"

"Yeah, breaking your limbs is fun," Stiles says drily. But he's already got an urge to get back up and do it again. Without the falling part.

"Rematch?" Scott suggests.

Stiles turns his head to look at him, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, this is a competition now, is it? What happened to being on my team?"

"I'm always technically on your team," Scott says, then shrugs, his grin widening. "But wouldn't this be more fun?"

Stiles considers it for a moment. Then he nods, holding out his hand.

"All right, a competition it is then," he says.

There's a muttered, "oh no" from close by. He ignores it as Scott happily takes his hand and they manage to stumble back to their feet. And then it's every person for themselves on the ice (aside from Boyd and Lydia, who are smart enough to stand to the side to avoid being plowed over). 

Their competition turns into all of them screaming at each other to help them stay upright, or for trying to knock them over. Fortunately, and miraculously, the night does not end in any broken bones or dislocated limbs. Just a few scrapes here and there. 

And a jeep that refuses to start back up. Everyone tries to chip in and help fix it, some googling what could be wrong with it while Scott and Stiles mess around with the engine and some wires they probably should be leaving alone. 

But when they're taking a break from trying to fix it, and they're just joking around in the snow, Scott and Stiles sitting on the roof of the jeep, just staring up at the stars, it all feels worth it. Especially when the jeeps lights suddenly flash to life after an hour and the engine starts up on its own. Maybe it just wanted the night to last a little longer, like they all did.